Mcginnis Thesis Final

This thesis has been approved by

The Honors Tutorial College and the Department of English

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Dr. Eric LeMay

Professor, English

Thesis Adviser

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Dr. Mary Kate Hurley

Director of Studies, English

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Dr. Donal Skinner

Dean, Honors Tutorial College ECOFICTION: REALIZING THE FULL POTENTIAL OF THE GENRE THROUGH

SPECULATIVE AND ECOFEMINIST THEORY and TRICOLORED WATERS: A

NOVEL - PART 1

______

A Thesis

Presented to

The Honors Tutorial College

Ohio University

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In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for Graduation from the Honors Tutorial College with the degree of

Bachelor of Arts in English

______by

Kayla McGinnis

April 2021 McGinnis 1

Critical Introduction

“Warning! Pollutants rife in the air, in the city: carbon emission, racism, oil spills, sexism, deforestation, misogynism, xenophobia, murder . . .” (Tsamaase, 5). Ecofiction texts have the power to creatively address how environmental deterioration affects a person depending on their subject position. While many ecofiction works draw from realism, I was attracted to author Tlotlo Tsamaase and her more speculative twists on ecofiction. In her novella, Eclipse our Sins, Tlotlo Tsamaase creates a world in which the earth punishes humanity for the damage it has caused to her. Due to the goddess Mama

Earth, humans are punished any time they commit sin against the Earth or one another.

Words of hate manifest into a vapor that pollutes the lungs of everyone around them.

Humans could resolve this issue by addressing issues of equality and the environment.

The upper-class instead focus on making their living situations more comfortable and long-lasting. The upper-class extract energy, female eggs, and bodies from the lower-class in order to make themselves new bodies. The upper-class additionally build expensive urban architecture that continues to damage the planet. These expensive buildings grow more lavish as they tower over the constantly deteriorating slums. People of color, women, and the lower class have it the hardest. They are victims of the vapor whether they spread hate or not. Through a fantastical world, Tsamaase shows the consequences of racism, technological failures, sexism, and classism in relation to the state of the environment. She makes tangible the dynamics that humanity has with the natural world and one another. This ecofiction narrative proves that there are parallels between ecological destruction and human inequality. This is the true potential of ecofiction. McGinnis 2

Tsamaase’s ability to manipulate the genre of ecofiction inspires my creative thesis work. Similar to her, magical elements, sci-fi technology, and the characterization of nature all enhance the telling of my story about issues of the environment and inequality. In Tsamaase’s novella, the upper class escapes many of the consequences.

Similarly, in mine, the upper class and major corporations escape much of the initial punishments. Based on a character’s subject position they may be affected more by the human destruction of nature. Additionally, both her piece and mine force the characters to directly face the consequences of their pollution of nature. Eclipse our Sins challenges readers to imagine what would happen if discrimination and ignorance developed into literal plagues. My novel has characters who are empaths. Empaths have the power, and the burden, of feeling the physical and psychological pain that beings of nature experience. Through the utilization of speculative elements and ecofeminism, just as

Tsamaase did, I challenge the full potential of the ecofiction genre.

Part I: The Ecofiction Genre Discourse

The current “definition” of ecofiction is an amalgamation of the contrasting ideas of a variety of literary critics. Consequently, there is no official definition, only discourse, and many various criteria. Ecofiction has also spawned various subgenres that draw influence from the core foundations of ecofiction. While the official term ecofiction became popular in the 1970s, the idea of ecofiction existed much earlier, and discourse McGinnis 3 continues to this day (Woodbury). This section plans to explore the variety of arguments that shape the ecofiction of today.

The major arguments in regards to ecofiction involve the inclusivity and exclusivity of the genre. Some literary critics believe that very specific criteria must be met for a work of fiction to count as ecofiction. While other critics consider it a very flexible genre that can coincide with numerous other genres. For example, in the

Cambridge History of the American Novel, Jonathan Levin has a chapter titled

“Contemporary Ecofiction.” Jonathan Levin describes contemporary ecofiction and his definition allows for room for the author to play. He describes the word ecofiction as “an elastic term, capacious enough to accommodate a variety of fictional works that address the relationship between natural settings and the human communities that dwell within them” (Levin, 1122). His perspective defines ecofiction as a composite genre full of many subgenres. The most important part of his definition is that ecofiction focuses on the human-nature relationship. The rest of this overarching definition is left open for interpretation.

Another literary critic who believes in the overarching fluidity of ecofiction is

Mary Woodbury. Mary Woodbury is the author of Dragonfly, an academic blog on ecofiction as well as one of the largest databases for ecofiction work. Woodbury elaborates upon Levin’s definition. She sees ecofiction “not so much as a genre than as a way to join natural landscapes and species, environmental issues--and usually human connection--into any genre and make it come alive” (Woodbury). This definition makes ecofiction adaptable, but rather than a genre it acts more like an abstract idea. It allows for any genre to claim aspects of ecofiction in its own work. McGinnis 4

Woodbury claims that it is important for the story that the “ecological elements” do not remain in the background but instead act as “integral parts of the narrative”

(Woodbury). The environment can be a setting of a text. That does not make it a work of ecofiction. It needs to be a character, reflect in the themes of the text, or the environment needs to be intertwined with the narrative structure. However, beyond this statement,

Woodbury’s requirements for ecofiction remain inclusive.

Woodbury further expands upon this inclusivity of ecofiction through the analysis of Jim Dwyer’s book on ecofiction. In his book, Where the Wild Books Are: A Field

Guide to Ecofiction, Dwyer explores the discourse, literary history, and historical context of ecofiction. While he openly explores the variety of opinions on the genre, he introduces ecofiction to the readers as follows: “ecofiction is a composite subgenre made up of many styles primarily modernism, postmodernism, realism, and magical realism, and can be found in many genres, … [including] speculative fiction” (Dwyer, 3). He acknowledges the variety of genre influences that have impacted ecofiction.

According to Woodbury’s analysis, though Jim Dwyer defends many different ecofiction definitions, he too has his own criteria. Dwyer’s research on ecofiction has led him to agree with four general criteria in determining whether a work fits the genre

(Woodbury). These criteria include: the environment acts as a way to suggest that

“human history is implicated in natural history;” that “human history is not understood to be the only legitimate interest;” “human accountability to the environment is part of the text’s ethical orientation;” and that the environment is presented as a “process” rather than a “constant” (Woodbury). All of these criteria are very valid ways to understand ecofiction at its core. We have to acknowledge human involvement while still engaging McGinnis 5 ecological narratives. And an ecofiction text should indeed analyze the history and constant change that nature endures. While I do not believe that every ecofiction work must have all of these criteria, I do believe that they should encompass some of them in order to be effective.

Some academics and authors have more exclusive definitions and criteria.

Literary critic Mike Vasey, like many others who partake in ecocriticism, believes that realism is important in ecofiction. Mike Vasey’s definition does allow for some flexibility, “[they] can build around human relationships to [natural] ecosystems or leave out humans altogether” (Dwyer, 3). While many definitions include humanity Vasey’s allows for the narrative to solely focus on nature. However, he demands more realism from the ecosystems than other definitions require: “ideally the landscape and ecosystems--whether fantasy or real--should be as ‘realistic’ as possible and plot constraints should accord with ecological principles” (Dwyer, 3). There is something to be said about having realistic ecological systems in fiction. It provides the reader with realism and allows them to imagine actual potential solutions to our problems.

However, if we focus solely on perfecting science and replication in our texts, we will miss the larger scope of the issue. We must be able to see the future of the planet in imaginative and sometimes odd, but new, viewpoints. In response to Vasey, Dwyer notes that speculative fiction and magical realism “frequently employ fantastical elements to provide readers with a different perspective on the nature of reality itself as [in the series] of Kim Stanley Robinson” (Dwyer, 3). Realistic texts can lead readers to have realistic expectations of the world. However, they can also promote cynicism and keep our heads trapped inside the box of possibilities. We must expand our minds to the fantastical. McGinnis 6

Many sci-fi and speculative texts have technological solutions that seem impossible when they are first released. However, decades later their fictional inventions became realities.

