4/16/15

The Serpent In The Garden
By David Edward Nell


“Larger than anything ever built by man, the traveling tower could flatten hills and mountains,” Dad told Gabriel, his face glowing red from the candlelight.

“Our Great God,” said Gabriel from her bed, making a sign of the crucifix with her hands.

Dad did the same, and replied, “What we call it today. We used to call it World Eater. We were wrong about many things.”

“Where did it come from?”

“They say Our Great God came from the sky. No one really knows.”

“What did it do?” Gabriel asked.

“When it came, all the cities of the Old World were crushed. For good reason. Back then, the people were living sinful lives. Me, too. I was what they used to call an Atheist.”

“What’s that?” Gabriel asked.

“A terrible type of man. But I’ve changed my ways.”

“How did you escape the Old World cities?” Gabriel asked.

“I believe Our Great God chose me in spirit, though I didn’t know it at the time. See, I was one of the survivors who fled to the sea and formed this new settlement, and I think there’s a reason for that. Eventually, when the tower caught up with us, we were so, so afraid. But remember, we didn’t understand at the time. As I remember, it was mid-winter. Suddenly we heard this great rumble, and the ground quaked. Everyone went outside to see. When the traveling tower came again, you couldn’t even see the moon anymore, only its… lights. Seemed like it was heading right for our shacks.”

Gabriel’s mouth was wide open now.

“I still remember going to collect my things so I could try to run away. But then it cut into the sea and simply stopped. It spared the people that day. Been a long time since it moved. Well, it doesn’t need to anymore, because it’s here to teach us great things. It’s chosen us. It’s a blessing, really. If only we knew what we know now.”

“Wow,” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Our Great God then communicated to the Preacher in his dreams. Imagine that.”

“What did Our Great God say?”

“Our Great God wanted our servitude.”

“What is servitude?”

“Serving. That’s what we do. We serve Our Great God in many ways.”

“Like how?”

Dad laugh-coughed weakly and smoothed her soft hair. “You ask many questions. I can tell you’re excited, but you better get some sleep.”

“Please, Dad, just one more question. Like, who lives in the tower?”

“Forbidden knowledge, my girl. We must never speak of that.”

“Why?”

Dad pointed upwards. “They’re watching.”

“Watching?”

“Tomorrow you will know everything.”

“Will Our Great God bring Mum back some day?” Gabriel asked.

Dad paused, rubbing his wrinkled face. He spoke softly, “No one has ever come back, girl. That’s a good thing, though. Mum is probably having a very nice time with Our Great God. Better than struggling here, don’t you think?”

“Like, what will happen when I see Our Great God?”

“I don’t know, but look, this is a good thing. All right? Consider yourself very lucky. No more questions.”

Dad blew out the candle, and Gabriel dreamt of her mother. In the morning, Dad was weeping.

Gabriel was given a special necklace by the Preacher. She was happy but wished Dad was, too. The Preacher put her on a boat and paddled against the Atlantic Ocean tide, and then Dad was gone.

On the way, Gabriel kept asking the Preacher questions, but he wouldn’t answer. As the tower came into view, it wasn’t so beautiful anymore. She saw the sun for the last time as the boat entered a tunnel at the tower’s base. The Preacher picked her up under the arms, put her on a platform, faintly thanked her and left.

The little girl stood in darkness for a while, waiting.


- - -
David Edward Nell writes from Cape Town, South Africa. He can be visited at: http://davidedwardnell.blogspot.com

2/13/14

School's Out
By David Edward Nell


Cloud City – which happened to not be a cloud city in the literal sense – was unusually desolate for a morning setting; though it must be said that normality itself was regarded as offensive in this post-conformist world. Trends were different these days: buildings were constructed upside-down for style; each food item was required to taste like radish and be considered more enjoyable in that respect; meditation ten hours a day was compulsory if one excused oneself from work due to flu or if one broke the law; being watched by smiley-face drones warranted yourself a primetime television spot. Such was life. Emily didn't exactly understand, nor did she reckon her mother did either. But she did think it was nice, what the world was, whatever it was. The two of them had just left home, and Emily was thinking about all that stuff.

Mother warned, “I told you, I don't want you objectifying yourself for the whole world to see. And can't you walk faster? Already blooming late for your school's silent hall meeting.”

Emily stopped making funny faces to the smiley faces in the sky, and replied, “But aren't I going to be famous? Aren't I going to be a model if I keep doing this?”

“You will never be famous, because there is no such thing.”

