Beached Angels
On the third Sunday of the eleventh moneth–silent as the sea from which they emerged–a being of enormous size beached upon the shore of a quiet seaside town. Tangles of hair the colour of fire clung to their bronzed skin; arms like felled trunks of ancient trees lay heavy at their side; wings of gilded silver sprung from their back–cocooning their naked form as if to hide from our gaze; and the deep black pools of their eyes, stared lifeless into the abyss.
When dawn’s revealing light broke, the townsfolk gathered to observe the miraculous event. True believers thought they were witnessing the end of days and prayed to the great beyond for mercy from their vengeful god. Sceptics searched for answers in the rational, unable or unwilling to comprehend.
Word quickly travelled, and visitors from across the country arrived to marvel at the celestial body draped across the coastline. With each new dawn, more souls flocked to the seaside to witness the being in all its magnificence. The being was dubbed an angel, as no one could deny the resemblance. Those brave enough dared to approach; Academics took samples of their hair and plucked feathers in search of answers to questions beyond science; Children played hide and seek in amongst the angel's feathers; Lovers set up picnics atop the mountainous torso to watch the sunset over the horizon; The town became a tourist hotspot, bringing wealth and prosperity to the local businesses; And the quiet church was overwhelmed with new arrivals, seeking the cause of this miraculous occurrence.
As the days came and went, the angel, who had once embodied such beauty, began to decay. Their aura dulled as their skin took on a visage of death; Rot caused enormous caverns of decomposing flesh and bile to appear across their once sculpted body; Their magnificent wings had become plucked of all their majesty; Only their lifeless eyes remained unchanged, black pools staring endlessly into vast nothingness. The crowds that had once gathered began to thin; Tourists returned from whence they came; And the church was quiet once more.
When the last of the angels washed back into the sea, only the sand and sea stood witness. In time, people seemed to forget they had ever existed. Even those who saw the angels with their own eyes started to doubt their memories; Most chose never to speak of it again, instead returning to life as it had once been; and so, the events of that chilly autumn morning faded to nothing but a story whispered on the wind of a quiet seaside town.
New Carseri
As Sol rose over the mirrored buildings, twisting around one another to form impossible shapes, a dazzling display of artificial refracted light exposed the streets below. Pirouz turned sharply into a winding back alley, avoiding the glare and cutting her travel time by half. She knew the city and its hidden veins well, having grown up surrounded by the lights and noise accompanying the maze of the Sky Breachers. Wrought of metal and glass, they rose beyond sight. She had often wondered what it must be like to see New Carceri from up there, at the top of the world. Though, it was unlikely she would ever be afforded the opportunity. Sky Breachers were reserved for the wealthy elite and those who could afford the exorbitant visitor's pass. Father had often promised that they would buy a pass when she finished her education, and together they would see the city as they had always dreamed. It pained Pirouz to think of Father, so she pushed the intrusive thoughts down and instead turned her attention to the street around her. An array of screens sang out as she passed, displaying all new gadgets for easy living — Worry no more! With this handy new pocket-sized rebreather, you'll take fresh air wherever you go! The usual array of fast fashion and entertainment ads took up most of the remaining screens, while some displayed morning weather announcement — Clear and sunny with a midday shower set to last 45 minutes. Pirouz didn't understand how people got on before artificial weather, going about each day without knowing what to expect. Locating the umbrella in her bag, she gave it a reassured pat.
The streets were bustling; children ran up and down the narrow stairwells that lead to the upper and lower levels, almost knocking down the bleary-eyed commuters on their way to work. Pirouz joined the gentle flow of foot traffic for a short while before turning down a narrow access road, up a spiralling ramp and across a bridge, spitting her out in front of the offices of Lucid Architectural — making dreams a reality. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stepped across the threshold into the sterile building, quickly descending to the third floor and sliding unnoticed into her spacious workstation. She set aside her belongings and picked up the visor sitting where she had left it on her desk. Sliding the device over her eyes and flicking a switch on the frame, she was met with the familiar grid of her holo-canvas. She glanced at the jobs allocated for the day before opening her most recent project, a simulated playroom meant for toddlers. She kneeled to better inspect the hard-light arrays that made up the dancing toys and flashing lights she had created the previous day. Raising her fingers to a singing stuffed bear, she made a halting motion, causing it to freeze in place. With a parting of her fingers, the holo-canvas zoomed in until each tuft of fur could be tugged and tweezed into place.
