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200 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 28, 2025
"I just wanted you to like me. For us to have something in common."
"A type of tree ubiquitous on Beauty turned out to be a dangerous predator. When they bloom, these trees release psychedelic pollen. It affects the nervous system in a way that compels its prey to approach the nearest grove in search of another dose of pollen. There, under a thin layer of soil, are cavities containing something akin to stomach acid. The prey falls into the cavity and is digested."
"Our habits are our comfort zones and sometimes our comfort zones are our latent danger zones."
These colorful islanders were the real and sole asset to this small, good-for-nothing island. Accepting tourists, whose purpose for visiting was exclusively to stare at the jewel-like locals, was the only way this nation could gain enough foreign currency to barely survive. The remedy patterns prepared for them worked far better when the patterns directly touched the patron, but in this country where the locals’ “native” colors quite literally determined their whole career path and their very status in the industry and the society, drawing patterns on one’s skin, even for a short duration of time, could be deemed illegal, or extremely obscene at best.
“My parents came on the ship as kids. Four and seven. They can barely remember Earth. But my grandparents told them stories, and they passed them down to me. The things that stick the most aren’t stories of mountains and the sun—they’re stories about my great-grandparents, who were too old or too sick to pass the selection process. One of my great-grandfathers was young enough and healthy, but his wife had early onset dementia. There was no way she would get accepted. So he stayed behind and died with her. Those are the kinds of people we left behind—people who loved deeply and made memories that would be passed down for generations even if we determined their bodies weren’t worth taking. Why wouldn’t I strive for a connection with them?”
...
Timothy’s hands are soft and smooth in mine. They have no freckles from unsupervised summers in the sun. His eyes are crystal green and have never seen a forest. He has no idea what an ocean is. My chest swells as I try to impart these sensations to him. I remember my childhood in the mountains. His legs have no idea what a hill is. His calves have never burned without the measured cadence of the physio chamber. I try to make him understand what it is to expand the lungs and breathe deeply of thin air, grinning in accomplishment. But I cough as I remember my adolescence. My lungs are weak, my body frail, and nothing comes across as vividly as my experiences actually were.
"It's a vast universe out there, and every single living thing in it's got something that makes them special," he told me. "As long as you've got the right eyes to see it."
Only when falling does life truly exist.