A short story

Parable 1

Sophie watched as her hometown collapsed under the weight of the effusive neon light, which now coated in a manner not unlike a roiling, living blanket. There, just by the horizon is, or was, the steeple of the church she attended since she was 6, where she was baptized in front of the congregation, where she met M. Closer in her bleary view her eyes scanned with unfocused attention for any signs of movement, where hopefully someone, anyone would show signs of life. Instead, she watched the buildings crumble under the pressure of the neon light; the last structure to collapse was the water tower on the north side of town. M’s and her watertower. The steel support structures whined before buckling, the spilling water went unnoticed by the neon light..

Sophie coughed.

A faint wisp of chartreuse light came to life from her lungs and dissipated into the dark of the night sky.

“God save us.”

Before all of what that was- she still doesn’t have a good name for it Sophie had a plan for what tomorrow would be. She would wake up, say good morning to her two moms, eat the Saturday morning crêpe smorgasbord that would be awaiting her, go to her volunteering at the no-kill shelter, and meet M for a night of ice cream and bowling. Sophie had gone to bed and said her usual prayer for peace, safety, and gratitude and dreamed uneasily. What was that dream though? Was she running from something, someone, or were the prior events muddling the memory of her dream? No, she can’t think of that right now, can’t think of…

Sophie loped to the base of a towering white oak tree that she read under when she was a child. Collapsing at the base of the tree she prayed until her worried mind drifted into unconsciousness, her eyelids a poor shield against the strange neon light.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber nor sleep. I lift my eyes to the hills…”

Parable 2

Awaking suddenly, Sophie’s mind reeled with the nightmare- vision? no, that was definitely a nightmare- that had plagued her sleep. Again, there she was, running away, screaming. But from what? She sat upright, and rested her head uncomfortably against the corky bark, trying desperately to hold on to the ephemeral images. Why did it feel so important to her that she remember the dream when just a second ago she was so relieved to have been free from it? Did God actually give visions? Was this a calling? No, she didn’t believe so. Besides, Pastor Greg said prophecy and visions were moreso storytelling elements than actual manifestations of divinity, although Pastor Greg would often immediately follow up this claim with, “God does work through surprises,” as if giving himself or God an escape route. Sophie would have to pray on it. Her growling stomach beckoned her back to the here and now.

Crêpes. Moms. Shelter. M.

Sophie stood slowly, took one step towards the overlook and hesitated. She didn’t know if she had the inner strength to look back at her quaint, little town, the diminutive skyline that raised her eyes from a baby, still effused with the strange neon light; but she must.

“Through God all things are possible,” she reminded herself. She took one step forward again, and again she repeated the soothing Psalm until she pushed past the ferns and peered over the valley.

“No. That’s, that’s not right,” she mumbled. “I must still be in that nightmare.” The valley was a roaring sea of botanical green. The canopies of large elm and ash blanketed the downtown, swaying in the wind with a repetition that reminded her of ‘the wave’ at a sporting event. The vegetation had grown so much overnight Sophie struggled to make out where downtown actually was. She strained her eyes for a minute, searching for anything recognizable until she finally found it. There, impossibly, was the steeple that she had watched crumble, the steeple under which she hoped to marry. She had stared in grief as the pinnacle was brought low, the cross spearing the earth. Yet, there it was, as tall as ever, now covered in a green mat of what appeared to be ivy. Ivy that hadn’t been there yesterday, ivy that sweet, old Kat who lived next door to the church embattled every weekend, keeping it in check. Also, where was that neon glow that burned both sky and ground, Sophie thought. The stillness of it all bothered her. It reminded her of the time at Cowan Lake when she was 12. Her mothers, herself, and the other campers in hushed anticipation, watching from the relative safety of a tornado shelter as a distant storm threatened the valley with funnel clouds.

