Story Time, Volume 41
Millions of computers hum with simultaneous purpose as they mine, searching for their cryptographic magic bean. When one finds one, it adds another leaf to the beanstalk; higher — and longer — the chain grows.
Who knows what giant waits at the top?
How far down does fear go? Does a gnat feel scared when it dodges the swatter? Will a white blood cell panic at first sight of a new virus?
Or let's go deeper: might we find two negatively charged electrons, repelling each other — as if afraid to touch?
Each page was massive, the thick tome stretching up all the way to the vaulted ceiling.
"You say every story's in here?"
"Every one that's been told."
He leafed through. "Whaaa — are these whale songs?"
"You didn't think humans had a monopoly on stories, did you?"
The shift from winter to spring is variable, but I prefer to mark it by the migration of frowns on passersby — as if fleeting the return of joy.
The poisonous methane molecule squeezes its way out of the aging gas stove. Once free, it takes flight — looking, searching around for something.
It flies toward a mouth. Through a lung. And into a brain.
And once there, it stays.