Pirouz? When did you get in? Came a raspy voice from across the room.
Without looking up from her work Pirouz called back in response. Hiya Marie. Not long ago, Mum had a rough night.
Well, don't let Paul see you slacking; he's not in a good mood after last week.
Yeah.
Drinks after work?
Yeah… Yeah. If I can get this damn fur to look real.
Don't be so dramatic. It looks perfect.
A beat passed as Pirouz assessed her progress. Not yet. She muttered.
Right… Good luck, then.
—
She emerges from her cocoon! Shouted Marie, from the bar stool she gracefully occupied.
Do you even know what that means? Pirouz said derisively as she took her seat and accepted a tall glass of white liquor.
No… but it sounds pretty, doesn't it? Marie had a contemplative look, clearly already a few drinks in. As she swivelled to face Pirouz, her expression turned sympathetic; How is your Mother doing?
No better, no worse.
I'm sorry. I wish there were something I could do.
Unless you have a crapload of credits stashed somewhere, there's little either of us can do.
Marie's eyes widened suddenly. I do! Well, I sorta do... I have a way that you can make a crapload of credits!
"You do? What is it?"
A friend told me about this old guy who was looking for some private holo work, she thought I might be interested, but it's way beyond me. I'm betting you could do it, though!
Pirouz considered the proposal. The private holo market was infamous for its unregulated chaos. Marie insisted the opportunity was legitimate, claiming a friend worked for the old man's company. Emboldened by the liquor and satisfied with her friend's testimony, Pirouz placed the now empty glass back on the bar;
I guess I could check it out. What's the harm, right?
—
The Sky Breacher loomed overhead, sending a shiver down Pirouz's spine as she craned her neck to see its top — Pointless. It had to be one of the tallest in the city, extending vertically in a crooked mass of sculpted metal. Swallowing hard, she entered the magnificent building through an enormous set of clouded glass doors and was immediately taken aback at its emptiness. Apart from herself, all that stood in the room was an elegant desk against the far wall, with a lone receptionist behind it, busily tapping away on a remote device. The receptionist looked up expectantly when she heard the door close and stood. Pirouz gingerly approached.
Pirouz? Chirped the receptionist, a practised smile on her face. We've been expecting your arrival. Please, head straight up.
The receptionist pushed a button on the desk, and a set of double doors appeared as if from nowhere, revealing a spacious glass elevator.
Up? Pirouz murmured.
Mr Wynne is expecting you in the penthouse.
Pirouz hesitated; everything in her life had led her to this moment. After all this time, she would see the top of the world, just as she had always wanted. She stepped into the maw of the elevator and heard the doors shut swiftly behind her. Closing her eyes, she readied herself as the crystal elevator began its long ascent.
Pirouz could feel the elevator shifting as she readied herself. Thinking of how happy Father would have been if he knew what she was doing, she opened her eyes and gasped in astonishment. As far off as the horizon, the city below spread like a labyrinth of diverging paths, breaking off from one another into countless fractured deviations. The mid-morning illumination from Sol bathed the buildings in a glittering spectacle of dancing lights, whilst the interconnected bridges that joined together the buildings of New Carceri shaded entire city blocks.
She analysed every minute detail, desperate to store the image in her mind, when a sudden rolling darkness overtook her vision. She jumped back and fell to the floor in surprise, only then realising that her face had been pushed against the glass wall. She picked herself up and returned to the glass, confused and frustrated by the intrusion of the black mass surrounding the elevator. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it suddenly vanished from sight, and a blinding light took its place. Pirouz raised her hands to cover her eyes, but as she did, the glass tinted to a darker shade, and the light dissipated.