While not everything is a reality yet, humanity still strives for technological advancement. So why can we not accept the potential for advancement in the realm of the environment and ecotechnology? Fantasy and science fiction are closer to reality than some people may care to admit.

Both Jim Dwyer and Jonathan Levin reference Kim Stanley Robinson due to her innovative takes on ecofiction. Kim Stanley Robinson wrote the “Science in the Capitol'' trilogy, amongst many other eco-speculative fiction texts. This work explores the effects of climate change and global warming in the United States. The story focuses on devastating flooding that occurs in Washington D.C. (Levin, 1132). But despite the devastation that the rising ocean levels bring to the people of D.C., the author still remains optimistic about the future of our planet (Levin, 1133). Levin states that “unlike radical environmentalists'' who suggest that technology is at the basis of our

“contemporary environmental crisis” that “Robinson is committed to the idea that scientifically informed ingenuity combined with a passion for the earth and its diverse inhabitants will generate new solutions to human-generated climate change.” (Levin

1133). I believe that ecofiction should continue to push the boundaries of what we find

“realistic.” We can address the real ecological problems of today while still placing hope in human ingenuity. Nature and humanity can indeed exist together if we strive to make that change. Levin further explains that while this faith in human ingenuity cannot mitigate the destruction already caused, it can lead the way “toward a more sustainable future” (Levin 1133). McGinnis 7

There are many overlapping and contrasting definitions for ecofiction, but some broad conclusions can be generally agreed upon. Based upon the prior literary critics the most important criteria in ecofiction are as follows: ecological narratives are given a spotlight; human accountability is part of the ethical orientation of the text; human histories are part of the ever-changing natural histories and not above nor separate from them; the resolution of the ecological crisis serves to act as either a warning or beacon of hope for the future of the planet. Discourse surrounding ecofiction carries on, but these core elements serve as a guide for analyzing the ever-evolving genre. Hopefully, discourse on the usage of speculative fiction elements to enhance ecofiction will expand.

If we allow ourselves to think about the ecological crisis through imaginative lenses, we can get closer to reaching the full potential of the genre.

The Influence of Ecofeminism on Ecofiction

The relationship between ecological problems and subject-position should be included in a general ecofiction text. I believe that these relationships are an extremely important point of ecofiction. So does Mary Woodbury, as she notes the significance in recognizing the diversity within this type of literature: “[ecofiction includes] environmental and nature themes found within Black Speculative Literature, Indigenous fiction, magical realism, science fiction, and more. Diversity is key in describing this literature” (Woodbury). Ecological invasion and abuse is just as much an issue of racism, McGinnis 8 sexism, and classism as it is an environmental issue. We would be blinding ourselves if we believed that we all equally suffered from the over-consumption of natural resources.

A major influence on eco-fiction, and my thesis, has been the ecofeminist ideas of

Elizabeth Englehardt (Dwyer, 6). She claims that “ecological feminism” should meet these criteria: “humans are part of nature and not separate from or superior to it, the nonhuman community has agency to consider and act, activism must be based on long-term sustainability and be related to social justice and equality, and that ‘. . . . Race matters, gender matters, class matters, and all of us have complicated identities’” (Dwyer,

6). Ecofeminism essentially provides agency to the nonhuman world. Oftentimes we humans believe we are above nature so we can act on its behalf. Author Christiane

Vadnais agrees that humanity is not separate nor superior to the natural world. In an interview, she states: “We are living an ecological crisis due to our arrogance and violence against other species, so I think we need to remember that: we are not everything. We are part of a bigger system, of something powerful and magic”

(Woodbury). Ecofeminism challenges the patriarchal violence that humans exert on other species and each other. Natural agency proves that we are not superior to nature, merely a part of it. In a similar manner, ecological agency is oftentimes revoked from marginalized groups due to the actions of the upper class. But what ecofeminism argues is that long-term sustainability is only possible if equality amongst people is achieved. The privileged can only abuse the system for so long before humanity dies off entirely.

Additionally from a moral perspective, we must acknowledge and combat how ecological devastation impacts people of color, women, and the lower class. While ecofeminism McGinnis 9 stands separately from ecofiction, its ideas should be utilized in more mainstream ecofiction.

Jim Dwyer also quotes Karen J. Warren, who develops upon Englehardt’s definition. Warren writes: “there are important connections between how one treats women, people of color, and the underclass on one hand and how one treats the nonhuman natural environment on the other'' (Dwyer, 6). A person who would belittle their employees, commit acts of hate, or bully those different from them is likely to treat the environment in a similar manner. If a person cannot find empathy for their fellow humankind they will not find it for the environment. These individuals view nature as a resource or even a nuisance rather than an equal part of the planet.

Karen J Warren, in her work Ecofeminism: Women, Culture, Nature continues her explanation of ecofeminism by stating the distinctness of this form of feminism.

Ecofeminism claims that “nature and naturism are feminist issues” (Warren, 4 ). Warren in her text explains how environmental issues impact women, especially women of color and women under the poverty line. One of her many examples includes how trees, forests, and forestry affect women in particular. Warren explains that the primary sufferers of “forest degradation and forest resource depletion” are women. Women will have to work on degraded soils, and those who have to travel to collect water and firewood will have to travel farther (Warren, 5). She also states that “assumptions of orthodox forestry are male-biased” (Warren, 5). In many countries suffering from the lack of trees, outsider male voices attempt to overtake the conversation. Meanwhile, the local women, such as the Chipko women of India, have indigenous technological knowledge that makes them experts in how to best sustain and improve their land (Warren, 5). They McGinnis 10 have daily experience with their country’s trees and soil, but male foreign foresters attempt to dominate the ecological conversation. If the local women had a platform for their voices there may be greater change. These are only a couple of the many examples of how women of color are impacted.

The importance of including ecofeminism in a discussion about ecofiction is that we cannot separate subject-position from humanity just as we cannot separate humanity from nature. Ecofeminism elaborates on the goals of ecofiction. Ecofeminism merely asks that we acknowledge that ecological problems affect humans differently. We as humans can come together in order to combat environmental problems. But until we acknowledge that ecological destruction is also a matter of race, gender, and class, we will not be able to make meaningful progress. If for example, the white upper class invent ways to improve air quality and water quality but do not provide these tools to the lower class, then we have not solved the issue. That is the importance of including ecofeminism in our ecofiction discourse.

An Analysis of Eclipse Our Sins

Tlotlo Tsamaase’s work is a perfect example of the type of ecofiction that I wish to work with. In her story she characterizes nature and brings human-made ecological issues to the forefront; she assesses how technological advancements and failures may affect the situation; she theorizes how people of different subject positions will be affected by ecological disaster. The story’s speaker is a young girl Tsholofelo who must step up and take care of her family who is suffering due to the vapor that poisons her McGinnis 11 family. Her family suffers greatly from these natural disasters due to being women of color and being in the lower class.

Tsholofelo is affected by the technological failures of her society due to her class.

In this world, sinful thoughts, such as sexist or xenophobic remarks, are tangible. These tangible thoughts create smog that pollutes the air and kills the people trapped in it. The smog requires that people use a respirator. However, this is made especially difficult for those who are poor as they must constantly replace their respirator to survive if they even have one that is: “even the poorest don’t have access to at least one basic human right: a respirator” (Tsamaase). Tsholofelo almost dies on numerous occasions as she must fix her air filtration unit and replace her respirator. One of the opening scenes follows Tsholofelo as she has to replace her respirator before she runs out of clean air (Tsamaase, 5). She additionally has to wear a mask and has air purifiers in case the former methods of avoiding the smog fail. Though, being a poorer member of society, these backup methods need to be replaced frequently as well.

The upper class physically lives above the poor, and the two worlds exist divided.

