Catastrophe is opportunity. The blithe vixen ran head into a wall. Her brains and matted fur no longer encompassing any innocent thought other than to cast an abstract gore portending the crash of vanity. That crash was not an isolated incident, but shook the walls of all our buildings in all of our cities and in all of our bedrooms.
My feet ache. I have been running from the lake back to my lab every day this week. I love the feeling of the strength of my own body. My legs are a steel locomotive cutting through the fecund and indiscriminate weeds bewitching the path. Paved roads are a sin and every slamming bit of flesh that connects to the tender ground beneath it is in a puritanical trance of this beautiful law. I can see the lab up ahead and I burst into a final fertile sprint.
My name, Melody, adorns the entrance to the sacred lab. This is my primary home, the place where I save the earth. Each day I care for and nurture the science of ecology. Nearly a century ago the collapse happened and we have been only reviving the earth since. Like an electrical shock through the core that causes a mass power outage, we stopped our vile industrial ways, glory be to Him, and embarked on the recreation of the garden of earth.
The particular job I perform is in the re-fertilization of flowers. My entire lab smells of a damp, blooming bud with it’s bursting yellow center pointing upward, mimicking the gaping mouth of the sun. It is humid, sunny, tropical, and dangerous, even inside the parameters of this open-air lab. There is a constant, glorious possibility of passing on in this extremely fertile land. That would be the most valiant of endings, if I were to succomb to the heat or to be dined on by a particularly dangerous creature, I would fall, face-planted into the earth. Legs slightly bent in an eternal farewell to myself, the cursed-destroyer destroyed.
I hope to fall here before I am released on my 25th birthday. That is when our putrid minds begin to harden and become inflexible to the ideas of our sacred science. Essentially, we begin to make mistakes that are not impacting our labs in any positive or forgivable way. I heard there are a few options after the culling, aside from the typical progression of self-fulfillment. For instance, I replaced someone who went on to work with paper and pencil to extract the formulas of theoretical physics – only so that we might launch special garden pods that can endure millennia. If our religious fervor should falter we might like to keep our earth’s memory alive through eternal, spatial and biochemical alliances with propulsion. Her brain was no longer useful to the tactile sciences, but the leaders determined she could move on to the latent studies.
I don’t spend much time looking to my personal future, there is too much work to be done now. I must give my best to our sacred leaders and to let them down is to fail our greatest benefactor.