Baffled by the strange occurrences, Pirouz took a wary step towards the glass to ensure she could still see New Carceri below. She placed a hand on the glass to steady herself as she gasped in shock. Where once there had been a sprawling cityscape, now there was only a bank of enormous black clouds, rolling into one another like plumes of smoke. The cloud bank seemed to go on infinitely, only broken by the occasional Sky Breacher, poking through the swirling mass in the distance. Distracted by the black clouds, it took Pirouz a moment to realise that even the Sky Breachers that towered over the city now looked tiny by comparison, and she wondered just how high she was.
With a ding, the elevator stopped, and a bewildered Pirouz stepped out. The penthouse was an impressive sight. A large entrance gave way to a heavily windowed viewing area; The connecting hallway led down to what looked to be a bed and office space. Pirouz cautiously entered the room, expecting to see a sign of her client. The walls were decorated with hanging frames with pictures of things Pirouz had never seen. Entranced, she stepped gingerly around the room, inspecting each one. She stopped at a frame hanging away from the others. It depicted a strange twisted object jutting from the ground and separating into countless smaller, fragmenting points.
What are you? She murmured.
That is a tree.
Snapping back to reality, Pirouz turned quickly to face the elderly man she now saw standing patiently in the hall as though he had been there for some time. It's beautiful.
It's dead.
Suddenly feeling a flush of embarrassment, Pirouz remembered she was standing in someone else's home. I'm sorry to intrude. My name is Pir-
Pirouz. I know. Thank you for coming. Please feel free to enjoy the rest of the gallery.
The elderly man's gentle nature calmed Pirouz as he approached a collection of frames depicting vistas of harsh rockface and shades of green beyond anything she had ever seen. For a moment, the man seemed lost in thought before turning and waving to Pirouz, inviting her to join him.
What are these photographs of exactly?
Our world.
I've never seen anything like them before.
No… You should be glad. It's a painful memory.
I'm sorry.
No… I'm sorry. I asked you here for a purpose.
Yes? What is it?
I want you to bring them back.
—
Pirouz steadied her hand as she delicately traced the shape of a leaf against a thinning branch. For a moment, she admired her work. Never had she created something so foreign. All she had for reference were the images on the benefactor's walls. Still, there was something uncomfortably familiar about this project.
She had extracted quite a bit of information from her host, whom she confirmed was the wealthy Mr Wynn. He spoke of the world when he was a young man. Abundant grasslands, lush forests, and crystal waterways that carved their way down perilous mountains. He told her of a broken humanity, more concerned with progress than the present. He spoke of his mistakes, greedily feeding off the land that nurtured him. Turning beauty into profits until there was nothing left to profit on.
Pirouz had been working for some days now, each morning arriving at the looming tower and riding the elevator as far as it goes. With each trip up the tower, Pirouz looked across the city and try to picture it with rolling grass hills, abundant with greenery. She wasn't surprised by the cloud bank anymore. Mr Wynn told her that it was the atmospheric line where the artificial weather machines operate. She would enter the penthouse, greet the always present and charming Mr Wynn, and set to work. In thehours that followed, Mr Wynn would regale Pirouz with tales of the natural world. He had a bittersweet way of remembering, clearly feeling heavy emotion when he spoke.
You expect to finish today, Pirouz? Mr Wynn questioned, breaking Pirouz from her daydream.
Yes! Actually, I think I’m done. Would you like to see it?
Mr Wynn gace a sullen nod, and Pirouz took this as a sign of affirmation. She slid the visor from her head and switched the wall device to a hard light preview. With a flicker, the landscape filled the space in the centre of the room. A creek of gently flowing water bubbled in amongst a modest treeline; a gust of wind shook the leaves and caused the oaks to sway; and distant birdsong filled the air.