The cities are made more glamorous and more urban, for those who are rich that is. This revolution in architecture only causes greater damage to the lower-class: “It’s not urban sprawl, its rural devouring; sharp glamorized buildings glooming above shacks and poverty” (Tsamaase). Englehardt’s ecofeminist idea that “long-term sustainability must be based in social justice and equality” holds up in this text (Dwyer, 6). While the rich may maintain personal safety for now, unless they work to improve the environment and the lives of the rest of the population, humanity will eventually die off. McGinnis 12

Not only does the technology fail Tsholofelo and her family, but she is exploited to power said failing technology. Once humanity over-consumed gas and oil, they turned to natural resources. Only they dig so too late, as solar energy couldn’t be easily absorbed due to the heavy fog. The city relies on soul-ar energy instead. Human energy and their souls are used to power the city grid. Humans have destroyed so much of the Earth’s natural resources that they have to rely on their own bodies to power their society. Or in the case of the upper class, they only have to harvest the energy of the lower class: “sharp glamorized buildings glooming above shacks and poverty” (Tsamaase, 2). The souls of the poor are utilized to supply the power grid and street lights. And these souls must power the increasingly demanding homes of the rich while failing to properly power the slums. This abuse of power reflects the sentiment by Englehardt that class matters

(Dwyer, 6). The decay of nature affects everyone in one way or another. But even in this dystopian landscape, the upper class are able to escape their due justice and continue to exploit the environment and the poor.

The speaker’s sister is taken advantage of due to her class and womanhood. In order to make enough money to pay for respirators, some women must give their bodies and eggs away for experimentation. Scientists develop manufactured humans and bodies that are supposed to be supplied to the upper-class to combat climate issues. The speaker’s sister has her body mutilated and sells her eggs in order to “fulfill her role as a girl” and to provide money for herself and her family. Upon the sister’s return from the labs, she regrets selling her eggs. She believes that their natural human lives should matter just as much as these super-human creatures. The sister exclaims: “I shouldn’t have signed up for the experiments to save this family—look at me now, they destroyed McGinnis 13 my body. When it wasn’t satisfactory for them, they fired me, took me off their payroll.

They don’t even give a fuck about me” (Tsamaase). Women’s bodies in this society are harvested for eggs then tossed aside when no longer needed. These eggs are grown into superhumans whose bodies are used by the upper-class to live longer. Rather than working to salvage the ecosystem the upper class instead sacrifice the lower class for selfish protection. This coincides with Warren’s belief that how people treat people of color, women, and those of the lower class will reflect how they treat their environment

(Warren, 4). All of these examples reflect instances where classism and sexism play a role in who suffers from ecological disasters and who causes the most ecological damage.

The human-nature connection in the text is strongly established through

Tsholofelo communing with the goddess Mama Earth. Mama Earth is the supernatural personification of the earth who punishes her human children for all the pain they have caused her. Tsholofelo spends a lot of time praying to Mama Earth. She expresses sorrow and empathy to Mama Earth for her suffering, “When Climate Change came/It tore into

Your womb, Mama Earth, sodomized it/—and we watched./We stood and watched You,

Mama, crying./ Still we didn’t listen.” (Tsamaase, 1). Mama Earth experiences abuse as both the manifestation of nature and as a woman. Tsholofelo understands the unique challenges that women face and empathizes with Mama Earth. However, she remains in denial about humanity deserving these severe consequences for their negligence and abuse. While she acknowledges the pain Mama Earth went through, she still focuses on the human agenda. Ecological interests are brought to the forefront once Tsholofelo finally listens to Mama Earth. Mama Earth is suffering not just because humanity has poisoned her beyond repair, but also that as a species they cannot come together. When McGinnis 14

Tsholofelo discovers that her uncle and many others have been taking advantage of children Mama Earth speaks to her: “‘Child, do you understand my anger now?’ the air-voice repeats into my ear. I understand Your fury, Mama Earth” (Tsamaase, 12). This characterization of the earth allows the reader to understand the nonhuman earth on a human level. Tsholofelo finally acknowledges Dwyer’s point that human interests are not the only valid ones (Woodbury).

My piece aims to emulate the interesting dualities of technology and nature; magic and the environment; and human-nature dynamics. All of these were found in the novella Eclipse our Sins.

But more importantly, my story aims to reflect the intentions Tsamaase had when writing her work. Tsamaase in an interview elaborates on what brought her to write

Eclipse Our Sins:

It was an amalgamation of many things: climate change, crimes,

fear, pain. It came from a suffocating cooker-pressure moment of being inundated

with scorching news reports of police shootings of black men, of gender-based

violence, of black women being murdered horrendously, the pollution, the

deforestation, the toxic buildings we throw people in just for budget cuts,

corruption for wealth, the raping of the environment for wealth, the oil spills, the

racism, the killings, the xenophobia, the poor animals—it’s too much. I saw

Mother Earth as a very wounded but angry soul, finally empowered to avenge her

pain, which the future younger generations, unfortunately, have to bear

(Woodbury). McGinnis 15

This amalgamation of travesties that we have grown desensitized to is why I decided to write my piece. We cannot allow these cycles of toxicity and violence to continue. Some days we accept these cycles as our truth, but we have to try to break them. I know this is my generation’s burden to bear, but the older generations must act as well. My story calls all to action.

Part II: My Thesis

My creative thesis tackles the core sentiments of eco-fiction as expressed by the previous critics. It works to take the foundations of ecocriticism and expand upon them. I have learned the rules of ecofiction so that I may break them in order to tell new narratives about the environment. My creative thesis is part one of a novel titled

Tricolored Waters. Tricolored Waters aims to capture the ecofiction and ecofeminist sentiments of the previous literary critics through more pronounced usage of speculative fiction elements.

The plot structure of the first part of the novel Tricolored Waters allows for opportunities for these ecofiction elements to be implemented. Pamela Clark is an

American middle-aged woman who is also an empath. In the magical-realistic Earth of

Tricolored Waters, empaths have the ability to connect with the physical and emotional feelings of the natural world. While she used her powers to help environmental groups in her youth, she now acts as an empath liaison for a major technological corporation. Her job is to manage PR and to make the company seem more eco-friendly than they truly are. When she is assigned to strike a deal with an environmental organization, she McGinnis 16 hesitates due to her past with them. But once she agrees in order to rise in the company, she learns that Dr. Jamori Cortez, an old close coworker of hers, owns it. Pamela struggles to make Jamori trust her again. But upon the opportunity to go to his organization in person she is reacquainted with the natural world she long ago abandoned. Her views on environmental work have changed, but she cannot help but awe at some of the work Jamori’s group has done. Just as Pamela is about to meet with Jamori to talk negotiations, a bomb goes off at the site. The only new factor involved is Pamela and her company so she is falsely blamed for the explosion. In order to make things right and prove her innocence, she must tap back into her empathic abilities, as well as into the complex relationship that she and Jamori used to have.

This plot structure allows me to tap into many of the important ecofiction themes.

Pamela’s empathic abilities allow for ecological interests to be in the foreground as she must at least acknowledge non-human narratives (Woodbury). The role of this major corporation is to demonstrate the ecofeminist idea that how one treats marginalized groups is likely how they will treat the environment (Warren, 4). Protests against the corporation by these environmentalists reflect upon the accountability of humanity in the ethical orientation of the text (Woodbury). These are just some of the ways in which I have structured my text in order to build upon common ecofiction themes.

The title of the piece Tricolored Waters reflects upon the human connection with natural species that Mary Woodbury states in her discussion of ecofiction. The title

Tricolored Waters came from the three major perspectives found in my story. The perspectives act as a Venn Diagram: humanity in one circle, the non-human environment in the other circle, and empaths connecting the two circles together. The empaths in the McGinnis 17 story are meant to act as emotional translators between nature and humanity. This supports one of Dwyer’s criteria: that “human history is not the only legitimate interest”

(Woodbury). In my story, we get to learn the perspectives of the natural world. While humans are the main characters in my narrative, the ecological elements have their own way to communicate with the world.

The Major Ecofiction Themes in Tricolored Waters

My story tackles the themes of resilience, redemption, and hope in the face of

man-made disasters. My setting could not be a fully-realized utopian backdrop, for that would ignore the issues that still plague our society today. However, an eco-apocalyptic

background could possibly promote apathy instead of the potential humanity has to do better. My setting therefore strikes a balance between the very real problems our society will continue to face in the near future, the very real eco-technology potentials, and magical-realism to provide new perspectives to environmental debates. It is a setting that while grounded in the real world of today, has the makings of a positive future.

