Breadcrumb #238

JENNA KNORR

Mom says the world is ending, but I am flying my kite. We’ve been watching the sun get big for a few days now. It’s been really bright for the past month or so but ever since Monday it looks like it’s a lot bigger in the sky and mom says that that’s because it is. She says that it’s going to keep getting bigger and bigger until it touches Earth and then we’ll all be a part of the sun.

    I like that mom is letting me fly my kite outside in the yard behind our house. We didn’t have to go to school today. I think the man on TV said that we shouldn’t be outside when the sun is growing, but I don’t like doing anything inside as much as I like flying my kite. My teachers even let me fly my kite at school, at recess, when the other kids are playing games that I don’t like. My mom says that I just don’t have the patience for them, but that I have the patience for kites, and that’s why I’m allowed to bring one from home. I don’t know if mom means that I don’t have the patience for the other kids or if I don’t have the patience for their games, but I know that I have the patience for my kites.

“She says that it’s going to keep getting bigger and bigger until it touches Earth and then we’ll all be a part of the sun.”

    I’m flying my yellow one today, it’s my favourite. Plus it’s like the colour of the sun in the sky, so I like the way it looks when I look up. Two yellow shapes. A diamond and a circle. The diamond gets smaller as I let out the string. The circle gets bigger.

    I know I’m different from the other kids at my school, the ones my age who don’t play with kites anymore. The other girls don’t even want to talk about kites; they like the way they look and they like to pretend that they don’t like boys, but I know they do. They tease the boys because the boys don’t wear makeup, they say that the boys don’t come from Earth and that they come from Mars instead. I’m pretty sure that that’s not true, but I do know that we’re all on Earth right now, and that Earth is the world, and that the world is ending.

    I hear my mom calling me from the house so I swing my head to look. She is screaming my name and she is crying. My dad is standing behind her, holding her tight, and he is crying, too, but he isn’t saying anything. I feel a rush of heat on the back of my head so I turn back to look at my kite. It is touching the sun. The string burns and falls slowly to the ground and as I watch, I become part of the sun, too.

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Breadcrumb #237

BOB RAYMONDA

She stands at the bar, surveying her surroundings. She’s never been in a place such as this: the intergalactic hub at opposite end of her Solar System. A barkeep passes by with what looks like a towel thrown over its shoulder. She motions for another one of the turquoise looking concoctions that stands drained in front of her. 

    She’ll need the liquid courage if she plans to allow anyone around her to approach.

    “Is this your first time, honey?” asks a twelve foot tall monster, with a head so high up she can barely make out what few facial features it has. “Let me buy you something to eat.”

    “I’m fine, thanks,” she says, sipping at the drink in front of her. Salty, with a hint of hazelnut, which settles into a burning sensation that stretches all the way from her throat down to her toes.

    It holds out a giant, leathery tentacle, which she grasps, shaking with all of the power she can muster.

    Confused, it grunts, “What do you think you’re doing, miss?”

    She glances down at her hand, still grasping the slimy thing in front of her, when she notices a second drink down on the bar next to her own. She lets it go, and whispers, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

    Something reverberates throughout the entire building, and she thinks it might be this thing’s attempt at laugher. Or disgust, she couldn’t be sure. Other patrons around them stop mid conversation for a moment to gawk, before returning to mind their own business.

    Without another word, her new friend slinks off, sidling up to another woman across the room. She isn’t sure whether she should be offended or relieved, but in the moment decides for the latter.

“Something reverberates throughout the entire building, and she thinks it might be this thing’s attempt at laugher. Or disgust, she couldn’t be sure.”

    The barkeep returns, chuckling, “You won’t last another day here.”

    “And why would you say that?” she spits, a little too indignantly.

    “You humans, you’re all so jumpy. I’ve never had one of you last longer than a month,” it glances up at the wall, to what looks like a clock, and finishes,  “My money says you’re outta here before I close for the night.”

    “I’m not that green around the gils, you know. I’ve just never done anything like this.”

    “Tell me something I didn’t know,” chuckles the bartender, a martian with skin bluer than the Atlantic ocean.

    Another patron, this one with a skin the color of snot, decides to pipe up. Its features are humanoid, but you can tell by its face that it’s never called the Earth home. “You’re all the same, you know that? You think you’re so special because your skin is pink and silky smooth. That just because they don’t wear make up or come from earth means they’re somehow less than. You make me sick”

    “I take offense to that, and I’ll have you know...” she starts, but doesn’t know where she ever meant to finish, instead staring into the bottom of her glass and staying silent.

    “You would,” it groans, belching loudly and stalking off after another, more accommodating hostess.

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