“But then there is no such thing as anything, right? Because science class says reality is an illusion.”

“Keep saying that to yourself, honey. If it helps you get through school.”

“But the thing is, Mum, if nothing is real, I don't really need to go to school, do I?”

Mother planted her lips on Emily's nose and breathed in to keep her quiet. That did it. They rounded a corner and stumbled onto a large crowd fascinated by televisions playing behind an electronics shop display window. It seemed everyone and everything on the city block was present, even the drones, smiling alongside civilians. Mother stopped for a curious peek, and appeared startled by what was being shown. Emily likened her mother's gasp to the sound of a cat crying; however, to note once again, strange was not quite.

Emily remarked, “I thought we were late.” She spitefully went on walking but got tugged back to her mother.

Mother whispered, “The president of the world is speaking live. We must listen.”

“Who?” Emily asked. As she had raised her voice and revealed her ignorance, the crowd barked and glared at Emily as though she was the greatest traitor of all times.

“That's the president of the world.”

“Everyone knows the president of the world.”

“No one interrupts the president of the world.”

“You'll never be as great as the president of the world.”

“Have some respect, young money.” Young money was a derogatory term, of course.

And after they eyed her enough, they returned to the skeleton of a man with the big head on the televisions. Apparently he was saying important words.

“So, humanity has arrived to its most critical point in history. I, the president of the world, have made my decision regarding humanity's fate. Perhaps humanity has sealed its own fate. Indeed, we've made some peachy advances over the course of our history, but we've also done incredibly silly things, none worse than witnessed in recent years. For example, when we accidentally drew the moon nearer to us and caused enormous tidal waves, resulting in the complete obliteration of the South-Eastern Canadian region. Or when we destroyed all data servers because we thought they harboured digital malaria, resulting in the infamous data server riots which saw billions of social network user deletions and the rise of the warrior robots. Rest in peace. Or when we brutally crucified a shy, web-obsessed fellow who, we learned later, really was the second coming of Jesus Christ. And when we made memes poking fun at him. These mistakes show we have not evolved in the proper manner; that, in our present state, we are much too flawed. When President Hertz announced he had personally gotten rid of the nature of imperfection, we all wanted to believe. Alas, imperfection prevails. So, I had to do something about this once and for all. I said no more. I said it was time for action. Just an hour ago, I sat down with people-who-do-important-stuff for tea and biscuits. Discussing ways in which to reduce humanity's impact even further, we came to the first conclusion that we should all kill ourselves and apply for voluntary human extinction at our nearest goods stores. But then no one liked that idea, because who knows yet whether killing oneself sends one straight to hell or not? And who wants that? So this enlightened scientist dude who sleeps outside the parliament building offered up a truly marvelous idea: how about we start over? He said – after we cleaned him up and gave him a haircuit and a warm meal – that there is a way we can return to our source, and he has the solution. He wants to stick everyone with needles. And I say, that's fine. That's what we need. For in those needles lies our salvation. Millions of years of evolution bred a monster, and now the monster must be tamed. My friends across the world, we will start over. We will begin evolution anew. Starting right this minute, every single person in the world – including myself – will be transformed into jellyfish.”

The watching crowd grew restless. Some began speaking of escaping into the wilderness. Some said not to speak of such things. Some began fighting. Some were hugging. Some decided to play a last round of cards. Some were staring back at the drones like they already knew what was going to happen. Some were staring at the drones so they could get their last pose on camera. Emily's mother now looked concerned too.

“What's actually happening here?” Emily asked.

There was silence again when the president of the world continued.

“I need everyone to calm down and wait where you are. A black van is going to come pick you up and bring you to our laboratory, where you will then be injected, transformed and sent into the sea.”

And right then, a civilian went panicking down the street. Unfortunately for him, a drone caught his collar before he could get anywhere and picked him up into the air, disappearing somewhere.

Mother was even more distraught. She was biting her nails. “This is bad,” she kept repeating..

“I told you, remain where you are,” said the televisions. “Now you see what happens. Ugh. Anyway, on the bright side, at least you get to keep your souls–”

“Why's it bad?” Emily asked, pulling her mother's dress.

Mother looked down at Emily, her eyes wide. “What's wrong with you? This is the end. We're not going to be here anymore.”

“So? That's good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, because now there's no more school. Yay!”


- - -
David Edward Nell writes from Cape Town, South Africa. He can be touched at: http://davidedwardnell.blogspot.com .