My narrative utilizes major elements of the ecofiction definitions previously stated. Reflecting upon Levin’s ideas of the human-nature connection, some of my story’s characters are empaths. Empaths are able to take on the emotional and physical feelings of the living nature around them, they can loosely communicate to living organisms, and they have special connections to other empaths. Pamela has attempted to shut away her empathic abilities so she can avoid taking on that responsibility. But her circumstances McGinnis 18 have forced her to tap back into her abilities. As an empath she is able to take nonhuman interests and narratives into account (Woodbury). She connects to the pain a lemon shark feels due to a fishing hook (McGinnis, 49). Pamela also helps birds escape from a collapsed building by guiding them to an exit (McGinnis, 83). Dwyer’s opinions on human accountability also play a role as Pamela must take on the pain of an animal less than willingly. She accidentally connects to a fish who is struggling against a fishing rod

(McGinnis, 45). She also has to take on the pain of an impaled narwhal in order to save a young woman (McGinnis, 75). Humanity now has a direct line of connection to nature.

Empaths cannot pretend that they are above the natural world because they are tethered to it.

Exemplifying the ecofeminist ideas of Englehardt, my story aims to capture the different human experiences of ecological trauma. For example, a character’s subject position will affect how human-made ecological change affects them. A protest breaks out in a small town due to Pamela’s corporation Devity expanding into their forest. The town is overall poor, and mostly full of people of color (McGinnis, 31). Devity is able to get away with their expansion due to their white, upper class, and corporate privileges.

For example, Pamela feels safe as she has the police on her side: “you don’t need to worry about the backs of officers,” acknowledging that she benefits from her position

(McGinnis, 29). A rich white woman would never face the threats of authority that people of color will. With money, connections, and police threatening physical violence, Devity has the upperhand. Just as Warren has stated, the way a person or a corporation treats marginalized groups reflects how they will treat the environment (Warren, 4). Devity patronizes and exploits the lower class in this town, and destroys the forests. Devity can McGinnis 19 work their magic to appeal to the news channels and to mitigate Twitter damage.. But while the corporation gets off scott-free the people of that town still have to suffer the consequences of their forest being destroyed.

Another way subject position plays a role in my story is how empaths experience environmental trauma. Most empaths in my story are women and people of color. The reason is because these groups face the most consequences from ecological abuse and negligence. However, empaths who are women face different kinds of pain. While Jamori and other male empaths face a lot of external and physical pain, the female empaths experience psychological and invasive damage. For example, empath Jenn Li experiences emotional and physical exhaustion from her hard work. Pamela is constantly internally bombarded with the feelings of the natural world around her without her consent. This reflects how we invade nature without its consent, and how women are invaded similarly without consent. Empath Emily is physically impaled at one point and beaten down by the weight of a male narwhal (McGinnis, 75). Pamela is forced to take on the internal damage that Emily faces in order to save her life (McGinnis, 76). Jamori even at one point uses his empathic abilities to force Pamela to take on the pain of another injured worker (McGinnis, 84). Pamela’s either forced or persuaded into using her empathic abilities many times in the narrative. This reflects how women take on a lot of the damage that the environment does.

Tricolored Waters also highlights eco-technology in order to capture the environment in a whimsical way. Disabled whales have prosthetic tails that allow them to move gracefully through the water; Pamela passes by genetically enhanced sea plants that boost the habitat. Fish are rescued, treated, and rehabilitated due to the advanced designs McGinnis 20 of the rescue boats and bots. Robots inspired by sea life and other animals assist the workers in the rescue and treatment of animals. Talus, a jellyfish-inspired bot assists in the exploration of the sea as well as the transportation of rescued animals. The Empa-tech base combines natural flora into its design so that the buildings themselves are made of part nature itself. We are done with narratives that scientific progress and technological advancement automatically result in a damaged ecosystem. Instead, we must invest in technology and science in order to preserve and rebuild the environment. Tricolored

Waters approaches eco-technology from the angle of fantasy. The science in this story is mostly rooted in magical realism. However, some of its ideas are based on real inventions such as animal prosthetics, synthetic coral reefs, and floating islands. I utilize a mix of fantasy and technology in order to present hope for a sustainable future.

These are some of the ways I implement speculative fiction elements and ecofeminist theory into my narrative’s major themes. Once the novel is fully realized I intend to incorporate more ecofiction, ecofeminist, and speculative influence that will help elevate my piece.

Part III: The Creative Process

The final written piece does not capture the entire creative process. I experienced unique challenges writing due to my subject position; the difficult experience of trying to create art during a devastating global pandemic; and the additional personal traumatic situations I faced this year. This thesis not only serves to push the boundaries of eco-speculative fiction but also as a timestamp for 2020 and 2021. This is as much a McGinnis 21 work of ecofiction as it is an insight into the mind of a writer during both global and personal trauma.

Subject-Position Biases

The first major challenge I met was as a white woman attempting to write the complex nuances of one of my main characters, Dr. Jamori Cortez. Jamori is a black man.

In the United States, black men are held to stereotypes of violence and crime, and I had no intention of perpetuating this idea. The original intentions for Jamori’s character were for him to juxtapose the defeatism of Pamela with overt idealism. He was to be idealistic to a fault but still have a very complex relationship with Pamela.

However, the trajectory of the narrative required more from Jamori’s character.

While he is still in many ways idealistic and kind, he is not blind to the damage that humans are causing to one another and to the planet. He does not have the patience nor the tolerance for people who value money over life. Therefore, when he believes that

Pamela is in charge of an attack on his base, he uses whatever means necessary to get information out of her. He uses his empath abilities to inflict temporary pain upon her so that she may speak up (McGinnis, 83). He is a black man who inflicts violence upon a white woman.

A black man perpetrating violence adds to the already problematic narrative that exists for black men in America. I attempt to combat this by presenting Jamori’s thoughtful and selfless personality prior to this exchange. In addition, I push the desperation of the situation to the forefront and frame the actions of Jamori as the only McGinnis 22 option to ensure that no more deaths occur. And finally, Jamori’s introspection permits him to express his remorse for what he has done, as well as address how this affects him as a black American male. The representation of his character still requires work, but I am actively fighting against harmful stereotypes.

One way I attempt to combat the stereotype that black men induce violence is by including the violence of white men in the narrative. Mr. Lombargh, Pamela’s boss, doesn’t respect the boundaries of Pamela. When discussing plans for company expansion, he often hits her arm or squeezes her shoulder in a way that’s painful for her (McGinnis

29). She cannot do anything to combat this because of the power dynamic that exists due to their office positions, gender, and class.

Robert, a white male staff member at Empa-tech also invades Pamela’s boundaries when they’re on a rescue mission. Pamela joins Robert and two other men on a boat rescue mission to find Emily. Robert grips down hard onto Pamela’s arms to hold her in place so that she can use her abilities to detect Emily’s presence (McGinnis 62).

Robert is so caught up in his own agenda, he never checks on Pamela and the pain she’s going through. When an empath taps into a creature or person suffering in pain, the empath feels a lot of that pain as if it were happening to them. Robert and the others on the ship never check on Pamela’s well-being. Pamela, the woman, is stuck taking on the entirety of Emily’s pain. Mr. Lombargh, Robert, and other male characters will be more fully developed in later parts of the novel to demonstrate this.

In order to better reflect the goals of ecofeminism, the future of this novel plans to combat harmful racial biases in more ways. There will be the presentation of various black and POC male characters who do not abide by harmful stereotypes in any regard. McGinnis 23

Jamori will be further developed so that he is realized as a fully complex yet kind character. And finally, perpetrators of violence against people and the environment will extend to more characters such as white men, women, corporations, and more abstract problems. I, as a white woman, have a lot more research to complete in order to have positive diversity in my text. With my subject position, my story should not take voices away from those marginalized groups nor perpetuate negative stereotypes. Englehardt states that in ecofeminism race matters, gender matters, and that all of these people have complex and nuanced identities (Dwyer 6). Therefore, my story needs to capture complex characters of color in progressive ways. They cannot be perfect token POC characters created merely for the sake of diversity. But they also cannot perpetuate harmful stereotypes that lead to racial hate today. I must create characters who experience their subject position but are not defined by it.

Personal Traumas

The second major challenge I faced was on a personal front. In the time spent writing my thesis, approximately 5% was spent writing on a desk or similar foundation.