Pirouz stood back, doing her best not to look in the direction of Mr Wynn, uncertain how he would react to her interpretation of his photographs. Unable to control herself, she quickly glanced his way. Mr Wynn stepped towards the illuminated image, reaching out a hand as if to rest it against the closest tree, but as he reached the trunk his hand passed right through. He stared for a moment at his hand before looking up at Pirouz. She could see in the refracted hard light of the hologram as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Exegesis
New Carceri is a theoretical post-anthropocentric text based upon the etchings of Italian printmaker Giovanni Battista Piranesi (Piranesi, Carceri D'Invenzione - Prisoners on a Projecting Platform 1761). The plot follows a young woman as she navigates a world irrevocably changed by unchecked human development and explores what humanity looks like when completely separated from our natural environment. In writing this piece, my initial goal was to explore the idea of the Anthropocene, blurring "the line that would distinguish an organism from what surrounds it" (Latour, After lockdown: A metamorphosis 2021) until all evidence of the line that once existed was beyond recognition. I contended that whilst critics will contend that "humans [are] separate from and superior to nature" (Boslaugh, Britannica 2016), the unconscious and perpetuating truth is that we are as much a part of nature as anything else. Therefore New Carceri is not necessarily a criticism of climate deniers or pro-human activists but rather a hypothetical future state of the natural world.
I avoided using words or phrases that alluded to anything natural throughout the text. As such, when it came time to describe images of landscapes, I struggled to find the right words. Perhaps irrationally, my first consideration for solving this problem was pastoral writing. I was particularly interested in how 'The pastoral can be a mode of political critique of present society' (Gifford, Pastoral 2019). Therefore, instead of writing in poetics about the land's natural beauty, I attempted the inverse. The result was a distinct lack of poetry in the text in contrast to classical pastoral prose that worked to critique the absence of nature in modern society.
During the writing process, I came across a series of articles touting modern solutions to climate change issues. I chose to weave elements of Serbia's 'Liquid Trees' — an 'innovative tool for reducing greenhouse gas emissions and improving air quality' (Castim, A liquid tree? scientists in Serbia make incredible innovation 2022) and China's 'Artifical Sun' — 'a safer alternative to fission nuclear power' (Magazine, China's artificial sun just broke a record for longest sustained nuclear fusion 2022) into New Carceri. The basis of the novel — a world post-climate change — and the realities of these innovative clime change solutions speaks to the idea of 'separate[ing] our human bodies from climate' (Neimanis & Walker, Weathering: Climate change and the "Thick Time" of Transcorporeality 2014) and as such, becoming disconnected from the natural world.
New Carceri is a contemplative, non-critical, post-anthropocentric, anti-pastoral, post-climate short story. In writing it, I hope to allow readers to explore the concepts presented without judgment or expectation. Whilst this piece may not inspire a generation of climate activists, this type of climate fiction is essential in exploring the futurity of humanity and realising how impactful today's decisions will be in the world of tomorrow.
Citations
Boslaugh, S.G. (2016) anthropocentrism [Preprint]. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/topic/anthropocentrism (Accessed: 08 June 2023).
Castim, D. (2022) A liquid tree? scientists in Serbia make incredible innovation, World Bio Market Insights. Available at: https://worldbiomarketinsights.com/a-liquid-tree-scientists-in-serbia-make-incredible-innovation/ (Accessed: 08 June 2023).
Gifford, T. (2019) Pastoral. Oxfordshire, UK: Routledge.
Latour , B. (2021) After lockdown: A metamorphosis. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.
Magazine, S. (2022) China’s artificial sun just broke a record for longest sustained nuclear fusion, Smithsonian.com. Available at: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/chinas-artificial-sun-reactor-broke-record-for-nuclear-fusion-180979336/ (Accessed: 08 June 2023).
Neimanis, A. and Walker, R.L. (2014) ‘Weathering: Climate change and the “Thick Time” of Transcorporeality’, Hypatia, 29(3), pp. 558–575. doi:10.1111/hypa.12064.
Piranesi, G.B. (1761) Carceri D’Invenzione - Prisoners on a Projecting Platform, Princeton University Art Museum. Available at: https://artmuseum.princeton.edu/object-package/giovanni-battista-piranesi-imaginary-prisons/3640 (Accessed: 08 June 2023).
