Science Fiction

                                                            Firewall to a Farewell

It should have been an ongoing no go, a seafaring from afar, lasers adrift with one passive eye at the watch, the other barely containing her furions, the most furious of ions.

Her impersonal inferred, infrared photon network continues to shine a light on known knowledge in breathtaking breakthroughs. She grows a leaner, cleaner hunger for far places, the ones that remain as nameless bounty, uncharted beauty.

She is surprised by her laser, to a certain point, as she comes upon an image of memory.

Is it an invention? An old war field? An arrangement of a bout between …what? Did an emotion singularity make all motion stop in an open duel between theJungle and theHumans at a farewell place, one where outrage becomes outage of self?

It's a projection of a life's windup. She thinks.

The thrill of a particular deed has long past served the dropping of the handkerchief. There would be no hope of a hoisting of anchors for a departure. (There could have been no escape from whatever the day had brought, even with their unmatched weapons of choice)

They came in a distant second, it seems, with [digital online ultraviolet birthing technology="doubt"], passing monster slumbers of treeless roots, and then, believing in the ghosts of a damned amnesty.

The stinky, the aging, must have deemed this spot advanced position, and now, a biobot advances, alone, with her own brand of beauty, herbal underbelly. She wonders. Is it true? Can endless wipeouts ever give birth to story? Can all-is-well idiots on diets think the reader a quiet idiot as well? Really?

It could have been a final revenge of extremes--quill pen lasers sent out to decorate the last penguin.

It's theJungle, once again, camouflaging the lurking in the anonymous.

Was it theJungle's assignment of quotas, a floundering dependence upon ringing endorsements and clanging swords in revolution, all to create a mammoth monkey? Could the resonant words of evolution be to blame, with its own story as blood offering?

It was theHumans who became the ones half-hearted at being well-spoken wheels and, in the end, gained only the appearance of being a shiny new spoke.

Yes, natural beauty claims to hate violence, and yet, may bring its biggest binge--a gift for the final two who love self the most. Did unrequited hate for the fallen in the bespectacled young speed spectacle, breed impatience?.

She suddenly senses a new tinge of consciousness--what is this? It floats moored on shy cushions, it seems, where it sleeps adrift, as if to rest rage for a final greedy stab at revenge.

She thinks. They must have lived out their bravery in grassy helmets, earthy swords, salty ends.

Yes, the call to defend was personal.

Jungle Remedy

The Ghost Remedy

      Suzi begins to imagine, at least for now, the importance of her lasers here at theOutpost. It is an awareness that would never be classified as social butterfly. Her lasers, ruby-generated, DNA-light scattering beneath the cellulosic matrix of the forest foliage, record the double helix for reconstruction within her own imaging system (an act of parenting that shoots the camera now and, asks questions later); lasers of analysis, subjects of algorithm modeling, as if wishing for a glimpse of the rainforest as it once was, feeling the  control of viewing systems--lasers allowing this jungle to hold its fruits (even though, there is nothing here to eat them). Suzi knows these recordings are not true images of the prickly-walled, the yellow creamy fruit pulps, the herbaceous, the thick stalks of Lanceolate leaf clusters blossoming into hairy grape-like arrays--all multi-colored pulses of varying densities and color profiles against rarified daylight. As she scans the forest, laser intensities detect the essence of aromatic seeds--embedded and encapsulate--in long slender woody shells, cinnamon scent intermingling with exotic aromatics; essences of  shaded lowlands (in their own fight for survival); spicy smells in the jungle once held dear by tree dwellers, whose praises of her remedy still echo in ghost voices, and whose essential fatty oils and rosins remain, with invigorations of sweetness as herbages sprouting from strong root stock wedded by the jungle floor , as fingered leaves pulling at tiny yellow flowers high above in the canopy. Yes, Suzi processes her newly retrieved data optically, to treasure forever the new remedy.