The only constants in my living situation were the toxicity and how it was always changing. Early into the pandemic, my fellow roommates (and close friends) started a relationship that would only end toxic and abusive. As the pandemic kept us trapped inside thin apartment walls, it was difficult to escape the screams, cries, and crashing of objects--even behind my bedroom wall. And hiding away only left me feeling pressured and guilty, as it left each roommate to grieve on their own. Grieving became almost a McGinnis 24 daily practice in our home. I stayed up multiple times attempting to mitigate the situation to keep the peace. But it never lasted long. Each and every day, without fail, some issue arose. It typically sparked once night fell, but every day I had to be on high alert for a situation that ranged from petty squabbling to full-blown fighting, to having to find a bitter roommate who had run away for the night.

But, no matter the difficulties I had to write. Therefore, I wrote on my phone in the car, on a hill at 1 am, walking to the store, in the basement of a church, in a nursery, in a closet at an Airbnb, at hotels, and in bathtubs. I argued to myself that some of these locations enhanced the natural imagery or emotional impact. I would try and see this space through Pamela’s eyes and feel it through her skin. But, most of this chaos was not controlled nor for the sake of art, it was what I had to do. Even though the hostile environment my apartment took on was not in any way by my own design, I was the one that forfeited my right to live there. I was in survival mode and running out of oxygen. I had to escape, even if it cost me money, friendships, and a place I called home for almost two years. I moved apartments by the end of the semester.

This situation however taught me the nuances and complex emotions found in relationships. I tackle the relationship between Jamori and Pamela in a similar manner.

Jamori struggles to trust Pamela due to her leaving the environmental group on such a bad note. He doesn’t believe that she is any longer the woman that he once knew.

However, he still is relieved to find that she is alive and well, because he stills deep down cares about the positive memories they had together (McGinnis, 59). While he struggles to forgive her, he continues to give her more chances: “I trust you, Pamela, over and over again I trust you to do what you want and it only ever drags me down with you” McGinnis 25

(McGinnis, 80). He knows he shouldn’t trust her, but he cannot act like they never had a history together. Pamela on the other hand believes that she has “grown-up” past the

“pipedreams” that Jamori still holds on to (McGinnis, 32). She doesn’t understand why he hasn’t given up on this overly idealistic future. And yet, Pamela can’t quite shake all of the joyous perspectives Jamori gave to her about nature and the world. For example, she still remembers how Jamori used to tell her that every drop of water matters like every action matters (McGinnis, 32). Every way he views animals, plants, and even fun superstitions have found a hold in Pam’s brain. She thinks they’re silly now, but can’t forget about these moments such as when they would wish on the backs of turtles

(McGinnis, 31). The two are short with one another. They struggle to understand one another’s views. But they do not fully dismiss the other. They still try. As of right now, the tension between them is palpable, but you can feel the longing that exists beneath the words they won’t say.

Once I managed to remove myself from this situation, I was able to find peace with my new apartment. However, that was when my body itself decided to rebel. Due to extreme pain and a variety of medical diagnoses, my newfound writing locations were hospital beds and waiting rooms, doctor’s offices, and cars in their parking lots. Multiple misdiagnoses and complications with insurance prolonged the extent of these medical problems. By the end of the school year, these problems will hopefully be fully minimized, however, they will likely be ongoing. While I could change my physical location, I could not remove my body from the writing process. In response, I decided to embrace how I felt in what I wrote. I made Pamela experience more complicated physical McGinnis 26 and mental pains as an empath. In being out of control of my body, I found anger and exerted that onto Pamela.

However, this was when I found more empathy for Pamela. Even though she is an empath, someone who understands nature and humanity in unique ways does not mean she has control over either thing. We as humans arrogantly think that we can control the environment. We are intertwined in unique ways, but that does not mean that we rule over it. Pamela does not have control over how her company treats her or how they abuse the environment. She also doesn’t have control over how nature responds to her presence or will. At times she does not have full control of her own body or mind either. Part of ecofiction as stated by Christiane Vadnais is accepting that we are not fully in control of nature (Woodbury). That nature includes our bodies. We as living organisms, while we believe ourselves often to be above our natural side, are still a part of the larger ecosystem. Pamela is only able to control her own actions given her circumstances and how she navigates the reactions of others. Within understanding this lack of control I found acceptance in this truth and empathy for what Pam can not control nor fix.

However, I felt it even more important to give Pam even the tiniest of agency in each situation she found herself in. Even though I was in the hospital for a medical condition I did not cause myself, I could take steps to mitigate the pain and to treat the disease. I had ways I could take care of my mind and spirit. Pamela and I’s circumstances make it difficult to have the agency we want, but, we are never without at least a small choice. We do not always have freedom of body but we do have freedom of mind. But I also was kinder to Pam and let her accept that some things were not her fault nor fixable. McGinnis 27

I’m still in pain. I rise and then am knocked back down again. Pamela and the rest of the characters face similar struggles. Pamela’s never quite out of the deep end. She faces hardship after hardship, yet she is able to find beauty in the tiny linings of time. For example: when Pamela is accused of causing an explosion at Empa-tech she is devastated. She struggles to convince Jamori that she is innocent, and eventually gives up. However, she spots a familiar cyborg bird who is trapped in an enclosure damaged by the explosion. This bird’s caretaker is Renee, one of the few people who have been genuinely kind to Pamela. Pamela is being dragged along by workers to be interrogated by a man who is already convinced of her guilt. But she still uses her empathic abilities to guide Renee’s bird and the others to safety. Pamela is filled with a sense of pride from their safety that she can find joy even when she fears for her fate (McGinnis 55). While we could sulk in our inability to control nature, we should instead relish in our ability to improve it where we can.

Global Crises and their Environmental Impact

The third major challenge was tackling the work’s core messages in response to the global and national crises of the past year. The pandemic, in addition to affecting the lives of millions, has had colossal impacts on the environment as well. In some cases, it has improved the state of certain environmental crises, and in other cases, it has caused devastating consequences. For example: “Overall, the pandemic has caused huge global socio-economic disruption, which directly or indirectly affected the environment like improvement of air and water quality, reduction of noise and restoration of ecology” McGinnis 28

(Rume). The reduction in travel, tourism, and more have all had positive impacts on cleaner air and cleaner waters (Rume). The fewer humans are out, the more room nature has to explore. But, the pandemic has had negative environmental effects as well:

“Moreover, the increased use of personal protective equipment (PPE) (e.g., face mask, hand gloves, gowns, goggles, face shield, etc.), and their haphazard disposal creates environmental burden” (Rume). The increased demand for single-use items has resulted in an influx of waste and consequently pollution (Rume). So even with some positive impacts, the pandemic has still done significant damage to the environment. It is also important to note that most people did not actively make choices to protect the environment. Due to the circumstances, they made choices to protect themselves that resulted in the preservation of nature. That is why the phrase “return to normal” is a scary one to hear. That implies that people will return to old habits. These habits will result in all the progress made being lost, and for a chance at saving our planet to look even slimmer. The negative environmental cases have made it disheartening to write this piece.

Hearing scientists state that we do not have much time left--that they do not think people will actually change their ways--this is all disheartening. However, that is why writing this piece is that much more important. It is difficult as a writer to write something that you’re doubtful about. But the more I write the more I’m convinced that humanity has a chance to make things right. That is why I need people to read stories like this so they want to take action. We cannot exist in this apathy of the older generations nor in the nihilism of the younger ones. We have to act while we can.

Conclusion McGinnis 29

The most important part about writing ecofiction is studying the human-nature connection. Studying this connection will allow us to be more empathic, inspire more sustainable consumption, and encourage people to protect the environment. We as humans will work harder to protect things we understand and are connected with. In an interview, the author of the ecofiction work Fauna, Christine Vadnais, expresses the importance of the human-nature connection in ecofiction. In regards to the connection in her own work, she states: “I wanted to make the reader feel how beautiful and powerful and vivid nature is, even in its darkest moments. For a long time now, we—humans—separated ourselves from nature, thinking that we will always find a way to control it. But we are part of it, for the better and for the worse'' (Woodbury). This sentiment is what I strive to emulate in my story. We can improve the natural world, we can destroy it, but we can never control it. I want to expand upon this lack of control further in my story, while still giving opportunities for the characters to make meaningful changes despite it. The lack of control shouldn’t lead to a sense of defeatism. What it should accomplish is changing our mindsets from being above nature to be a part of it.

