To the Edge

“Due end of week,” she said.

I accepted the file transfer.

“Anything else?”

“Check in on the dome too, yeah?”

“Or we’ll all die?”

“Cold,” she said, her aug profile smirking.

“Mars is colder.”

“Answers for everything.”

“This trip wouldn’t work without me,” I said.

“Don’t be so sure.”

We ended comms.

I stared at my screen.

With a flick, I opened an isolated program and equipped a headset.

“Activate,” I said.

My private quarters morphed into the landscape of a digital alien world. Starships, exotic forests, grand ocean cities.

Reality wouldn’t send me over the edge just yet.

© 2018-2021 Rebecca Glaessner

Binding a World

Day by day, the population thinned. Babies weren’t being conceived as often as they once had. The sun’s radiation increased week by week. Cancer counts increased. Hospitals overflowed. Lives faded.
Those with fair skin donned sunscreen every morning without fail, before continuing life. Most just stayed indoors.
All were failing fertility tests.

Years pass.
A coloured President. Prime Minister. Council and Board members. School principals. Teachers. Newspeople. Neighbours. Friends. They all grew darker.
White folk just weren’t strong enough; their evolutionary lines unprepared.
The last died and all others pushed onward, darker skin binding a world in peace.

© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner

Learning

I’m holding tight, too tight, relax the hands, relax the back, breathe. It’s okay.
Lights flash past. Eyes dart up, down, left, right, checking. They settle straight ahead for a moment, only to dart around again and again, keeping tabs on all surrounds.
Hands are gripping tighter again. Relax. Breathe.
So many things to focus on—perhaps too many things.
Breathe. Concentrate.
I can hear our little ones asleep behind us.
Look up. Focus. How fast? Who’s behind? Where do I need to go?
I flick the indicator, looking left. I merge.
I wonder when the confidence will come.

© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner

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