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And all the devils are here.
“What’s that from?” Millie asks as she gets her coat.
I stand at the back window, looking out. Usually, you can see the downtown skyline from this position. Today, it’s just the hellmouth. A long tube that looks like an esophagus that’s been yanked out of a kaiju and dangles from the ground. Bloody, meaty, smoking.
The only sound Zero heard in their helmet was their own hyperventilating and the gentle pings from their pegasus.
> waiting . . .
> waiting . . .
> communication received
> confirmation of countdown initiation: 30 seconds
I beg you, let me tell you about my daughter. My brilliant daughter will be one of the four people who survive their airplane crashing into a giant. Or, more accurately, a giant swiping their airplane out of the sky. Perhaps it meant to catch, or caress. My daughter will never know. Usually airlines predict giants ahead of time, from sightings or seismic activity, but this one was not easily seen and quick as a whip, like my daughter.
Jay found himself sitting across from a bearded old man in voluminous maroon robes. “Why are you here?” the robed man asked. “I was sentenced to VSIM rehabilitation by my judge-counselor.” “Yes,” replied the robed man. “You would choose the literal interpretation of the question, wouldn’t you?”
The First Emperor was the first and last of true immortals on earth, and no winter touched his realm. No autumn wind blew. His orchards bloomed and fruited and bloomed again. In his court, death and old age were shut out. And every day, he drank a cup of tea brewed in the dew of lotus flowers, which had been collected that morning from the lotuses that grew in a heaven-touched lake at the easternmost point of his palace grounds.
This was in August of 2019. A day-old newspaper reported civil wars in Somalia and Yemen. A gunman killed twenty-two people in an El Paso Walmart. Jeffrey Epstein had taken a plea deal, promising to name names, promising to name the name.
In summer, when the ocean ebbs at dusk, when the sand turns to glass and it becomes impossible to discern the difference between reflection and sky, the Tide Folk emerge from their pools. You might think, if you clamber on the cliffs searching for those tiny ecosystems the sea leaves behind twice a day, that you can see all there is to see—that you could, if you tried, touch the bottom of the pockets of water with your fingertip.
Espie Droger dreams of war. What else can he dream of? There is nothing left. He has dreamed of world travel and expensive Scotch and lithe young women and sudden uncontrollable laughter. But his vitality has seeped from him like fluid from a dying tree. Espie is old. And Espie is tired.
You know that thing you humans say about how your life flashes before your eyes just before you die? I think you guys might be onto something. I have lived for eons but every single day is running through my mind right now. Every trick I ever pulled, every city destroyed in anger, every lover I took to bed. I see them all, clear as day.
The earliest videos went something like this: disembodied female voices singing strange intonations of the words “girl dinner” in a voice-over effect as the visuals of the video featured dozens of increasingly strange combinations of food. A handful of Cheez-It crackers, grapes, and a stick of string cheese with a line of sriracha along the top? Girl dinner.
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