Flyover State

Sebastian and Miranda scurried out of the shade to their makeshift white board, a section of ground where they'd used branches and whatever detritus was at hand to spell out the word, "HELP!" But the passenger plane was too high and too fast to notice them amid the long expanse of nothingness that constituted their home.

They both sighed and trudged back to their seats. Sebastian took a sip of his coffee while Miranda crunched down on her avocado toast.

"I don't think anyone is coming to save us."

"As long as we have NPR on the radio, we'll survive."

Before The Words, There Were Echoes

There was silence in the universe. Words were nowhere to be found, as if all existence had stopped and all that was left was a void of utter disbelief and confusion. How can there be something, and yet it means nothing?

She had many words inside her, words that boiled into nothingness and brought about the vapor of insignificance. She remembered “in the beginning was the Word,” but instead of feeling any sense of security, she lost heart.

In that loss, she grasped the emptiness of whispers and asked the vast expanse:

“What is needed to be compassionate?”

“A soul.”

From Guest Contributor Aida Bode