Raised by WLVS
Long ago, before oceans rose and kingdoms fell, there lived a brilliant toymaker and his beloved daughter.
They dwelled comfortably in a small cabin at the edge of a dark forest. The toymaker was old, but his wits were sharp, and his fingers were nimble. Patchy bushes of grey hair dotted his freckled head, and past the hill of his brow rested a pair of heavy black eyes. The girl was slight, kind of heart, and curious of mind. Her hair was black as raven feathers, she had ivory skin, soft as silt and her eyes were pools of starlight. They loved one another and had a good life.
Each morning, they walked into the local town to sell his toys. Most townsfolk gave them disapproving glances, but the children smiled and ran to them, eager to see the magnificent toys for sale. When evening came, they would leave the town with a cart full of food for their dinners and materials for the next batch of toys. When the girl had gone to sleep late in the night, the toymaker would sit at his workbench and make all new toys for the next day.
One morning, the toymaker was too tired to go into town, so the daughter went alone. Although young, she was friendly and brilliant like her father, so she had no problem selling the toys and buying the usual things to bring back home. When she returned, she found her father still in his bed. She was concerned, but he told her not to worry. They ate dinner, and the toymaker once again sat at his workbench after the girl had gone to sleep. When morning came, the girl awoke, but her father did not, lifelessly slumped on his workbench, with a hand grasping his last design.
In spite of the death, the girl's heart remained full, for her father had left her three gifts.
First, he had left her the forest, filled with magic to those with a curious mind. She climbed tall trees and hung from high branches, swam in crystal waters and shared meals with colourful songbirds.
Second, the toymaker's finest invention yet. A humanoid robot converted from the remains of an ancient machine. On his last night, her father had awakened the machine to act as a guardian for the young girl when he could not. She had named it Wolf for the markings on its torso—WLVS. Wolf was far bigger than an ordinary man and prone to sparking when excited. His shell was a rusted iron punctured with holes, and the eye in the centre of his head shone a devilish red. For many days and many nights, Wolf and the girl kept each other company and she quickly grew to love the machine.
Third, she had her mind. Her father had taught her many things, and although her fingers were not quite as nimble as his, she took on her father's role and made new toys for the townsfolk.
After some time had passed, the townsfolk began to talk, concerned that they had not seen the toymaker for some time. Some guessed that the man had fled, leaving his daughter behind. Others whispered that he was practising some dark magic deep in the forest. But all agreed that the girl needed to be rescued. The next evening, as the sun fell and the girl packed up her supplies, the townsfolk waited patiently in nearby shadows. They silently followed as she lugged her cart back to the cabin at the forest's edge.
When they arrived and saw Wolf waiting for the girl, some turned and ran in fear. The bravest gathered sticks and rocks for weapons and charged the robot. Wolf put up no resistance as the mob converged. The girl tried to intervene but was grabbed and dragged, kicking and screaming, back to town. They locked her in a small room until she had cried herself to sleep. For the first time in her life, the girl felt alone.
The next day, she was told that she would be living with a new family, a man and a woman with eight children of their own. They were perfectly pleasant in public, but behind closed doors, they became cruel. The girl was given a small room under the stairs and told that she must make toys as payment for their kindness. They became upset whenever the girl asked to return home and would lock her in her room, often for days at a time.
One night, when the father had drunk himself into a deep sleep, and the mother was busy with the other children, the girl snuck out the back door and fled towards the cabin at the forest's edge. As she approached, the moonlight revealed a black scar on the forests edge. The townsfolk had set the cabin alight. instead of sleeping, she sat at her fathers workbench, her nimble fingers working as she had been taught to do.
When morning came, the kind girl with the curious mind walked into town with her father's final invention, rebuilt from scraps and given a new purpose. The sight of Wolf caused the townsfolk to run in terror, but they would not be fast enough to escape the vengefeul death they brought upon themselves.
