Future Year: 2020 By Dimitrios Litras
Programs Used: Krita, Gimp Pro, Google Docs, Adobe Stock Fonts: Times New Roman
Table of Contents The Last Ant……………………………………………1 Bronze Boy……………………………………………...3 A Memory………………………………………………4 Goodbye………………………………………………...6 Sunburn……………………………………….....….......7 How to feed the lions…………………………………...9 Two Little Flowers…………………………………….11 6:31……………………………………………………..12 Heaven............................................................................13 Saying Goodbye.............................................................14
The Last Ant Spawned from the everlasting hellfire of destruction, I rise. The last of my kind, I scavenge this wasteland. Mercy never bothered to get my name. I carry the legacy of my species on my back. Thank God it’s only 10-50 times my weight. My antennae sting as I sort through the rot of the former Earth. All I can do is attempt to piece it back together. I am an ant. I might never know which species are left. Spiders were weak to begin with and bees need the flowers. As far as I know could be the last living thing on Earth. Cold twilight cast overhead. The smooth breeze pushes the still planet. Dry particles of gravel race me as I move, perhaps searching for the same refuge. My mandible’s carry chunks of dirt and crumbs, as I maneuver murky muds, and cross cracked crevasses. The scent of isolation surrounds me. Swallows me.
I construct a hill. and as I carry the last piece, the sun rises behind it. It’s shadow just barely hits me. I make my way to the top and watch the sun reach its peak. I bask in its light warmth for a little while, before descending into my new home. I fall asleep.
Bronze Boy The flakey overgrown heard of weeds trails into his shoes. He calls this yard his home; quiet, eternal. Dry, yet lively. The ground is stepless. The air is warm and still. He limps on one leg, the other is broken. He smiles under a moss muzzle, and holds a balloon. His dog walks slanted, blades of grass curl around its legs. Sunlight cuts through the trees overhead, shining on them as they play. All day and all night, they dance in the yard. Even as the soft voice of the earth calls their names, they don’t go inside. An eternal bond, one even the cold void of time, can’t erode.
A Memory Late night city streets is a perfect backdrop for a walk. As we shuffle through the bumpy sidewalks I can’t help pointing at all the signs. Bright neon and bulbs, guide us through the streets. My arm curls around yours, I can feel your weight. My anchor as we stroll. The city is just as alive as we are. We collide with a crowd of faces. Yet I feel alone with you. A smile of innocence occupies me. We order food at a hot dog stand. Hot dog bits and pretzel crumbs become our footprints. Pigeons wake up and come to walk with us. We decide to sit and watch them. We toss crumbs occasionally. The little birds keep us company for a while. Until they get full and fly away. Through the cold air and into the pitch black sky.
I touch your soft face and smile. We hug. A warm and safe presence. I hope the bright lights of the city warm your heart as they do mine. “I love you. Goodbye.�
Goodbye The moon’s light traces the white marks of the field shaping a sparkling diamond. The batter’s cage has a couple of torn hats lying on the bench. Bats lean against the blue padding. Small initials are etched into the chipped brick wall. As the names fall from the top a generation of laughs and loss leaves the field. The clay of the infield is bumpy along the white diamond. A desert shaped by footsteps. An older looking man stands at home plate. His head is hunched down and as he turns himself in circles. He holds a red cap in one hand, and keys in the other. His eyes begin to trail between the aisles of the benches that spectate him. He stares at the empty scoreboard and smiles. He mouths something before looking away. He looks up at the night sky. He holds his hat up and directs it at the moon. He squints his eyes and smiles. He swings his arm back to his side as he begins to turn away. He slowly walks back to the cages and turns to home plate one last time. He nods, puts his hat on, and leaves the field.
Sunburn You step onto the wood steps that lead down to the beach. The path winds up and over the hills of sand, peaking into the sun’s warmth before receding back into the Earth. You take happy, little steps, but the age of this wood shows regardless. Each step is followed by a violent creak. Sand seasons the steps like salt on a steak. When your feet finally contact the sand, you reflexively pull your leg back. It burns, but not too bad. You move on. As you make your way over the first hill, the peak of the beach’s heat, your eyes lock with the bright blue ocean. That strong, unforgettable, “beach” smell fills the air. You know the one. That smell that just somehow smells hot. That one. You begin to take your shirt off when you notice a family setting up at the bottom of the mound. A father, mother, three sons, and two daughters all carry an assortment of beach items and amenities. The father carries one, no two, coolers. He sets them up. One has a vending machine of drinks inside and the other a cafeteria of food. He takes out a foldable table and begins placing a bunch of sandwiches in those little ZIpLock bags, like the ones especially made for little sandwiches. The mother carries what you interpret as a quilt she knitted just for the occasion. You realize, those are towels and she must have dropped them on their way here. You imagine a happy mother holding all of her neatly folded towels before a dip in the sand or a crab below her feet ruined everything. The kids all carry umbrellas. The weight of these umbrellas just might crush the smallest one or at least push him into the sand with his head sticking out. Wait, you think, that’s a lot of umbrellas. One. Two, three..