Something about the current scene though felt wrong, unnatural, unholy, a mistake, like the town suddenly merged with the adjacent nature preserve. Yet, something deep within the wrong town beckoned her. Sophie shook her head. It must still be that nightmare weighing on her, playing on her anxiety. Then, a thought came to her, what now? The town seemed safe. Wrong, definitely, but safe to go back in to now that the burning had stopped; and shouldn’t she go back? Shouldn’t she see if there are survivors who need help? Her momma did tell her to run and not look back, but where else would she go? In her terror, she ran and ran and ran and forgot to grab her supplies, so she had to return anyway. Besides, the… thing… the light had passed. It was safe now, at least for some initial reconnaissance. Step one, go back home and grab some supplies, namely her phone so that she might call M and FEMA. Is that who you contacted in these sort of situations? Step two, look for survivors and help them to safety. Thankfully, Sophie had taken the Red Cross First Aid course that her community college had offered so she felt comfortable providing it. Step three, hm, that one would come to her later. Sophie began to walk.

As she retraced her steps down the hill back along her nocturnal egress, Sophie let her mind retrace last night’s events. The first memory was of a raw, through-rasping scream from a woman, the kind where you aren’t sure if it was sourced from pleasure or pain. At first, Sophie had thought it was coming from her nightmare, but as her eyes flitted open, the sound continued. Sophie’s heartbeat leaped up into her throat; the scream continued unabated in the air around her without a point of origin. The air itself seemed to be the source

of that banshee-wail. Suddenly, Sophie found herself stumbling and disoriented down the hallway to the living room where her dog, Pancake- a broad mutt with a penchance for stealing pancakes when you weren’t looking- slept on an over-cushioned dog bed. Sophie turned the corner and froze. Pancake writhed on the dog bed, both whimpering and growling. There was a neon-green light blossoming from her. Unblinking, Sophie watched as the light burned at Pancake’s fur. Pancake’s eyes returned her gaze and Sophie couldn’t place whether it was pleading or joy that stared back.

“MOMS‽”

No reply.

The air still screamed. Pancake still writhed. Sophie made her way to the sink, placed a bucket under the faucet, and yanked the handle. More of the neon-green light spilled out and began to spread outwards through the air. Sophie scrambled away, knocking over and shattering the flower vase she made in pottery class in twelfth grade.

“Mom? Momma? What is happening‽”

Sophie heard a thumping sound from her parents’ bedroom and she creeped her way towards the shut door. The same lime, no, chartreuse light spilled through the perimeter of the closed door. Sophie stood

for a few seconds staring at the chartreuse-bordered door; the shifting quality of the light began to hurt her head.

“Moms, is that you? Are you okay?”

No answer except for the sound of thumping once again. Sophie hesitated in front of the door, her hand outstretched towards the knob. Behind her, Pancake howled.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters…”

Sophie placed the back of her knuckles against the door. It was strangely cold. She turned the knob and cracked open the door. Immediately, wisps of the neon light bled out like a pulsing wound in water. From beyond the door, furniture screeched followed by a fleshy thud. Sophie flung open the door and stepped inside. She made it two steps before her legs buckled under her. The room was awash in the light that burned her senses. Her mothers’ bed was askew, the sheets draped on the floor, and in between her and the bed a huddled mass. It was her mothers seated and holding each other.

“Oh my God!”

Sophie scrambled forward on all four limbs to help them up but was stopped short when she saw what had happened to her moms. Where hand met back, where face met shoulder, where butt met lap the skin had fused together. A single eye peered out from the nape of momma’s neck, the sclera looked bubbled and watery like when an egg is broken on a screaming hot skillet. Somewhere on the other side of the mother-mass a mouth gurgled a strained sentence, “Soph, run, don’t look back!” The egg-white eye popped and sizzled while the unfused limbs twitched in agony, or was it ecstasy?

Sophie ran.

She ran past the pile that was Pancake, now a part of the bed which was now part of the floor and wildly swung open the front door. In the night sky she saw that her home was not the only one burning. It was all of Jaynesville. Her pumping legs forced her lungs to inhale heavy draughts of the wailing air. For the first time since awaking she noticed the air possessed a flavor. Not too different from a campfire, but with a distinct overtone of sweetness, as if you walked into a florist’s shop in the peak of May and lit a fire. Something about the smell comforted her, like if she just drank in more of the sweet air it would all be alright.