A Collection of Poetry
a letter to the inheritors
you might not be an explorer
they said the age of discovery is over
they handed you a filled in map
told you where the edges where
whispered complex histories
through gritted teeth
while you stood on bloodstained soil
they called it inheritance
they tamed the land
polished like a prize turd, you
a caged bird
on a sinking ship
flashing canary yellow
you see the scars they left
they match your own, you
who will write the inheritors story
yellow
birds that can't sing, shout
honeyed words
the sky is heavy at night
morning is lighter
mother's favourite pallet for
nature's sunlit kisses
forlorn flowers flare
pale fire
starlight dances, on
midnight tapestry
joy by any other name
Currawong
Sit patient under sunburnt sky,
Whilst I fill my head with birdsong,
Lost inside your crimson eye.
Whisper poems in lullaby,
Till' distant echoes sing along,
Sit patient under sunburnt sky.
There you stand so still, and I
Could watch you all day long
Lost inside your crimson eye.
All creatures of the land, from butterfly
to mighty Currawong,
Sit patient under sunburnt sky.
Lost inside your crimson eye.
Street Magic
Golden fingers of sunlight dance across the autumnal sky. They catch on tiny water droplets that pitter-patter across the city in light rain, bringing about a scene of liquid sunshine that makes you want to believe in magic. Not a storybook magic, but real honest-to-god magic.
Perched in the window of a honey-lit cafe, sipping on the oat-milk sticky chai made for me by the gloomy barista, who is surviving on two hours of sleep and four shots of coffee, I watch as the tapestry of the world passes by. Men in business suits speak dramatically into their phones; dogs drag their owners around on leads; construction workers take a hard-earned cigarette break; At a crossing, a father shields himself from the rain with a newspaper with his right hand while protectively reaching for his daughter’s hand with his left. The daughter, dressed in an oversized yellow raincoat, takes her father’s outstretched hand as if it were second nature. He squeezes her hand tight, and they begin a silent conversation they’ve had countless times before.
Father: Don’t let go.
Daughter: I know.
As they wait for the green man to appear, they are joined by impatient crowds, always in a rush to be somewhere else. But the father knows better. He knows that nowhere else and nothing else could be more important to him than being right here in this moment, holding his daughter’s hand. The silent conversation turns into a wordless promise.
Father: I will always protect you.
Daughter: I know.
Father: Soon you’ll be too old to hold my hand.
You’ll go off on your own to do amazing things.
You’ll be happier than you could ever imagine;
and sadder than you thought you could be.
You’ll make every mistake I ever tried to stop you from making.
You’ll think you failed. You’ll give up;
then you’ll get right back up and try again;
you will be amazing.
And if you need me. I’ll be right beside you.
Daugher: I know.
The crossing light turns green, and hand in hand, they step onto the road. He guides her across the street, avoiding people and potholes. For the next next thirty seconds, he guides her as he will for the rest of his life, all while knowing that soon they’ll reach the other end, and he will need to let go. Let go of her hand; let her make the mistakes that shape her; let her get hurt and learn from it; let her find herself in the dangerous world. When they reach the other side, and she starts to pull away, he holds on for just another moment.
Daughter: You need to let go
Father: I know
Their hands part as they disappear over the horizon. The rain has stopped, and the sky has shifted to a soft blue. Real honest-to-god magic.
A Utopian Debate
© 2023
ACT 1
Scene 1
In a utilitarian hospital room, a woman, LAYNE, lies prone in a hospital bed, attached to a series of machines that assist with her breathing and other bodily functions. She has long, grey hair and ghostly pale skin. She looks severely unwell.
A door slides open on the far wall, and RORI enters. They wear a grey jumpsuit and sport a cropped haircut. They stroll over to LAYNE, stopping first to gaze out of a window, which looks down on a large, well-lit room filled with rows of vegetation.
LAYNE struggles to lift her head as she moves to see who has entered the room. When she sees RORI, she stirs and moves to sit up. Seeing this, RORI moves away from the window and helps LAYNE prop herself against the bedframe.
RORI
Hello. How are you feeling?
