Walking around what’s now called Everton Park yesterday morning I was remembering the same hillside when I’d worked at the housing office there, up in Netherfield Heights, fifty years ago. When the hill was full. Of tower blocks, tenements, walk ups and people. Nearly all gone now, and replaced by? Well the park is slowly maturing into an actual park, but I can never walk there without seeing and knowing what lies beneath it. Which got me thinking, as I walked on down Everton Valley. Then I sat down on the wall outside Iceland on Walton Road and wrote this.
By the year 2122 there were none of them left this close to the coastlines, the few humans still alive having long moved to the relative safety of the hill-camps. From where and only now and then some of the braver of the children would venture back into the city they’d never lived in, to see what had been lost. Imagining, some of them, it's potential for reoccupation. Some future day when the carbon levels and therefore the sea levels were once again down. Perhaps by the times of their children's children.
On good days when what they called the “bounce,” the feeling of having any kind of future at all was in them, and being hill-children themselves after all, many of the visitors would discuss the hill called “Everton,” while they wandered around it, as the best place in the abandoned city for a future reconstruction to start. It being already the most grown over part of the place since it had lost its humans. And where their earth-scanners had shown them many intact foundations of former buildings, not far below the hill’s undulating surfaces. There one day to be built on, maybe? On good days they’d think this anyway, when the bounce was in them and they could dream, for their children's children. Before beginning their own treks back to the hill-camps, far to the east of this imagined Eden.
Mind you, and it has to be said while this imagined future still has your attention, some of the older girls weren't that keen on reconstructing the cities at all. Not after what their great-grandmothers had said and written down about how they’d been for women the last time around:
“Any settlement is an inscription in space of the social relations in the society that built it…Our cities are patriarchy written in stone, brick, glass and concrete.” Jane Dark1
Quoted in “Feminist City” by Lesley Kern
That's a nice transition of your own voice - which we've become familiar with from your blogs - into fiction. It would make a nice introduction to a story about the hill-children (I like that!) and their lives post-bounce.