Instead, Sophie continued to run until she made it to main street where she knew the emergency evacuation route was. Sophie careened around a building and was met with a congregation of people who glowed with the chartreuse light. They turned to welcome her into their midst. The congregation was holding hands in a circle. Pastor Greg smiled warmly at Sophie, rivulets of cheek dripped down his face and merged with his melting shoe. They spoke as one, their voices sonorous:

“HALLELUJAH! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God, for his judgements are just; for he has judged the great prostitute who corrupted the earth with her immorality, and has avenged on her the blood of his servants.”

Sophie turned and sprinted towards the hills, through her lips their prayer continued:

“HALLELUJAH! The smoke from her goes up forever and ever!”

Parable 3

Overnight the town had seemingly degraded into a scene from a Chernobyl documentary. Not one about the event itself, but the nature docs where some maddened researchers venture into the exclusion zone to see how life has adapted to a life post-humanity. Plants grew from cracks in pavements and facades. Streets were converted into dense prairie, parking lots into swamps, and cars into mossy hummocks loaded with orchids and carnivorous plants. The unnatural juxtaposition gave Sophie a migraine. It didn’t help that the air still hung with the thick perfumery of nectar, but at least the burning smell had subsided.

“Hello?” Sophie yelled.

The frenzied smacking of wings on water in the former parking lot made her skin crawl. She turned and saw a loon taking flight. It made a mournful call before disappearing behind an apartment complex.

“Is anyone out there?” She yelled, a little quieter this time. Still no reply.

Sophie began to walk past the campus of her community college where she and M had met during an English literature class. She had the strange sensation that something was watching her. The common areas were littered with tall grasses and quite a few prairie asters that she was currently struggling to remember the proper name of. Selenium? Stylum? Silphium? Maybe that was it. She remembers momma calling them something else when they were working in the pollinator garden they started together.

Momma…

Sophie veered away from campus, back toward her home. Along the way she noticed more and more of the tall yellow blooms. They were seemingly everywhere. In lawns, on roofs, in

parking-lots-now-wetands. Out of every anachronistic plant she witnessed, these unnerved her the most, although she couldn’t place why they bothered her.

Finally, Sophie bushwhacked her way back home. She stood in front of the sidewalk leading to her front door. Most of the sidewalk had been converted into some sort of ground cover which snaked its way into the open doorway. She felt again like she was being watched, although this time the feeling was stronger. The feeling was so strong in fact she felt rooted to the spot. Sophie rationalized this feeling as her not being ready to face what was inside, so, she instead brought her attention back to the creeping ground cover. The leaves were shaped almost like hearts, held aloft on slender stalks. There were no flowers but rhomboidal fruit that ruptured upon her touch with a suddenness that surprised Sophie. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement. She stared in the direction of the movement but she didn’t see any animal or person. Sophie exhaled relief through her nostrils. Finally overcoming her apprehension on returning home, she stood. Looking down at her feet she noticed slender, light green tendrils wrapped over them. Then, she saw what had moved; it was the heart-shaped groundcover! It was sending snaking tendrils over her feet and had already begun climbing her legs. She wrenched her feet and tore the wet plant material off of her jeans before barreling headlong over the threshold.

Immediately, Sophie was immersed in the sickly-sweet nectar smell. It hung heavy in the air here, like the fogs down in the valley you’d swim through on a cool September morning. Her home was darkened except for the occasional beam of sunlight that now peppered the walls. The entry space which split into the hallway leading to her bedroom, the living room, and dining room was covered in a dense colony of skunk cabbage whose thick leaves snapped as she trudged through. Past the light pouring in from the doorway, the floor was covered in a murky layer of cool, stagnant water, dotted with the occasional mound of dark green moss. A frog leaped from a mossy mound and broke the still plane of glassy water. How had her home become flooded and colonized with vegetation so quickly? Sophie shook her head and brought her attention back to her current task, step one.

