Gus

“They called me crazy,” Gus muttered to himself. If anyone else was around they would’ve heard “blaap ff’pang wobble-wobble” because Gus had been so long without human interaction that his speech had deteriorated to nonsense.

Gus had built for himself a quaint shack on an ocean-facing cliff. He survived on the slimy mushrooms growing on the cliff face as well as the occasional confused puffin he could manage to trap. No one had bothered him for fifty-seven years.

But now his home was being destroyed by rising sea levels.

“Gabboodle-doo!” Gus lamented, which translated means: “Lowering my carbon footprint did nothing!”