1/24/14

Today In The United States of Avatars
By David Edward Nell


A muscular man found an appropriate moment to sneak up on two women at a restaurant table. “Feel my biceps, sis,” he told them, performing suggestive poses.

They swatted the air like he was a fly but he kept posing for them.

An officer patrolling the street saw what was happening and poked his tablet to start up iWhistle. He triggered a high-pitched noise only the troublemaker could hear, and it was so debilitating the fellow shambled over like he had been hypnotised to walk in that direction, towards his judgment.

“Why the ears?” the muscle man sulked.

“What were you doing disturbing those ladies there?” the officer demanded to know. “Putting to test your perverted pickup lines, I reckon.”

“I was trying to be friends?”

“Hold on a minute,” the officer said, scrutinising the troublemaker's appearance like he had discovered a new area of interest. “Is there something you'd like to tell me?”

The muscle man went quiet.

“You won't mind if I open up my iIllusionDestroy program here and–”

“Okay, okay,” sighed the muscle man, and when he tapped his shirt pocket, no more was he an adult with a heavy build. Now he was his true self: a young boy.

“I knew it. An avatar,” the officer remarked.

“So what?” said the boy. “It makes me cooler.”

“Don't you know using iPersonify outdoors is illegal?”

“Since when? Who says?”

“The law.”

“Bollocks.”

“It's not bollocks, and don't use such foul language. It's the law. I say you're breaking it.”

“In that case, I don't care, because you can't do anything to me. I'm only nine.”

“Well, you sure will get a good wallop when I tell your mum.”

“No, no, please don't.”

“Where's your iPersonify? Where are you hiding it?”

The boy reached into his pocket. He hesitated then handed the pebble-sized device to the officer. “Everyone's doing the avatar thing,” he tried to explain, pointing at the ladies. “They're not real. Why do you have to take mine away? Why not them?”

“Friends of yours?”

“Part of a local network. I knew they were in the area. Saw on my program. Was trolling them, that's all. Wanted to have some fun. I'd never use iPersonify to fool real grown-ups, I'm telling you.”

“What version are you using?”

“1.0. I wish I had the latest, because you can do so much more, like interact with other people who have lower versions and whatever. But this is all my mum could afford to buy. And–”

“Spare me the details. What about those ladies there? What version?”

“I think they're on 1.61, because–”

“Quiet. I bet you go buy alcohol under that guise, don't you?”

“No,” replied the boy, looking down at his feet guiltily.

The ladies had just finished sharing a milkshake when the officer grabbed their shoulders. “Save me some time, won't you?” he said, softly. “Hand over iPersonify and I'll save you a trip to the slammer too.”

“But we're just a pair of attractive, grown up women having a fancy brunch and a scandalous chat, because that's what women do.”

“Right, you asked for this. I'll let iIllusionDestroy do the unveiling.”

“No, wait, fine, you've got us.”

The ladies transformed. Their heads levelled with the table's height and then they were little girls. Not without snivels and shakes, they did as told, as the officer had reached out his hand and insisted again. They mourned their loss.

“Now you've learned your lesson,” said the officer, pocketing their devices.

“But this is so, so, so unfair.”

“It's the law.”

“But everyone does it,” they said, and the boy, hiding behind the officer, nodded in agreement. “Everyone in this restaurant is using iPersonify. How can we be doing wrong? I mean, our mums just bought us ours yesterday at the mall. I don't understand. I hate you.”

“The fact is, this is illegal junk, and that means you're not allowed to own these things. Do you understand? And – wait – what do you mean by everyone?”

The girls showed him to the indoor section of the restaurant. A man in a corner was smoking a cigar, peeping over a newspaper every now and then to watch three chatting women nearby at a different table. Elsewhere, there was a couple holding hands and a tall chap having a dance to no music. And in the middle of it all, a grey alien humanoid, waving for someone, anyone to notice it.

The mad officer stormed in and shouted for their attention. “You lot of Otakus are sad, pathetic, depressed, lonely losers who need to learn how to live life like normal people do,” he ranted. “My word. No wonder this country is going downhill. Don't you read the news? Don't you know what you're doing is illegal?”

None of them said anything. They seemed unsure of what to say.

“You will all hand over your iPersonify gadgets this instant.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said the newspaper man.

“What he said,” said the alien.

“Or will I have to use my iIllusionDestroy and find out the hard way and maybe give you lot a taste of prison life? Do you know what they do to tech-fraudsters? Your choice, guys.”

