We need to stop being so profligate with fossil fuels, to rein

Host: The rain had just stopped, leaving the city glistening like a mirror under the fading daylight. Steam rose gently from the wet pavement, and the air smelled of earth, petrol, and faint hope. In the distance, the hum of traffic sounded subdued — like the planet itself had taken a breath after too long a silence.

Jack and Jeeny stood on the rooftop of an old building, overlooking the river that cut through the heart of the city. The water reflected the orange and blue scars of the sky — a painter’s accident, beautiful and polluted.

Below, on a giant billboard, a headline flickered: “Alice Roberts calls for global unity to curb climate change.”

Jeeny: “We need to stop being so profligate with fossil fuels,” she read softly, almost to herself. “Rein back climate change and protect biodiversity. Work together globally. And she said she’s optimistic that we will.”

Jack: “Optimistic, huh?” He gave a dry laugh. “I envy people who can say that with a straight face.”

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s already given up.”

Jack: “No — I sound like someone who’s seen the data. We talk about saving the planet like it’s an idea, not a deadline. Every summit, every pledge — it’s the same speech dressed in recycled sincerity.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you still recycle.”

Jack: (smirks) “Force of habit. Guilt’s the most renewable resource we’ve got.”

Host: The wind picked up, carrying a faint scent of oil and wet leaves. The river below shimmered under the first touch of twilight. Jeeny turned toward Jack, her eyes catching the reflection of the flickering billboard — green, gold, and sad.

Jeeny: “You know what I think? Optimism isn’t naivety — it’s resistance. When Alice Roberts says she’s optimistic, she’s not denying reality. She’s refusing to surrender to it.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic. But you can’t melt glaciers with poetry.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But you can melt indifference.”

Jack: “Indifference is a symptom, Jeeny. People are tired. They’ve been told for decades to change — but the system keeps running on oil and greed. You can’t ask individuals to fix what corporations profit from breaking.”

Jeeny: “So what, we stop trying? We sit back and let the sea swallow us? People are the system, Jack. Every movement starts small. You think Greta Thunberg thought she’d shake the world when she sat alone with a sign?”

Jack: “She didn’t shake the world. She shook the news cycle. There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “You really don’t believe in change, do you?”

Jack: “I believe in consequences. Nature doesn’t care about our speeches. It just reacts. Floods, droughts, heat waves — that’s her language. And she’s been screaming for decades.”

Host: Lightning flashed faintly in the far horizon — not a storm, just a reminder. The sky rumbled like a distant heart.

Jeeny: “And still, people fight for her. Do you know about the Great Green Wall in Africa? Eleven countries planting trees across the Sahel — reviving dead land, restoring hope. That’s not talk. That’s action.”

Jack: “And how many of those trees survive drought, corruption, or war?”

Jeeny: “Enough. Enough to prove we’re not helpless. You call it naive — I call it courage.”

Host: The light dimmed further, the city’s skyline bleeding into the clouds. A plane roared overhead, leaving a white trail across the bruised sky — a wound of progress.

Jack: “You know what the irony is? Every time someone flies somewhere to talk about saving the planet, they burn more fuel than I’ll use in a month.”

Jeeny: “And every time someone mocks them for it, they excuse their own inaction. We can’t wait for perfection, Jack. We have to start with imperfection.”

Jack: “So tell me — what difference does it make if you bring your own cup to a coffee shop while factories pump a million tons of carbon into the air?”

Jeeny: “It makes a difference to your soul. Because choosing to care — even when it seems pointless — is what keeps us human.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice trembled slightly, not from anger but from conviction. Her hands were cold, but her eyes burned with something alive, unbroken.

Jack: “You sound like a believer. Like the planet is some kind of religion.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. The only one that’s ever truly held us. And we’ve been bad disciples.”

Jack: “You think the Earth forgives?”

Jeeny: “No. But she endures. She adapts. It’s us who won’t survive without her grace.”

Host: The river moved below them, thick with reflection and waste. A floating plastic bottle drifted by — small, insignificant, but persistent. Jeeny’s gaze followed it.

Jeeny: “See that? That’s what we are — a species floating between creation and destruction, pretending we can choose both.”

Jack: “And which side do you think wins?”

Jeeny: “Whichever side decides to care first.”

Jack: “You talk like care is a strategy.”

Jeeny: “It is. The oldest one. The only one that works long-term.”

Host: The sky deepened into a soft indigo. The billboard below flickered once more — the face of Alice Roberts smiling faintly, frozen mid-hope. The hum of the city softened to a murmur, like a giant heart slowing down to listen.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, my father took me to a beach near our hometown. The water was so clear you could see the pebbles beneath. I went back last year — it’s gone. Eaten by the tide. There’s a power plant where the sand used to be.”

Jeeny: “And how did that make you feel?”

Jack: (after a pause) “Like something sacred had been traded for convenience.”

Jeeny: “Then you do understand. You just don’t want to admit it hurts.”

Jack: “What good is hurt? It doesn’t rebuild beaches.”

Jeeny: “No. But it builds resolve. Pain is what tells us we’re still connected.”

Host: The first stars began to appear — dim, uncertain, like distant witnesses. Jack stared at them in silence. His reflection shimmered in the glass window behind him — two faces merged with the night.

Jack: “You think optimism is enough?”

Jeeny: “Not alone. But it’s the seed. And seeds only grow if someone dares to plant them, even in scorched earth.”

Jack: “And what if the earth is too tired?”

Jeeny: “Then we rest with her — but we never stop trying to heal her.”

Host: A moment passed where the wind carried nothing but the sound of dripping water from the roof edge — rhythmic, patient. The moon broke through the clouds, silvering their faces, drawing a quiet symmetry between doubt and faith.

Jack: “You know what I envy about you?”

Jeeny: “What’s that?”

Jack: “You still think humanity deserves another chance.”

Jeeny: “We always do — right up until the moment we prove we don’t. And sometimes, even after that.”

Host: She turned toward him, her face calm, radiant with quiet fire.

Jeeny: “Alice Roberts is right, Jack. We need to work together — not because it’s easy or because it’s certain to succeed, but because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Jack: (whispers) “You really believe we’ll make it?”

Jeeny: “I believe we’ll try. And that’s enough for now.”

Host: The wind sighed through the city’s steel veins. Below, lights flickered in apartments, each one a small act of survival, of warmth. Jack looked down at his reflection in the river, then up at Jeeny, then at the sky — where smoke and stars coexisted like memory and hope.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

For a moment, they simply stood there — two silhouettes beneath the trembling sky, their breath visible in the cold, their silence louder than any speech.

And as the night settled around them, the world, battered and burning, still turned — fragile, persistent, alive — as if it, too, was whispering:

“We will try. Together.”