Sophie carefully stepped from hummock to hummock heading into the kitchen. She grabbed a mouldered tote bag from the broom closet and scrutinized her family’s kitchen for food. She opened the fridge but quickly regretted it. Now on top of the sickeningly sweet smell was the strong pungence of soil and rot. The fridge had turned warm and the shelves dripped with a brown ichor. Further investigation revealed that any food in the pantry that wasn’t hermetically sealed had either fully decomposed or become bug-ridden. Sophie settled for three bottles of water and ten cans of Chef-Boyardee mini-ravioli. With food secured, Sophie headed back to the entry way and passed the living room. Much of the living room looked the same as it had been, except for the new swampy interior-design and a prominent dogwood growing where Pancake’s dog bed was. Sophie shuddered as the leaves rustled from a passing breeze; she continued to her bedroom. The hallway was covered in a bristly vining plant, giving the appearance of a man-made tunnel you’d see at a botanical garden. Several of the vines grabbed at her clothes as she passed by, scratching at her skin. In her bedroom she looked for one thing only, her phone. Still connected to the wall-socket through a mossy cord, Sophie picked up the phone and unplugged it from the wall. Water spilled out from the port and she noticed the battery had expanded, allowing water and moss to impregnate the circuitry. Two ants crawled out from its guts and tapped their antennae on her hand.

“Great. Just, great.” Sophie threw the useless hunk of technology into the water with a dissatisfied plop. Sophie veered back into the living room and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the spindly dogwood located where Pancake’s bed used to be, now a thick hummus made of leafy detritus. The white bracts almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the living room. The more she stared at the tree the more she thought she could make out eyes on the tree’s bark. Although they could be knots, the tree almost appeared to be regarding her. Sophie pushed aside a low shrub and sloshed towards the hall leading to her mothers’ room.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts and I am helped. The Lord…”

Behind her, something wooden creaked and the hallway was dimly lit with a soft white light. Sophie’s teeth were set on edge. Fearing what impossible thing she might see if she turned around she closed her eyes and sprinted into her parent’s room, slamming the spongy wooden door behind her. The nauseating nectar smell was overwhelming here.

She took several more calming breaths, “it is not real, it is not real, trees do not move, it is not real, it is not…” Something in the room was regarding her presence, she could feel from somewhere a gaze pierce her. She pried an eye open. On the floor near the bed that was now more like an experimental garden bed, overflowing with wildflowers, was two more of the tall prairie asters, yes, definitely now she remembered momma call them Silphium, but the common name still evaded her. The long, flat, lobed leaf blades pointed upwards towards heaven. They grew in the place where mom and momma had been. Sophie kneeled in front of the two towering asters, the sunbeam piercing the ceiling gave the yellow flowers a radiant appearance, like they were leaking a golden light.

“Mom? Momma? Is this what you became? I feel like I’m losing my mind. Nothing today has made any sense. I-I should be eating the Crêpes you made, I should be at the dog shelter, I should be, I-I should be seeing M.”

M. Maybe they would be okay. At the least she should go to their apartment and see. Sophie wiped her eyes and began to stand. A rough leaf blade gripped her leggings, the normally upright blade now curved around her thigh, the other blade twisting and moving

towards her.

“Moms is that you? Are you still here?”

An apple-sized Silphium head turned on the flowering scape to face her. Up close, Sophie could see the flowers were leaking light; the pollen dripped off in continuous streams into the still air. A honeybee caught her eye. It had landed on a bloom just above, and on its pollen baskets a wet clump of pollen glowing with dull chartreuse light. Sophie panicked and tried to pull away, but the rough leaves held her in place.

“Mommas, please.” Sophie begged.

The bloom at her face puffed out a cloud of chartreuse pollen and Sophie’s mind fell away.

Parable 4

“I saw another angel coming down from heaven,”

Sophie found herself intertwined with the ground cover on her front steps, prone, and retching. Chartreuse light billowed out of her mouth leaving a taste somewhere between bile and maple syrup in her mouth.

“Having great authority and the earth was made bright with his glory!”

The neon light spilled over the heart-shaped leaves which supped at the light. Their tendrils writhed upwards in ecstasy, growing longer and longer. Sophie retched again. The tendrils grew over her once again, and in her mind her senses awoke to new channels of communication. The air was buzzing with chemical gradients borne from floral minds that spoke to her as a tongue might, but it was her olfactory receptors that heard their messages. The world screamed in her head: “defend yourselves, my leaves are being eaten; my roots are dry; there are more nutrients downwards, GROW.” The cacophony made her nauseous and her head swirled as she tried to keep ahold of her humanity. She could sense the cracks in the concrete, their higher levels of relative humidity. A feeling washed over her; the cracks felt safe, like home. The tendrils wrapping around her felt like an earthen hug, pulling her towards fertile earth, planting her there as a farmer might plant a seed. Sophie felt cool.

