The Cry of the Polar Bear By Beatrice Wong The Arctic was not the endless white expanse it once was. Instead, it had become a treacherous landscape of broken ice and open water. The sky, once a brilliant blue, now hung low with heavy clouds, a dirty grey from the pollution carried from distant cities. The ice, once solid and reliable, cracked and shifted under the weight of a lone polar bear named Nanuq. Nanuq was exhausted. His fur, which used to be pristine and white, was now matted with dirt and stained with the residue of the environment’s decline. His usual hunting grounds had all but disappeared, the seals he relied on for food increasingly scarce. Hunger gnawed at his insides, and every step felt heavier than the last. He sniffed the air, searching for any sign of prey, but found nothing. The ice beneath him groaned, threatening to give way, but he didn’t care anymore. He was too tired to move quickly, too weary to continue the relentless search for food. Eventually, he found