Ten umbrellas. Okay. Lots of kids. Don’t want those little ones getting sunburns do we. You think sunscreen could have gotten the job done. Wouldn’t have to bring so many umbrellas. Then you see a young boy and girl rolling down what looks like a generator. More kids? A generator? They set up shop and all lay on their little towels. They each take a sandwich and simultaneously take a bite. Your feet are on fire at this point so you decide to sit and watch.
How to feed the lions Howdy! Welcome to your new job at Patterdale Zoo, a place where the magic of nature is held in convenient little fences. We’re very honored to have you here. If you don’t mind please empty your pockets before entering the premises. When you enter, make your way to the “Lion Den Staff entrance.” The keys are under a little pot next to the door. Once you’re inside you should see a uniform hung up next to the desk. I had my guys clean it up so… it should be good to go. Ignore the name tag patch, we’ll get you your own one soon. Anyway, once you’re all suited up you can continue down the hall into the equipment room. Now what you’ll be using is what they call “the claw.” You know those little plastic clapping hand toys, yeah it’s, uh, like one of those. ‘Cept this one's metal and carries large masses of meat. We don’t want those guys getting too close, do we? Haha… please use the claw. Anyhow, I think it’s self explanatory. Just don’t wiggle it around too much. They’ve been known to jump when you do that. If this were to happen just stop, drop, and roll. They hate that. So when you finally get all that meat in there, sit down and wait for them to start eating. Make sure not to make eye contact while they eat. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know them during playtime. Haha… that’s a joke of course. Ask them if they want anything else for now. If they ask for water, kindly bring the bucket from the office and fill it with the hose in the enclosure. If they drink hesitantly, take a small sip yourself to show them how good it tastes. If they ask for anything else tell them, “Not until you finish your dinner.” This may agitate them. In this case there is no procedure that will calm them. The only solution is to run to the office door. If one of them is guarding the door please turn
and climb the fence. You will need to stay here until they get too tired and fall asleep. You will need to feed them three times a day every day. We get shipments each Friday. If shipment hasn’t arrived or the meat’s gone bad… there's a lamb exhibit across from the den. That keys under a little pot as well.
Two Little Flowers The beeping of the coffee maker echoes through the nearly empty diner. Drops of rain pitter at the windows. Dishes are clean and towels are neatly folded up along the beside the sink. The kitchen lights are out. A man pours for a woman. Her face is subtly twisted. He analyses the way she sits. Her head is hunched down. “You need an umbrella?”, he asks. She rolls her eyes upright and makes contact. He gets a better look at the situation now. Her eyes are deep and her mouth is dry. “Wilt,” he thinks. The first word that comes to his mind. “What’d you say?”, she snaps. “It’s raining,” he says, “do you need an umbrella?” “I-I guess.” He places an umbrella on the counter, pats it twice, and smiles. A silence arrives as he awkwardly steps back but doesn’t turn away. He continues to watch her. She holds both hands around her mug. She stares into the black ripples and snow dots of illumination from the light overhead. “A water,” she says. “Sorry?” “A water, please. The coffee’s not doing it.” He fills a tall glass and slides it to her. She grips it the same way she held the mug. She once again stares into the ripples. When it stops moving she seems to jerk her hand. She eventually sits up. Her face looks like it's barely being held together. The room's light shades her cracks differently as the light enters from a new angle. She smiles at the man and holds the cup above her head. She chugs the glass and gently slams it down. “Thank you,” she says and leaves without her umbrella.
6:31 6:31 sings the broken clock. A melody of sorrows, and an ode to the present. Echoes of drinks clicking, fireworks cracking, and doors slamming. The night sky is still, owls sit patiently in their trees and snow sprinkles the open air. If you were to trace the stars as they flew, they’d weave a beautiful canvas of light traveling thousands of lightyears, Only to stop at 6:31. The null air soothes your damaged lungs, and every tear you shed, you can find two smiles. The safety of a frozen instant. A broken clock will live in this moment forever.
Heaven A cosmonauts failed engine, his last companion dies shortly before he does. His head is tilted back and his hands lie on the controls. He occasionally pushes the handle forward. Mechanical shifting can be heard, there Is no movement though. Space is a vacuum of reason. Every star in the sky extends its years of light to him. He studies each dot looking for the subtle difference in their twinkle. He occasionally mumbles to himself just so he can hear a noise. Blooming nebula roses with solar thorns. Angel wings weaved from star systems. All the endless depth between. As he continues to drift the presence of the ship leaves him, he curls his legs and rests his head in them. All that exists around him envelops his body. And one by one, the star’s light begins to fade away.
Saying Goodbye My voice is an echo, in a long, dimly lit tunnel. Those words will play back in my mind for the rest of eternity. Goodbyes take many forms tThey’re not just a formal statement. I sit quietly with my family at a diner. We talk and laugh like nothing is different. This is saying goodbye. Goodbye is a state of mind. The acceptance of change is goodbye. I could be miles or months away lying alone in the middle of the night before I finally say my goodbyes. Goodbye to my mom, my dad, and the life I've left behind. The life I'll never get back.