“And he called out with a mighty voice, fallen, FALLEN IS BABYLON THE GREAT! She has become a dwelling place for demons!”

The words spilled out from her. From some unknown pit within her, some unknown actor unbeknownst to her mind beckoned forth the parable she had never recited. Pastor Greg certainly never preached

on Revelation or end times, calling them a “dream from John and that’s all.” Sophie opened her mouth to scream away the recitation and she felt the tendrils make purchase in her gaping mouth. The probing sensation freed her mind for a moment. Sophie thrashed and gnashed at the tendrils, snapping herself free. Sophie scraped her knees on the concrete and ran away screaming.

The plant city- for that’s what it was now, all of its inhabitants composed of cellulose- writhed and shifted around her passing.

“A haunt for every unclean spirit, a haunt for every unclean bird, a haunt…”

Sophie coughed and chartreuse light billowed out from her lungs. “A haunt for every unclean and detestable beast.”

Sophie sprinted through the town as a drunkard might race their friend through the streets after a heavy night of drinking. The plants around her danced in her vision, chartreuse light forming eddies in the air, the currents flowing from plant to plant.

“And the Kings of the earth have committed immorality with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich from the power of her luxurious living.”

Sophie hacked, feeling a tightness in her lungs that begged its own removal, but the hacking brought no relief, only more of the awful neon light that burned away at her being. The world still screamed its messages at her, saying, “take root, grow, spread. Let your sclerenchyma crack the foundations of old and spread the seeds of a new age!” As she stumbled through a marsh, she swore the giant Silphium were turning to watch her passage, as if they were watching an acquaintance pass by. Some of their discs bore the visage of faces, terrible but beautiful, a mix of perpetual agony and orgasm. Sophie was screaming again, her heart pounding in her throat. Was she dreaming? Could she still be in her nightmare? Was she running from or towards something? Sophie rounded the corner and found herself downtown again. In the distance, a conflagration of chartreuse fire burned from a dense stand of wriggling Silphium.

“For this reason her plagues will come in a single day, death and mourning and famine, and she will be burned up in a mighty fire; for mighty is the Lord God who has judged her!”

She marched towards the conflagration, the light beckoning her. She imagined she was marching towards the light of heaven and St. Peter and his retinue of angels was greeting her at the pearly gates. She felt the tightness in her chest take root and expand upwards towards her mouth. Sophie coughed.

“Alas, alas, you great city, you mighty city, Babylon! For in a single hour your judgement has come!”

Tears streamed down Sophie’s cheeks as she found herself skipping into the mass of Silphium. She felt the urge to cough again, to release more of her own burning to mix with the conflagration. She decided to scream instead, but it came out wrong. Was that laughter, was she cackling? She stood now at the center of the ring of Silphium.

“The fruit for which your soul longed has gone from you and all your delicacies and your splendors are lost to you, never to be found again!”

Her own burning poured from her now, the seed in her chest blossoming. The ring of Silphium a choir singing her name, welcoming her home. M, where were they now? Was their face one of the many borne on the discs that spun around her? She fell to her knees, the earth begging her to take root.

“So will Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence, and will be found no more,”

Sophie recalled the name her momma had called these giant asters.

“And the sound of harpists and musicians, of flute players and trumpeters, will be heard in you no more.”

Her momma had called them “compass plants.”

“And a craftsman of any craft will be found in you no more, and the sound of the mill will be heard in you no more,”

The pioneers had used their leaves to guide them, pointing the way to their new home.

“And the light of the lamp will shine in you no more, and the voice of the bridegroom and bride will be heard in you no more,”

Sophie felt herself falling backwards, the compass plants guiding her home.

“For your merchants were the great ones of the earth, and all the nations were deceived by your sorcery.”

The compass plants arched over her. Sophie’s vision a kaleidoscope of yellows, blue, and greens swirling through a chartreuse light. The faces of her church’s congregation pinwheeled over her; Pastor Greg smiled down upon her. She heard in her mind him say, “everything will be alright child.” Sophie could feel herself sinking and moaning.