Once we accept that we are one and the same we can better understand the important role the environment plays in our lives. Stories like Eclipse our Sins and Tricolored Waters encourage people to rethink our dynamics with nature. These shifts in dynamics should encourage a symbiotic relationship with the natural world rather than a parasitic one.

The trajectory for Tricolored Waters is for it to develop into a full-length novel.

The plan for the novel is to draw further inspiration from writers who combine speculative and ecofiction elements, such as Tsamaase. The hope is for the piece to uncover the fantasy of my story’s world. While Pamela has been introduced to the setting, McGinnis 30 she has not yet had time to explore it. The need for the intense plot shift has only given

Pamela the time to struggle and panic. The road ahead will not be easy for her. She and others will face the harsh realities of their environment. However, they will also still find hope along the way. The planet may be greatly damaged, but there is still time to take action. The purpose of my piece is not to read it and want to accept our fate. It is to move forward. McGinnis 31

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Dwyer, Jim. Where the Wild Books Are: A Field Guide to Ecofiction. University of

Nevada Press, 2010.

Levin, J. (2011). “Contemporary ecofiction.” In C. Eby & B. Reiss (Authors) & L.

Cassuto (Ed.), The Cambridge History of the American Novel (pp. 1122-1136).

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/CHOL9780521899079.074

Rume, Tanjena, and S.M. Didar-Ul Islam. “Environmental Effects of COVID-19

Pandemic and Potential Strategies of Sustainability.” Heliyon, U.S. National

Library of Medicine, Sept. 2020,

www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7498239/#:~:text=Overall%2C%20the

%20pandemic%20has%20caused,et%20al.%2C%202020).

Tsamaase, Tlotlo. Eclipse Our Sins. Clarkesworld Magazine., 2019.

Warren, Karen, and Nisvan Erkal. Ecofeminism : Women, Culture, Nature. Indiana

University Press, 1997. EBSCOhost,

search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=612&site=eds-live

&scope=site.

Woodbury, Mary. “What Is Eco-Fiction?” Dragonfly.eco, Dragonfly.eco, July 2020,

dragonfly.eco/eco-fic

Woodbury, Mary, and Christiane Vadnais. “Fauna, Christiane Vadnais - Dragonfly: An

Exploration of Eco-Fiction.” Dragonfly, Dragonfly: An Exploration of

Eco-Fiction, 17 Dec. 2020, dragonfly.eco/fauna-christiane-vadnais-2/.

Woodbury, Mary, and Tlotlo Tsamaase. “Spotlight - Tlotlo Tsamaase - Dragonfly: An McGinnis 32

Exploration of Eco-Fiction.” Dragonfly, Dragonfly: An Exploration of

Eco-Fiction, 11 Feb. 2021, dragonfly.eco/spotlight-tlotlo-tsamaase/.tion/. McGinnis 33

Creative Project

Tricolored Waters: A Novel: Part 1

An ally can get away with more than an enemy. That’s why Mr. Lombargh calls me up on stage at the protest. How many have I been a spokesperson for at this point? As per usual, this one was too small to mean more than getting churned in the news cycle for a day or two. But big enough to get the Twitter hashtags buzzing for the next few hours.

Enough to cause a headache to the men upstairs, bothersome enough to call me to handle it as smoothly as possible.

“I appreciate you all for taking the time to come out to speak your minds. That is a very brave thing to do, you should all be proud of yourselves. Let’s give yourselves a round of applause.”

The applause in the crowd is sparse. Most of the claps are half-hearted and cautious. I can feel all of the eyes staring at me, but they’ve already made up their minds.

The bright green and orange leaves soaring across the parking lot bring such gentleness to a scene that is anything but beautiful or gentle. Security guards stand in front of the makeshift stage. They’re so nonchalant standing there with guns at their side. I can’t help but admit that it feels better to see their strong backs than their faces. Pointed, calculating, unapproachable. You don’t need to worry about the backs of officers.

“Our environment is a very important issue to not just us here at Devity, but to myself especially.”

Devity is a glass-windowed, modern hub in a town full of rough brick roads with missing bricks and old wooden homes that are falling apart. It stands out, that’s for sure.

But the same people who complain that it doesn’t quite fit are calling us using one of our McGinnis 34 devices. These are the same people who will be begging us for jobs. A town of old-fashioned hypocrites. Little pockets of forest here and there, still plenty of hiking trails for the college kids and the old men. The company’s expansion will only boost the productivity and promise of this area. Not that this town of past and poverty can see that.

I adjust the collar on my shirt and give a nostalgic smile. “As an empath myself, I have felt a lot of what you all have felt. The pain in you is real and should be acknowledged as such. I understand that the destruction of parts of this forest has brought about a lot of hurt and pain.”

“In our push for progress, we forgot to acknowledge the history of this place.

There’s a truly rich history of empaths in this town who must have suffered greatly due to this large loss.”

“Which is why we appreciate our collaboration with Truley Pharmacies. They are providing medical services underneath their tent and from their medical supply vehicles.”

Some heads turn to look at the tents in the back. Some empaths sit underneath an emergency tent with ice packs, others have their temperature taken, and some are even hooked up to IV’s. “We appreciate their commitment to protecting you all here today.

Let’s give them a round of applause as well.” More of the crowd joins in clapping. “In addition to providing services here today, they are also scheduling appointments for medical guidance to determine which empathic supplements are right for you and your specific condition—.”

“Fucking sellout!” yelled a young black woman far back in the crowd, though I couldn’t see her face, it was probably the white woman with the sign that read “Down with Devity.” McGinnis 35

“Yeah you should be embarrassed of yourself,” yelled a lanky black gentleman with a colorful poster board reading “Empower Empaths!”

“I hear you all,” I respond, “And I am sorry that you feel that way. But I promise I am here for you, I am on your side.” The rest of my words catch in the back of my throat.

On purpose of course, but none of the protestors need to know that. Nor did they need to know of how I’m able to hold back forced tears so well. I can see some of the protestors lower their guard. Finally, maybe they’ll listen.

The birds atop the trees behind the protestors are all perched together. They’re staring at me. While I have not been able to understand them in years, I know they watch me with discontent. They know the truth as they watch from above. They believe that one day they will enact their judgment on me for changing sides. But for now, they sit and pick at their feathers. They’re just fragile animals. Useless beings.

I push the few hairs out of my face, hoping the people can see the exhaustion in my brow and the bags under my eyes. To step away from the podium is to make clear that

I am open to them, and that I am not scripted. So, I step away.

“As an empath, I understand the pain you all feel here today. I have been restless this afternoon as well. But not as restless as I have been the past few weeks. This forest has been sick for many months now. Each day I came into work, I would hear the crying of the natural world outside my office window.” I gesture to one of the oldest trees on the grounds that is recovering.

“As head of our Green Initiative here at Devity, we did everything in our power to attempt to preserve this area. When we learned that there was such a low probability that McGinnis 36 any of the forest survived. But we took drastic action to protect the remainder of the forest.”

“We have removed the source of the disease from the forest. Many trees were lost, but many survived due to our quick efforts. Our expansion only extended to the regions of the forest that were already lost. We chose this as to avoid bulldozing additional land, and stuck to the now unfertile soil.”

“We have mitigated the spread of the virus and protected upwards of 50% of the trees that would have otherwise been infected. We can now continue to monitor the rest of Able Street’s forest, and begin renewed planting efforts to help the forest grow and expand outside of the hazardous regions.”

“Our new facility houses an Ecotech department, and a community outreach office that will be open 5 days a week. We thank you for coming out to show us your resilience, and your compassion. Our Green Initiative will take care of all of your concerns, and more. Devity hears you, and we thank you. The Earth too thanks you. Have a great rest of your day.” Clapping ensues, more sincere this time. Whether the protestors believe my speech is worth clapping over or not, they feel a little heard, so they go through the motions.

My jaw grows sore from all of the smiling I have to do when I stay back to talk to people. Hopeful smiles, sympathetic smiles, eager to take further action smiles. The anger and contempt that I can feel in the breath of the protestors slowly settle to a calmness, or at least tolerance.