Silence. And then they cooperated. Altogether, they changed into teens. The officer went around and, to groans and sighs, confiscated their devices. Then he had ten quantities of iPersonify.

“Excuse me,” someone with a high voice interrupted. The officer hadn't noticed the spectacled man who was in some dark, hidden corner, playing with an assortment of various devices. The well-equipped fellow had his hand raised in the air like he was in a classroom. He was enthusiastic about being picked.

The officer turned to him and sneered. “Are you also hiding something from me, nerd?”

“Actually, no. But I happened to hear you mention iIllusionDestroy. The thing is, no such program exists.”

“Nope, nope, nope, you're wrong. It's a police–”

Someone turned the entertainment monitor loud just then. A newscaster was describing the appearance of a man who was going around with a hacked avatar stealing iPersonify devices from unsuspecting children. Everyone in the room stared the officer down while the newscaster continued.

“...wears a police uniform; has a moustache; shaved chin; a very red face; big booty...”

The officer began walking backwards, giggling nervously. Everyone got up from their chairs and activated laser knives.

“There's no need for violence, friends,” urged the officer.

“I agree,” said the spectacled man.

“Listen to the nerd boy, guys,” agreed the officer.

“Yes, please. Everyone take a seat.”

And everyone did.

“Because we all know how to handle real losers.” The spectacled man whipped out a gun and fired a beam. It was an instant hit. The officer watched his body fade into blackness, and as his clothes disappeared, all the iPersonify gadgets fell on the floor.

And as a result of the shot, the officer became who he really was: a fat thirty-year-old.

“I was just trying to have a bit of fun, mates,” the fat man explained, scratching warts. He looked around, saw the dirty looks he was getting and then ran away from the restaurant, frightened for his life. He ran so fast he tripped in the street, and then he got up and ran again. Until a drone came to pick him up into the air and take him away. And then his attempt at an escape was useless.

Everyone in the restaurant got their devices and turned their avatars back on again.


- - -
David Edward Nell writes from Cape Town, South Africa. He can be touched at http://davidedwardnell.blogspot.com

2/21/13

Where The Heart Is
By David Edward Nell

At first I didn't take note of the shape navigating earthward from the clouds, my hands scraping off wood to mark the tenth stroke on a log. Ten was how many days I'd been on this island in solitude. Before then there was nothing, as though there never was a beginning.

I went towards the beach to get a better look. As the object grew I could dismiss it as a bird no longer, for its breadth began to cast nightfall. I retreated, warned by its croon. It rotated, breathing winds of fire, and negotiated something out its hind. Then, as quickly as it had come, it reversed its path. What remained, handed to the sands, was its legacy: a giant egg, where a crack soon formed and led to a halving. I gasped, agog at what had birthed. A woman. Her blush of hair fell like a waterfall over a strange, silver frock.

“Who are you?” I demanded with a stick.

“We're alike.” And when she spoke, I understood.

“Why do you set foot in my territory?”

She pointed up, and my tirade ended. “They, of the stars, have delivered, as they did you. We've been assigned a great role.”

“What are you saying? Who are they?”

“The gods. It's their wish that we repopulate their world.”

“Gods? They want us to be together?”

“Yes.”

I fell at her feet, and she touched my head.

“Will you tell me more about the ones from the heavens?” I asked beside her face one night, adoring her dimples and stealing, light-blue eyes.

“If I was wiser,” Olina quipped.

“Yet you are. Please, do divulge something, anything.”

“They brought us and guard from the skies. That's all. When I arrived, you saw them, their flying machines. Their powers and capabilities are beyond our understanding.”
“Are they like us?” I asked.

She paused. “Not exactly. But, Larry,” she cupped my hand, “I've never actually met them.”

“It's so strange that you know so much, I so little.”

“You were chosen as well. For this you should be honored.” She forced her lips against mine.

“Can't you bring the washing?” she called from outside when the trees had begun shedding for a new season. She was beating our mattresses with thick bark, her dress ruffling with the fierce southeasterly. The swollenness of her belly was visible.

I lumbered over with a load of freshly wet garments before something joined the sand. The round device I was furrowing my brows at didn't belong. In curiosity, I picked it up and went to slide my hand over a button.

“Don't touch that,” Olina ran and startled me, snagging it away.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“How can it be nothing?”

“Just promise you'll never touch it.”

“I don't even know what it is.” I laughed, incredulous.

She blurted out, “It's theirs. It summons them and their ships.”