“And in her was found the blood of prophets and of saints, and of all who have been slain on earth.”

The earth here was cool and inviting, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let go, to bloom here. So she let go.

Parable 5

The wind rushed past her ears, were they still ears, and the world still a kaleidoscope pinwheeling around her. The language of plants still spoke to her, calling her name, begging her to come and follow them, to grow together, set roots together. She would, she will. The blossoming in her chest felt enrapturing, her body ached as fiery roots spread through her core, out towards her limbs, and arcing out in chartreuse light from her fingertips; the resulting rupturing of her flesh felt like the first time M brought her to orgasm with their slender fingers. She was being rearranged limb from limb, cell by cell, and it was okay, she was ready to let go. But was she moving or was it the wind? How could she be moving when the world still burned away in her vision?

She could hear her name called again and again, but it was her ears that heard it, not her nose. That sensation felt alien to her now. Was something, someone speaking to her? Impossible, nobody was somebody in town, including her now. Yet, she had the strange feeling as though she was pulled along. If it was someone anyways it didn’t matter, her body was already beginning to burn, to change, and nothing could stop her now.

But again, she felt a new sensation, alien to her fingers. Cold, hard metal underneath a crusty layer of what felt like lichen. She was climbing! But plants don’t climb, at least not with limbs!

“Fi, come on, stay with me, we’re almost there.”

That voice. No, that cannot be right. She must be having a nightmare. Do plants have nightmares?

“Stay with me sugarplum, keep following my voice. Just a few more rungs.”

Sophie was pulled upwards by a hand and sat upon a wet mat of moss. Two arms wrapped around her and her lips were met with a warm wetness, a familiar greeting of tenderness and passion that was quickly becoming unfamiliar to her. Her central nervous system sputtered back into functioning. Light burned her eyes.

“Hey sugarplum it’s me, tell me you’re still in there.”

M. Sophie blinked twice. It was M, her M, holding her. Impossible.

“M is that actually you?” Sophie said.

“Oh, Fi, yes, yes, I’m here. We’re here.”

“How, where, wha-”

“Don’t worry about that now sugarplum, let’s just enjoy this moment together.”

M peeled themself off of Sophie, ribbons of skin pulling away from each other like melted mozzarella. M was burning too. Their eyes leaked neon tears that made their face glow magnificently. They both were atop the water tower, their water tower, where they had their first date four years ago, where they shared their first kiss.

“I searched for you, Fi. I thought I might have been the last one left, then I heard you scream. You always did have a hard time staying quiet.”

M playfully elbowed Sophie and their elbow lodged into her side. It took effort to remove it. Sophie blushed, or was that her burning racing across her cheeks? No, that was definitely blushing.

“I can’t believe you’re here, I-I thought you had already gone. You saved me from-”

Sophie stopped. There would be no saving, not anymore. She could feel herself beginning to melt away. They looked out at the horizon and saw several other towns and cities ablaze with neon light. Sophie turned back to M and fused her hand to their cheek.

“There’s nobody else I’d rather burn with my dear than you. I’m glad it’s you. I love you more than anything you know?”

M’s eyes were a faucet of chartreuse fire, their eyes popping like popcorn.

“My sugarplum, nobody else but you.”

They kissed and moaned agony and ecstasy into each other. They let lip fuse to lip, hand to hand, chest to chest; there was no fighting their collective burning anymore. They melted into each other. They melted into the water tower where their love first blossomed and would blossom forevermore. They would be the tallest compass plants for miles, guiding the birds to their nesting grounds for years to come.

And that was alright.

Afterword

This short story was born from a litany of personal experiences. First and foremost many years of botanical interest. I am an American botanist who grew up in a river valley of southwestern Ohio. I would go on to live in several areas of the state and tour many of the natural areas trying to understand the plant communities that called the state home. Much of the remnant native habitats- none of which are unmolested after decades of logging and wetland-draining- are small parcels compared to their historical sizes, choked with invasive species brought in by human fuckery. It always saddened me to think of the habitats in their current state and the required travel through city after city, farmland after farmland to reach them. I often strained to imagine what they might look like before human trampling; what wild and beautiful ecologies might have been; what species now long extinct that used to be quite common. This line of internal pondering received some answers as I took several field positions in the backcountry of Nevada, where I would stumble upon abandoned settlements amongst the sagebrush, seeing how the living world eventually swallowed what we constructed.