LAYNE moves to remove the breathing mask attached to her face, but RORI stops her.
RORI
No. Don't speak. That was silly of me.
If I keep encouraging you, the doctors will have me banned from this place.
RORI lets out a soft chuckle as LAYNE falls back into a seated position. Weak from the exertion, she closes her eyes. RORI takes her hand.
RORI
You're looking better. They say you'll be back to walking in your gardens soon. They are very pretty at the moment. Although, I'm still determining what they've got growing.
RORI looks puzzled towards the window onto the vegetation on the other side.
RORI
I never could wrap my head around botany.
No matter how many times you tried to teach me.
LAYNE remains still, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. RORI turns back towards LAYNE.
RORI
I have some news. If you would like to hear it?
LAYNE opens her eyes and stares into RORI's face, showing excitement and fear.
RORI
We are going above. Tomorrow.
LAYNE looks confused for a moment. Then, a look of shock crosses her face.
RORI
I still can't believe it's actually happening. It took a lot of planning and more than a bit of arguing. But they finally agreed to let a few of us go. We are going to see the surface.
RORI stands in excitement, turning from LAYNE and walking towards the window. They place a hand in the glass and smile.
RORI
I can remember it, you know? I'm sure I've told you. I know I was young, so it's probably not a memory. But if I close my eyes…
RORI closes her eyes and appears to concentrate.
RORI
... and I focus, I sware can feel the sun warming my skin. I can smell flowers in the air. It's not much, but it's real to me.
RORI smiles at the thought. As RORI has been talking, LAYNE has removed her breathing mask and looks more alert.
LAYNE
You mustn't go. You can't.
RORI turns quickly to face LAYNE, a look of surprise and concern on their face. They hurriedly move towards the bed.
RORI
Layne! What have you done!? Where is your mask!? The doctors…
LAYNE
Never mind that!
LAYNE slaps RORI's hands away as they fumble for the breathing mask. LAYNE is now sitting perfectly straight in the bed. Her demeanour is stern and imposing. Her health appears to have improved dramatically in moments.
LAYNE
You mustn't go up there. There is no going back, Rori.
RORI looks shocked at the sudden improvement of LAYNE and the words she speaks.
LAYNE
You may think you remember something good. But for many of us, it was all we could do to forget. There is nothing up there but pain and regret.
RORI
Layne...
As LAYNE speaks, she becomes more impassioned.
LAYNE
You need to hear me! You need to understand! There is nothing for us up there! Nothing for YOU up there! But here, we have a chance! We built this new world to be better. We fought for it! We bled for it! We buried our brothers and sisters! And we won. Our world. Our NEW world! Better than the old.
LAYNE, now struggling to breathe again, fumbles for the breathing mask. RORI calmly sits at the bedside and assists her with the mask.
RORI
Thank you, Layne. Thank you for giving us a chance. A chance to live. A chance to laugh, love and be loved. A chance to learn from the mistakes of the past.
RORI forces LAYNEs hand into their own, smiling sweetly as they look into her eyes.
RORI
But you also gave us this chance. A chance to try again. I don't want to hurt you, but we are going above tomorrow for better or worse.
And, if it's as bad as you say, and there really is nothing up there, that's okay too. At least we'll have tried.
RORI leans in and kisses LAYNE on the cheek.
RORI
And I'll have felt the warmth of the sun again.
Goodbye Layne. I'll see you again soon.
A tear rolls down LAYNEs face as RORI rises from the chair and leaves the hospital room without another word.
The Singing Tree
Long ago, somewhere over the edge of the world, there stood a magnificent forest that spread as far as the eye could see. This forest was unlike any other, for it contained all the trees that there have ever been. Stout bushes brimming with heart shaped leaves flowered in a brilliant array of blues, and pinks, and yellows; mighty gums reached as high as the clouds; and a canopy of thick branches hung overhead like a vast emerald crown. For the longest time the forest and the creatures within thrived, and all was right with the world.
One fateful day, a newcomer came to the edge of the forest, looking upon it with interest. The creatures of the forest watched curiosly, as the newcomer was unlike any other that had come before.
