Being requires exploration. By flowering, we heal.

She’d clattered up the stairs, along the corridor, and into his┬álab, clutching a black linen bag to her chest. She’d begged him for help. He still wasn’t sure.

“You realise it’s a particle/wave ionisation device? It will move you in time, or space, but it’s not perfected yet. You could end up anywhere. Any-when”.

They could both hear the footsteps in the distance, coming closer.

“There’s no other way. Please -” she begged him – “Do it”.

And he flicked the switch.

When the guards arrived, he was alone, tapping away quietly on his keyboard. They ripped the lab apart, but there was nothing to find.

Twenty-seven years later, he still thought about her from time to time – wondered if he’d done the right thing, why she was so desperate, where she’d ended up. Somehow it wasn’t surprising that, as he tidied up his desk, just after 6pm on Friday 17th June, she appeared in corner of the lab. She looked dazed, walked over to him and touched his cheek gently.

“You got old” she whispered. He nodded, silent.

She opened the bag, then, and showed him something he had thought he’d never see again. Bees. A roiling, buzzing mass of them. He turned to look out of the window, at the grove of almond trees, that had blossomed but not fruited for the last seven years.

When he turned back, she saw that he was crying.

 

This is for Jenny Maloney’s Wednesday challenge. She’s sent us to the New Age Bullshit Generator, to inspire ourselves with random New Age style ramblings. Hence the slightly weird title. I’d like to see a randon right-wing rant generator – except I think there might be one in the White House. Anyhow, it didn’t turn out very New Age, but there you go. It comes in at 250 words, which is fairly flash.

Gaia II – microfiction for Jane Dougherty

Yesterday I watched some newly hatched spiderlings dispersing on the wind, each hanging from its own, fine thread, each looking for a home.

It made me think of Gaia II, launched seven years ago. Hardly believable now, that we could build that amazing biosphere, with its ecosystem designed to maintain itself for millenia, if necessary. And those uterine chambers, filled with embryos – human, of course, and larger animals, all waiting to be born into a brave new world.

We all waved the ship goodbye, and wished it well. We followed it on television and on the internet, bought apps to track its journey. Now it is silent. Signals take too long to return to us, and anyway, since the war it’s been hard to coordinate any kind of international effort.

So, yesterday was the first time in months I’d thought of it, and I’m one of the lucky ones. As well as my two daughters here, I have an embryonic son, sleeping in amniotic fluid in an artificial womb, somewhere out there. My chance at some kind of immortality. I wonder what his life will be like – the synth-mothers teaching him basic technology, and co-operative skills. I hope he helps to build a better world than this one.

I’ll never know. Nor will my daughters, or their children, or theirs. We won’t know how this story ends.

We have cast a bottle, with a message written in DNA, out into the dark ocean of space. All we can do now is pray for it.

Image by Makis Wilarmis. Prompt courtesy of Jane Dougherty. I am really looking forward to reading these stories…1017px-2010_utopien_arche04