The speech doesn’t stop the chanting and protestors. One couple even makes coins rain on me, the “sell-out” I am, but they don’t stay much longer into the night after McGinnis 37 the officers send them away. Within a few hours, the local authorities shut down the protest. A few stragglers remain, but once the tents are disassembled, the large majority of the crowds scatter. I watch them disperse from a conference room window.

“Pamela, excellent work out there,” Mr. Lombargh slaps me on the back so hard I stumble forward. “Especially pulling out the Green Initiative from our old site. Good work thinking on your feet.”

As I speak I tap into a customer-service voice that lies deep within my memory.

“Thank you, sir, but I couldn’t have done it by myself. Jerold and I were up early this morning in the conference room doing some research.”

“Regardless, what you two did saved our asses.” His old white skin wrinkles further as he sips his coffee. “We just have an intern plant a few trees each month, donate a bit to a local wildlife fund, and the protestors should back off. God, everyone overreacts to everything now, I can’t take a breath without someone yelling to me about my

‘privilege.’” He has a smoker’s laugh that’s grating on the ears, but that doesn’t mean I don’t start laughing with him.

“I can’t thank you enough though, Pam. Having an empath like yourself on our team has made situations such as these much more tamable. The damn libs and their constant conspiracies and huffing. But at least you could calm them down.”

I give him a polite smile. “I’m happy to help wherever I can, Mr. Lombargh. What can I say, I know how to speak to them.”

He nods, a scheming look in his eye. “I’m glad to hear you say that, we actually have another project in the works that I would love a chance to speak to you about.”

“Oh?” He guides me to the other end of the conference room, McGinnis 38

“There’s been another project the partners and I here would love to get you in on.

Are you familiar with our smaller branch out east?

“In Yonestown? Yes, I’m familiar.”

“They’re looking to follow our example and expand. They’ll be helping us process orders on our next product lineup. They’re going to need offices and factory space, so I recommended to them a great spot.”

“Sounds like it will be a beneficial expansion.”

“Yes, yes it will. If we can make it happen there. See Pamela, the issue is that expansion has been halted, caught up in a bunch of red tape, another company is making a stink,” he flicks his hand about, “the usual expanse of paperwork.”

“Have their branch forward the information to our legal department, we can get that squared away for them.”

“See, that right there is the issue. The company held up there, some eco-tech lab or whatever, is being incredibly stubborn. They’re not even attempting to listen to negotiations. They don’t want the factory there at all, environmental risks and whatnot, liabilities and such. They have permits and ownership of enough of the waterfront area that they’re going to be a problem.”

“It sounds like they’re pretty set on staying put.”

“Yes, and I would rather not have the headache of searching for loopholes and going through the state. I don’t want another headache like summer 2012, remember that shit? Gary almost blew the lid on that one.” He laughs and elbows my arm too hard. I smile but discreetly rub the spot. He pats down his pockets and pulls out a cigar, “Even thinking about that mess makes me need a smoke, let’s take a walk.” McGinnis 39

He and I stroll toward the downstairs balcony, “The point of the matter Pamela is that we need someone like you to step in. They’re a bunch of young hippie-dippy types, and I think an empath such as yourself could help make a solid dent into their delusions.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great, I’ll have you reach out to their head guy, a real prick if you ask me, but if you could get a meaningful appointment with him that would be” he holds up an okay sign with his fingers. “I’ll have Taylor forward you the guy’s contact info. His name’s Dr.

Jamori Cortez if you want to first look into him.”

Courtyards of turf and cigar smoke shouldn't bring me back to the trees of water from my youth. But it does. That name is the first domino in a Rube Goldberg machine, setting off a chain reaction of random emotions and events trapped deep in my mind. I haven't heard that name in years and bam. I'm twenty-two again.

“Sir, I’m not sure that I would be the best person to head this project. I may be a bit too personally connected with the area in question and all. But I would be more than happy to collaborate with the rest of the legal staff to provide my own ideas—.”

“Look, Pamela, I can’t be having you doubt yourself right now. The way you handled today? Knocked it out of the park. But, we have big plans for this company and we would love to have someone like yourself in the room making these plans with us. If this goes well, we’ll talk.”

He waves me off. Typical.

“That would…that would be an honor Mr. Lombargh. It’s been a long time since

I’ve interacted with a group like this. But, I’d be happy to put in my best efforts. I’m sure

I could convince them to change their minds.” McGinnis 40

He slaps me again on the arm, hard, and he laughs from his stomach.

“That’s the spirit. Don’t quit on this until they agree to sign this document, you hear?”

Every time I write a sentence for this email I type another one of his digits into my phone and then I write another sentence. Neither way of reaching out feels right. One way too distant. One too close. This back and forth takes the whole workday until the clock on my computer tells me it’s still the morning, nowhere even near my lunch break yet.

It’s bizarre to think of a time back before cubicles and developed pollen allergies.

It feels as though on a different timeline exists a younger me who is still outside lying in a hammock in the middle of nowhere. Listening to the cicadas and wishing upon the backs of turtles. He would tell me when a turtle floated past us to make a wish. If the turtle kept his shell afloat for the next two minutes the wish would come true. But if the turtle dove down and fully submerged his shell into the water he would drag your wish down with him to the bottom. I remembered I made a stink about a turtle who took an important wish of mine down with him. Jamori took off his shoes and ran into the water.

He went under and came back up with his hand in a first, he unfurled his hand in mine.

And in a cocky voice said, got your wish back for ya. It was a silly game but I catch myself counting wishes on the backs of turtles from time to time.

We would sit in the still of the water and channel our connection into the soles of our feet or only our fingertips. Feel the entirety of the weight of the place in our hands. A McGinnis 41 prick of the pointer finger, or a soothing hum on the pinky. But day by day our entire bodies would be a part of the grass, the ripples, the leaves, the wind.

Jamori and I would talk about the smallest centimeter a tree grew or the new family of bobcats that have made our mangrove a home. Working with him made every small victory feel so much bigger than it was. On the sadder days, I would warn him that we were barely making a dent. He would say each drop of water was needed to fill a pond, and each step we did was needed to step forward.

I now know that that time I spent there was merely a vacation from the reality taking place a few doors down. We were naïve to think we could do more beyond making footprints and crush leaves. Our shoulders were always sore, and our calves would pull us down as if we were in quicksand. Sick at least once a month, the world around us was the pilot of our bloodstreams. But there was nothing we could do, nothing that didn’t cause more pain that is.

“Still can’t believe he’s at it,” I mumble to myself. But I know that it’s easier to think that. To convince myself that this is odd behavior for him. The man who told me that he was going to change the world one day has not yet backed out on his promise. It’s baffling, a normal person would just stop at this point. However, if anyone were to stick to an absurd pipedream it would be him.

Before I make the call I read up on Jamori’s new initiative. They’re an off-shore eco-tech company set up in...the middle of the Atlantic? “Empa-tech” is the name. Of course, he would give it a dumb dad pun for a name. They’re small in terms of their number of employees, but they have amassed quite a lot of land, or sea rather, for their operating centers. The frequency their smaller ports relocate makes them seem like sea McGinnis 42 nomads, but their head base of operations, by the pictures at least, is stable and high-tech.

Jamori’s likely based there now.

Once the sun has set I finally make the call, still within the confines of my office.

Even though we would only be speaking through a telephone I call him inside. It feels like an unfair advantage for him outdoors, his vines extending from the ground and the speaker all at once. My office phone may be tethered, but not to anything of substance.

The phone rings, and I’m placed on hold repeatedly as I’m passed between high-pitched interns. They’ve all heard our company’s shtick before, they don’t want to talk to us. But I drop Jamori’s name, I drop our old worksite, I drop our connections, our ties as empaths. All of the information is so outdated it should mean nothing to anyone, but something slips through the cracks, and I get connected to his work phone. The hold music is a fun jazz number, something that feels so typical for him.

“Pam.”

“Jamori.”

“...”

“I...frankly didn’t think you’d answer. How have you been holding up?”

“...what did you want Pam?”

“We both already know why I called you Jamori, you don’t need to put on an act.”

“I do know. But I want to hear it from you, Pam.”

