Three. I try to pay attention to what my grandma is saying, but my head throbs with
aching pain. I wish these headaches would go away, I shout in my mind. Three. I look around my
grandmother’s small house. Cousins, aunts, and uncles sit around, quietly talking amongst each
other. Three. I look up at my grandma, who is telling a story from her childhood. Her eyes are
sunken, and she looks very ill, but she still manages to smile. I try to concentrate on what she is
saying, but I can’t. I can see her dry, cracked lips moving, but I can’t hear a word that she is
saying. Three.

I stand up to leave and am overcome with dizziness. It feels like the world is spinning
around me, so I reach out to steady myself. Once the dizziness subsides, I say goodbye to my
grandma and leave. As I walk home with my parents, there is no noise except for the sound of
our shallow breaths. The air is thick with smog, I can not see my hand in front of me. The walk
home used to take only two minutes. Now it feels like it goes on forever. Three.

I walk into the house and go to my room. I look around my room. My eyes stop at the
painting of the ocean hanging above my bed. I rub my raw tongue around my dry mouth. It feels
like rough sandpaper. I try to swallow but my throat burns. I would give anything for a cup of
clean water, I think as I lick my lips. I close my eyes and imagine what the ocean would be like.
I think about when my mom told me about the ocean. She had described the way the waves had
crashed onto the shore and the strong, salty smell. “Can I go there?” I had asked when she was
done explaining. The excitement quickly drained from her face.

“Not anymore,” she said softly.

“Why not?” I asked disappointedly.

“Because it isn’t safe,” my mother replied. She explained that the water was too full of
pollution and you could get sick just by touching the water.

“Can’t you just take the pollution out?” I asked.

“It’s not that simple,” she said, “most of the pollution is microscopic. It is impossible to
remove from the ocean.”

“Why did people put all of that garbage in there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” my mother said with a sigh.

Three. I try to think about something else, but I can’t. All I can think about is all of the
pollution piled up in the ocean. If only we had done something different, I think to myself. If
only we had stopped this from happening. I want to cry, but I can muster no tears. It is too late, I
think to myself. In three days, there will be no more clean water. In three days, there will be no
more clean oxygen.