Without The Simple Science

Gavin made very sure that science was a big no-no that day. The final gathering. There were newspapers and leaflets here and there, of course, strewn around amongst the stones and all the other beach rubbish: the beer cans, bottles and plastic bags. But he kicked all written material far out of their reach. So they couldn't see anything.
There should be no distractions. No reminders.
Once the fire was lit, they all sat in a big circle around it, warming themselves in the chill, all thinking how ridiculous that old term was. There was no talk of science, of course. But it was very cold. That old term really was a very poor joke.
So far from the reality. The actual consequences.
Gavin had an idea that amused him, and broke his rule quite early on. He ran about gathering all the newspapers and leaflets that he'd scattered. Then, when he'd a good hand full, he brought them to the circle, and dumped them in the fire.
“What are you doing, Gavin?” one of the gathered asked.
“Burning the future,” he answered. The past was already in ashes.
They were all good readers. So they shrugged it off, taking healthy swigs of the mould wine. And they thought of numbers: of 1984, of Fahrenheit 451, of Lot 49.
“To dystopia,” one of them said, raising a heady cup.
“To dystopia” they all said, laughing out loud, suddenly fearing again. Suddenly afraid again.
And so the moment had already come when they should just stare out. Appreciate. It had forced itself upon them. They all held hands, facing the water.
The sea was a cauldron. Magic bristled, invisible underneath under the waves. And what were the waves but angry Mermen whipping at the sky?
The sky deserved a whipping.
But there was to be no science, so they all let themselves dream.
Of the whales, of the octopus, and of the sharks. Of the corals and of the shipwrecks. Of the old man of the sea.
Just of the sea.
“Is that it then?” somebody said, their eyes on the choppy horizon. On those approaching black sooty clouds everyone was trying to ignore.
“No science, remember?” said Gavin.
“I didn't mention any science,” she pleaded.
“Somebody would've,” another voice piped up.
“The answer's yes,” said another, exasperated, “so let's just appreciate it while it lasts.”
The sea never dies, they all thought. It doesn't matter how dirty and awful and utterly unbreakable the storm that lurks above. The sea will remain underneath. The sea will endure. The sea is eternal.
Unlike us.
Because a life underground was hardly viable, they all knew, though they'd certainly give it go.
There was no other option.
After all, an escape to the stars was just not affordable, they all knew, though they'd certainly dream of it. And hope one day the lucky ones would return to fix things.
A silly dream.
And the boats to Africa were plain suicide, they all knew, though they certainly didn't blame those who chose that path. A romantic fate, to be sure.
A quick death in the acid.
So that only left life above ground, which was no longer possible, they all knew. It was the end of all that.
It was simple science.