“What? This signals for the gods?”

“Yes.”

“So you have met them?”

“No.”

“Now I'm confused. How did you get that, then?”

Olina fumed and hugged the load off me. “Larry, enough. I have a headache.”

“Many moons ago I saw a woman, and again last night,” I said. “In dreams, I mean.”

“My arrival was foretold, then?” Olina replied, cradling our first-born. “The gods entered your dreams, it seems.”

“Maybe. You're so different, though. Your face...”

She looked away.

“My mind must be elsewhere to remind of a nonexistent past, but why?”

“We're both adapting to a new world. Even I dream the same oddities. The imagination is strong, dreams symbolic of reality.”

“True, but it feels like something's missing.” I begged, “Olina, you know you can share everything with me. And I'm not trying to make you upset but--”

“Hm?”

“Will you spare a truth?”

“Don't I normally, Larry?”

“It's like you're always keeping secrets.”

She turned, betrayed. “Has your trust gone? I'm your wife.”

“But--”

“Promise you won't leave me.” Her arm tugged me into her embrace. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. I...I do.”

One morning, my half dozen children were assembled in our hut, shaking me to my feet.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Mama's in the air. Come see,” my oldest urged and pulled me into the briney winter, and she hid behind.

My hand went to my mouth. The ship was back, blaring that familiar mechanical tune and inciting nature's abandon. My wife descended a ladder, climbing out the ship's posterior.

“Olina!” I bellowed. “What are you doing there?”

She saw us, froze. Promptly, the ship roared into the ozone, and then it was just her guilt.

“It's nothing to worry over, kiddies,” she tried to convince our frightened children. She looked at me, frowning as if I was at fault. “Shouldn't they be sleeping, Larry?”

“Go back to bed,” I told them. They did so, and then we were alone. “Explain what just happened.”

“The remote you weren't supposed to know about--I used it. This was really important, Larry. Believe me.”

“Tell me what they look like.”

“They're light. Pure...light beings,” she said, stumbling.

I held her shoulders. “Tell me why you kept this a secret.”

“I'm dying.” She showed me an unusual tube of paste. “They gave this. It's supposed to rid of the cancer.”

“Oh, Olina.”

I listened to her heart's farewell. “I'm so sorry. All these years I never told you I love you. I've been stubborn.”

Olina brushed my hair, a matching grey. “Larry, I love you, you know that. And I'm sorry, too.”
“What for? You're the mother of my sons and daughters. Don't apologize.”
“Thing is, I lied,” she sniveled. “About everything. What I did was horrible. But you have to understand that it was a matter of survival.”

I leaned back in my chair. “We're so old, Olina. Does it matter at this point?”

“To me it does.”

“Let it out, then, if you must.”

“I took you from your world, Larry. I programmed you. There's--”

While she continued, I closed my eyes and let our best memories overwhelm what she was admitting.

“--no gods, just me. Nuralia, my world, got wiped out. And I saw what was left, saw what the sun was doing to it, to our galaxy, because...because I was what you would deem an astronaut, and I was in space, assigned with a mission. Repairing a beacon, laying the foundation of a colony. We knew it was coming, just didn't have time. It wasn't supposed to happen so soon. It just...” Her face was a mask of tears.

“Olina--” I rubbed my forehead.

“I was all that was left. When I found your world, your kind who were so similar, I chose you, Larry. And I'm so sorry. There you had a life, a partner.”

“--stop.”

“Larry, I'm sorry.” Then we both had to fight the sorrow.

“No,” my hand took hers, “don't. That was another life. I care about you, our children.”

She put the device into my palm, and smiled her last. “Your choice now, Larry.”

I held my children close, watching the waves take the device. “Where's home?”

“Home is here,” they agreed.

- - -
David Edward Nell writes speculative fiction in his limited spare time from Cape Town, South Africa. Visit him at http://davidedwardnell.blogspot.com

12/13/12

Somewhere
By David Edward Nell


When I first arrived, I was twelve. I awoke to find myself at the onset of a well-lit tunnel, trapped, my limbs throttled. And so were the hundreds at my fore, perched inside transparent pods atop some sort of railway line--like a rollercoaster of the vulnerable. Like slaves.

Were we being held against our will? It seemed that way. Then again, I was just a kid with an imagination. Truthfully, I was clueless, my memories blanked out.

