Ashkii tells his friend about the dangers of carbon emissions.
“Wilbur, my main man,” Ashkii trotted into the den to find Wilbur inhaling a golden cigarette.
He was still adorned in his work suit; florescent vest and steel capped boots.
“Ashkii, what’s been happening, bro?” Wilbur wheezed. The tradesman had red, leathery skin, a bald head and a moustache that frayed out like the ears of a rat. He sat in a reclined position on the couch with one leg over the arm rest and one arm over his head. He had worked a long day and was taking a break.
“You left your car on in the driveway,” said Ashkii.
Ashkii was born in Australia but his mother was a Native American. He had a delectably rich accent, which Wilbur had come to suspect was forged solely to impress the ladies. His head was decorated with a mess of long black hair and his skin was like red leather.
“I left my car on in the driveway because I’m about to leave again soon. Battery’s going and I’ve got ta’ pick up dinner for the missus,” Wilbur explained.
“Bro, that thing is just spewing smoke. You’re messing up the ecosystem,” Ashkii scoffed, hopping down onto the couch and stretching his long, gangly legs along the sofa.
“Don’t tell me you believe in that global warming crap,” Wilbur grumbled.
“Don’t mock me. This is our land you’re destroying.”
“Our land? Don’t give me that redskin tripe.”
“I’m telling you, global warming is real,” Ashkii growled. “Do I need to remind you about what happened to the Inuits of Coldbean?”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember the story. It was a good one but you only need to hear it once before you lose interest.”
“Global warming melted the ice, and it seriously effected polar bear populations,” he began, ignoring him. “Well, the village elders sent out two of their most able young men, Red and Moon. They went to seek out a solution for this problem from the ancient green tuurngait spirit, which lived on the end of a glacier.”