Second, I love horror. John Carpenter’s “The Thing,” is my all time favorite movie. The idea of a sentient creature of alien intelligence that can assimilate you through touch is terrifying. That theme is played out through this short story. Horror is a medium through which we can vocalize our fears through extrapolation. The fear of losing control of one’s own self is played out through possession by a ghost, or the fear of the known world crumbling around you told through a strange neon light instantly transforming your town. An air that screams with a woman’s voice might be equivalent to the “train-whistle” before a tornado hits your home.

Third, as a biologist with cursory knowledge on previous mass-extinction events, the current great mass-extinction event we are living in has provided me with existential dread throughout my life. Leading up to writing this, I was awash with reports from climate scientists sounding claxons of warning; like Kassandra from Greek tragedy, their warnings disregarded. Reports such as: the arctic reaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit; estimates of four billion dead by 2050 under our current trajectory; or the El Nino ocean patch’s surface temperature 3.5 standard deviations higher than the mean spell out a bleak future for humanity. One in which we all are walking towards, subconsciously aware. Like out of a Lovecraft novel, the knowledge is enough to drive a mind mad.

Fourth, recently while performing field work in Nevada, I read through all of the available books in the Southern Reach series by Jeff Vandermeer. This short story is admittedly derivative of that series which has latched on to my mind and not let go. The books feature a biologist at wonder with an alien force that is renaturalizing the human world, and creating alien lifeforms. The story is also an analogy for climate change at parts and the ineptitude of our own government at understanding and resolving the problem. The biologist in this story serves as a lens into a world which seems to actively hate humanity, and prefers the rest of the non-human world. The biologist in this story becomes obsessed with the way the new-life around her behaves, ultimately eschewing humanity to merge with the alien Area X. I found this concept fascinating. I wanted to write a similar story in which a non-expert was faced with the horrors of a world quickly changing around them, forcing them to adapt to a new reality.

Finally, I was invited to a writer’s retreat on Tilden Lake, Ontario where in scenic isolation I was gifted with a lack of modern distractions. In this creative environment I let the story spill out from me, like the chartreuse light that spilled out from Sophie in the story.

The Burning of Jaynesville is about a reality many of us will likely face- are currently facing- in the future. Sudden and intense natural disasters that tear us away from the regimen of illusion of a consistent climate and our cyclical, modern, human life. If cyanobacteria can pump enough oxygen in the atmosphere to cause the Great Oxygenation Event, killing a majority of life on earth, then it is certainly possible for humanity to do the same. Like a world post-Darwin in which we all must collectively become accustomed to the fact that organisms are not created perfect and unchanging, we must all become accustomed to the fact that we are no different than any other organism, and our waste products have an impact on the ecologies and climate around us. Furthermore, this story is about the tools we use to soothe ourselves in times of trouble, and in the face of dire consequences, how they might fail us. The watered-down religion utilized in this story is that for Sophie. She relies on soothing Psalms and passages to guide her and keep her head on straight, allowing her to keep moving forward despite the horrors surrounding her. Eventually, the same tools for soothing are used against her, detailing the fall of her town and her own doom. The parables used to detail proper behavior–or outright crankery–meant to garner worship, twisted into a fiction that leaves its followers unable to cope with a changing world; like the contemporaries of Darwin, an inability to see past your dogma can leave you struggling to adapt. I was a Christian for many years and I depended on scripture to guide me through troubling times before I found all religion to be a hindrance, not a help in my own journey. This is not to say that religion cannot serve as help to some, but in the current era of desperate evangelicism in response to declining religiosity in the United States, it is hard not to draw parallels between the sect of Christians who want an end times and the current climate crisis that we are staring down the barrel of: 4 billion dead in most of our lifetimes. Finally, this story is about the community that we find ourselves immersed in as the world seems to be crumbling in around us. Sophie recalls the many members of her town which shaped her life; in the absence of them, she slowly loses touch with reality.

During these terrible times where we must be faced with horrors of our own creation, it is our loved ones and neighbors who will help see us through to the end.