I couldn't recall a thing at the time, only that I really needed mom and dad, and my cranium was being met with a whistling nuisance. My calls withered against the enveloping glass. I saw movement in the other pods, heads bobbing and panicking. I was able to accost the full breadth of my surroundings, noticing the extent of the passage, where a white blip was stuck in limbo.

Then my eyes were torched to a rumple from the intensifying ceiling lights. Soon they became glowing strings, smudges. There was a motorized wane and I was plunged forward. The ricochet mechanism took us on a dizzying voyage, one I thought would never end, and not even shutting my eyes could prevent the ensuing retching urges.

We were swallowed into a scopious iron vault of pneumatic magnificence. Leaden clatters echoed across this clockwork of machinery that knew no bounds. Above, miniature suns blitzed the troposphere from four different directions in timely orchestration, omitting sulphur odors and barbed residues of disintegrating light. They raced upwards through a circular yawp stamped on a domed ceiling, where daylight refractions injected pearly brilliance. It was madness; both daunting and magnificent at once.

I saw anchors branch inward, toward us. My pod was rattled. There was a noisy, metallic collision. Each conveyance was whisked off to the left in flawless synchronicity, clunked on an adamantine surface of an immeasurable port. There was a hive of the uniformed on hand. It was a diligent, bustling pandemonium of adults. They appeared to be organizing and instructing, intent on something. I felt warmer in their presence, yet was still hesitant.

My jaw dropped even further at what I saw next. There were lightweight triangular barges the likes of which surpassed any fabrication I had ever seen. These shiny axillary wonderments, like voltaic kites, were sleek and lithe and windowless, unfeasible to the human eye. Some blazed into the open air at such great speeds, evolving into luminosity mid-flight, that the inaudible, harmonized nature of their launches was absurd by traditional rhetoric.

I became so emotional--frightened, mostly--that my grimacing cheeks were pinched by the mesh of my ensnarement. As if I had bawled so hard that my tear ducts were null, I was now unable to weep.

The glass slid downward. I was released from captivity, along with everyone else. There were people on their knees, people trembling and expressing their gratitude and speaking of what used to be of their homes. I waited where I was, then two men carefully guided me under their arms, and when I felt their gentle touch, I knew they meant no harm. When I saw the other adults hugging these patrons, I was relieved and had my bad thoughts put to rest. I murmured to someone on my right, “Please, my daddy, mommy--where are they?”

And then I saw them in the crowd. And I heard them weeping tuneless songs of joyous denial. I dropped into their open arms and cried. I didn't want to let go.

The men directed us to their flying ships. They told us it was time to stop mourning the old world and start anew. Back then I didn't understand.

We neared one as large as a house, in awe of its glimmering astral oscillations which emitted no heat. It was possible to reach out and feel white curls tickle and overlay one's flesh. They told us to stand beneath the underside of a glowing ventral tube. It would lead us in, they said.

My unbelieving laugh was returned by my parents. We closed our eyes and were absorbed into the ship's shelter. Immediately, we found ourselves standing in a mechanical roundness.

The pilot pulled a lever. The entire middle circumference retracted like a window, and the metallic wall was now transparent, revealing luminescent balls launching upwards past visibility. It was a planetarium of sorts. White curls of smoke rippled in front of the window in deafening veracity, signalling ignition and making us cower. We lifted off.

I saw my parents embrace, and then they brought me into their cuddle. We all clasped our ears against the vacuum noise. The iron walls and scenery descended.

The ship zoomed into the hewing shimmers of a blue-green sky that hammered us with blankets of heat. The station's domed, silvery vastitude could be discerned from above, clandestinely engraved into the maw of a sprawling jungle endless and indiscriminate in horizon. The soaring tropical trees went with the ship's gusts. Other ships zipped past and became bullets, angling, disappearing into the ozone. A licking cannonball of orange energy was fixed against the marine expanse--the sun, but even closer than before. I drowsily basked in its radiance, this intoxicating, otherworldly awe belching yellow harmonies that were absorbed into my frigidity. Warmer, even, than the sun I knew before.

My face was pressed against the window, agape. Everything was different. My parents were as silent as I.

The pilot turned from his controls and said, “Welcome to New Earth.”

***

That was the last I'd see of these heroes and their ships. Today, I tell of their legend, how they saved humanity. Today, we survive. All three thousand of us.

***

- - -
A software developer by day, David Edward Nell writes speculative fiction in his limited spare time from Cape Town, South Africa. Some of his works will soon be published in The Dark Side of the Womb, Dark Edifice, Twisted Dreams, and Cynic Online.