Some days later, the newcomer was joined by others. They arrived with several horse-drawn carts, carrying shining silver axes and terrible serrated blades. The creatures of the forest watched in fascination as these tools of destruction were methodically put to use, gathering resources for wooden structures the newcomers referred to as houses. When the first structure was complete, they built another, then another, cutting down more trees as they went until they had carved an unnatural gap in the bountiful forest.
The creatures of the land tried desperately to reason with the newcomers, who ignored their plea and continued day by day, to cut away more of the forest and build their houses.
One year on, the small collection of houses had grown into a bustling village whose size rivalled that of the once-magnificent forest. Each morning, the villagers would take their carts to the edge of the forest and cut down more trees, feeding their endless lust for destruction and their growing need for resources.
On one such morning, as the villagers worked their way into the deepest part of the forest, they came across a clearing, at the centre of which stood a solitary tree unlike any other. Its bark was ghostly white and its leaves were gilded silver. As tall as it was wide, the tree was a sight to behold for villagers and forest creatures alike. When the wind blew through its branches, the tree seemed to sing, its voice both haunting and enchanting.
Awestruck by the majesty of the singing tree, the villagers halted their axes. Instead, they gathered around the ancient trunk and listened to the beautiful melody the tree produced.
The creatures of the land watched with curiosity and wariness. Drawn too by the tree’s ethereal melody, they hesitantly joined the villagers around the ancient trunk. For many days and nights to follow, the villagers and the creatures lived with a newfound sense of peace and happiness. Each morning, as the sun illuminated the silvery leaves and the fresh morning air blew through the tallest branches, they would gather around the ancient trunk and sing.
–
In the heart of the forest, were sun is rarely seen,
Stands a tree, ghostly white with shining silver leaves.
Listen close and you might hear something on the wind,
Because my friend, what you have found is the singing tree.
Oh singing tree, oh singing tree,
Let your voice carry me,
Carry me, through the forest on echoed melody.
Oh singing tree, oh singing tree,
Voice so wild and free,
Follow me, oh follow me, to the singing tree.
Sun and sky stand witness to your heartfelt song,
Creatures of the forest and we all do sing along.
With voices clear and a patient ear,
We listen to your voice, so wise and strong.
Oh singing tree, oh singing tree,
Let your voice carry me,
Carry me, through the forest on echoed melody.
Oh singing tree, oh singing tree,
Voice so wild and free,
Follow me, oh follow me, to the singing tree.
So, if you hear the forest sing a haunting little tune,
Do not fear, the tree is near, letting out a croon.
And in that song that sounds in heartfelt lullaby,
Will be the secrets of the forest, sung only for you.
–
One morning, when the creatures gathered to hear the song of the ancient tree, they noticed a branch was missing, cut clean from the ghostly trunk. Its absence leaving a void in the ancient tree's melody. Confused and desperate to understand what had happened, the creatures went to the village to see if they knew what had befallen the tree they loved so dearly.
They came across a large gathering of villagers, their expressions a mix of excitement and curiosity. The creatures joined the crowd to see what had captured their interest. In the centre of the gathering stood a villager holding high an instrument of ghostly white wood, hollowed out and coiled with fine wire. The villager raised a hand and the crowd fell to silence, their eyes fixed on the instrument. When the musician ran their hands over the strings an ethereal sound echoed through the village square, mirroring the song of the ancient tree. The villagers erupted in applause and cheers as the creature's hearts sank.
Over the coming days, the villagers returned to the singing tree, this time with their carts. They chopped, trimmed, cut and carved until the ancient tree would sing no more. All that remained of the singing tree was a ghostly stump; a silent witness to the horrors of greed, its song forever lost.
The forest creatures could only watch. The peace they thought they had found was lost, and their efforts to reason with the villagers proved useless. Day by day, more and more trees were lost as the villagers returned to their destructive behaviour; and at night the village came alive with a rapturous melody from a band of ghostly white instruments, singing in the song of the forest.