Forget the alien coming. If they were ever here, they're long gone, so don't expect the intergalactic cavalry to save the day. As for those wishful wormholes conveniently positioned to skim humankind from the rotting flotsam of failed world visions? Well, that grand opening to a more fashionable galaxy has been indefinitely postponed, leaving us here and now.
Distracted by all the wrong bogeymen in all the wrong places, we fail to notice the growing cracks in the ground beneath our feet. Always stealing from today to live for tomorrow, have self-professed sapiens proved more ragweed than lily? Could nature ever evolving and changing, inevitably change her mind about us? Or are we indeed, Lord Mother's chosen, in need of much compassion, much forgiveness as we wear and tear our way towards our respective heavens. Is this planet a temporary yolk, an expendable leaven in the ceaselessly churning cosmic soup - made in our image.
Though the story takes place millenniums from today, more things remain the same than change. People are more technologically endowed but none the wiser. Unaware they are not necessarily the greatest civilization come and gone, the current caretakers gainfully manipulate and suppress natural forces, triggering global trials and tribulations.
There is a suspicious method to the madness as oceans regurgitate long sunken garbage, littering beachfront properties with rusting refuse from centuries of invention. Kamikaze crazed deer intentionally spring into the paths of cars. Profiteering industrialists suspect environment fundamentalists. Militant survivalists suspect subversive native factions. The ill and dying blame cloned tomatoes, ozone holes, and telepathic porpoises. The rich and powerful implicate extra terrestrial life forms and mutant viruses. Inept politicians, trying to avoid both the fire and the frying pan, have simply stopped functioning. Meanwhile the planet continues to erode revolution by revolution. Shaman prophets insist Lord Mother Earth is unleashing her final judgment, pruning humans down to size, perhaps expelling us from her womb entirely, sending troublesome homo sapiens back to the dark star from which they came.
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About the Author
Before the proverbial pearl comes the trigger grain of sand, gnawing inside the oyster. The oyster aims not to create the pearl, but to remedy the obstruction. If it cannot eliminate the jarring grain, it will thwart the invasion with soothing layers of pearl. That is how, why I write: my mechanism for dealing with irreconcilable realities. It is human nature to crave meaning in the mayhem. So I tell myself stories. They are the paths I create to move myself around the monopoly board of this mysterious life.