“I know the deal has been sent your way. And I understand your concerns. But this deal will benefit both of our interests. I think you’re making a big mistake turning down a chance for negotiations.” McGinnis 43

He breathes a heavy sigh away from his phone. Jamori puts his glasses on the table and rubs his temples, I can’t hear this, but I know that’s what he does.

“All right Pam, while I don’t believe anything you’re saying, you seem confident about this. I’m curious to know why. Sure, let’s meet up.”

All I hear is my voice and the typing of the keyboard. “That’d be great, thank you

Jamori. Let’s figure out the best way to meet, I’m pulling up my schedule now, how does next week—.”

“Listen, Pam, while I am willing to meet with you, that doesn’t mean I want

Devity playing a part in this meeting.”

I shake my head in disbelief, “I—Jamori, you know I’m going to be representing

Devity at our meeting. This won’t be some impromptu brunch with mimosas, this will be an executive meeting between our legal teams.”

“Yes, I’m aware. But, I don’t have any desire to communicate with the rest of your team, because frankly, they don’t give two shits about any of this. It doesn’t matter what expansions are or aren’t made, what disasters come from any which deal, so long as they get their paycheck they’re good. I know that. You know that. And you also know that this is more than that for us.” He pauses. “At least, I hope it still is for you.”

“Jamori, you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Pam, I think you’re the one downplaying it. Do you even know the entire area, my team, covers? The waters our project cares for? The ones Devity wants to destroy further. Listen, Pam, if you don’t want to take this seriously we don’t have to meet up.” McGinnis 44

The phone points outward as I rub my forehead with the back of my hand. The stick of righteousness is still stuck up his ass it seems. “No, no, whichever way you want to meet works for me too. Tell me your terms and we’ll make it work.”

“Don’t worry, I can feel the veins popping out of your head, it’s nothing too crazy.

All I ask is that we meet at the main center for Empa-Tech,”

“Your center, the floating piece of metal in the middle of the ocean? I’ll have to let Jerold know to bring an extra bucket, I’ve never seen someone as allergic to the sea as him.”

“We’ll arrange transportation for you once you make it to the shore. And remember, the deal is that only you’re invited to this meeting.”

“You never like playing fair, do you Jamori? So, your army against just me? They all doctors too? Seriously, how will those negotiation terms be at all reasonable for my client?”

“All I want is for you to meet the team at my side. I just need you to take some time to get to know them, know why they’re doing this. The official negotiations will just be between you and me. Once I’ve seen that you know our side of this too, then, the two of our groups can sit down to talk.”

I pull the phone away from my face, shuffling around in my chair, trying not to get the phone cord caught up in the tangling threads of my brain. “This is very unorthodox in terms of our typical procedures. And, by the way you’re speaking, I can’t see this being handled in the matter of a simple afternoon, this sounds more like an entire conference, this’ll be a unique situation to propose to my boss, to say the least.” McGinnis 45

“You are right about that, but this is a unique situation for my side as well, this push will result in huge changes. Look, it’ll already take some time to get down to us, and negotiations take time as well--especially with all of the projects we’re currently working on. If you want to get them done in person, this will be the best way.”

“And this is the only way you’ll talk to us, right?”

Silence from him means yes.

“All right Jamori, I’ll see what I can do.”

Click.

I could have told Mr. Lombargh that Jamori needed me to provide him with an entire army, each soldier in their private jet, and in his huff, he would say, “what must be done, we’ll double it later.” He’ll at least put up a fight normally to cut corners and save on cash. But, he signs off on my request for time out of the office with barely a glance at the page. Before I can try to explain it to him, he waves me off, “get the job done

Pamela.” Does he believe in me to that extreme? Or is he that desperate for this deal to go through?

No time to ponder though. Paperwork stamped, email sent off, bags packed, and I find myself in the objectively worst place on Earth. The middle seat in a middle row of an airplane. My neck pillow, eye mask, vitamin water, and unlimited bags of mini pretzels only make the flight as much more enjoyable as the woman drooling on my shoulder makes it that much more miserable.

My eyes wander, beyond the large head of the person in the window seat and below to the ocean waters as we begin our gradual descent. I’m on my way to a class reunion that no one invited me to—one where the teachers have passed, the students McGinnis 46 remember me through rumors and annoyance, and the school grounds themselves coil at my presence. I haven’t been out in the field in years—the occasional protest close to home being my only action outside. The rest of my incredulous reality-style show follows me as I sit in various oddly tan-shaded rooms as I complete the necessary paperwork for the day. Meetings galore. All the works. It’s rewarding when we get the numbers back and when the board congratulates my team on our monthly success. Mr. Lombargh is never usually one for handouts, but he entrusted me with this deal, so he took care of all the transportation and everything. He’s confident that I will succeed. It’s nice to feel needed.

We touch down, the airport and the rest of the in-between travel are a blur, and

I’m dropped off outside of a shorefront park. Waves crash against the wooden barrier as kids scramble up the dry slide. The repetitive tune of an ice cream truck can be heard rounding the corner, and the familiar sound of begging children fills the ears of the sun-tired moms.

My heels are in my hand as I trek through the sandy path to the docks, the beach grass so thick that it tickles at my knees and forearms. The “docks,” as Jamori described to me, are one long wooden strip, for if a ferry were to park there. The brush separates the park and this cove well. The only other people relaxing on the dock are an older couple of gentlemen with bucket hats fishing on the edge of the dock, closer to shore. One of the older gentlemen knocks over their bucket, to that “Not this shit again Craig, how are you this clumsy?” from his friend. And a group of young girls drag around a boogie board, collecting rocks and broken shells. The two in front dragging the board are meticulous, as McGinnis 47 meticulous as kids can be when selecting their shells. The girl bringing up the rear picks up the shells that fall off the back and launches them into the water.

I watch the politics of fishing and the childhood beach collection unfold as petty tensions rise. There’s not too much else to do as I wait. My company’s driver waits with me, but he’s on the phone by the car.

Something tugs at the bottom of my lip. I wipe my finger on my pants before pressing into my mouth, a pinching sensation spread through my inner left cheek. My eyes shoot back to the dock, the one old man has his line out, and it’s being pulled down.

I try relaxing my jaw, contorting and flexing my lips and cheeks, opening and closing my mouth even. This fish either needs to be caught or swim away. The stinging lessens, but the feeling that I bit the inside of my lip remains. I look up toward the clouds and convince myself I care about the abstract shapes they make—something to distract from the source of this irritation.

There’s grumbling at my feet, and I stumble forward. I look around to see if it’s just me. The young kids are collecting the shells that bounce off their boogie board. The men are holding onto their caps and gear. I try not to smile just a tad as the one man struggles to keep his fishing pole straight, whatever on the other end’s gaining the upper hand in this chaos. The pinching in my mouth stings, and then it subsides completely as the man loses his grip on the rod.

Corkscrewing from the surface of the water is an enormous spherical submarine—covered in seaweed and purplish fungi I don’t recognize. It swells up out of the surface and water sprays out of the top of it. A sliding door whips open and a young McGinnis 48 man’s head peeks out. I’m so caught up in staring at the bizarre vehicle that I barely register the man calling out. Thanks, Jamori.

“Here to pick up a Pamela…Clark. According to this report, she’s tall, bobbed hair, always has bags under her—oh hey, hey, are you, Pamela?” He’s pointing at me, and although the opinions of these beach-going strangers mean nothing to me, it still embarrasses me to approach the contraption.

“I’m guessing that Jamori sent you? I was told we’d be traveling by water but this is uh…” I loosely gesture at this odd machine, “interesting.”

“Yeah, this was what wasn’t checked out yet so, here we are I guess,” the top part of his hair is tied up in a bun, the sides shaved. He has a slight tan but as he shuffles in his open-toed shoes you can see the hints of pale white skin. He’s dressed like a stoner stuck in the body of a teenage lifeguard.

I just sort of nod, waiting for him to continue with his introduction, and he nonchalantly points to the boat he came out of, “So, you getting in? Have everything?” I look back to the driver to see if he’ll save me, but he’s still on his phone, now sitting inside the car.

“Oh um—,” I look at my duffle bags trying to figure out some excuse not to get inside that death contraption. A hunk of metal mixed with the bottomless deep doesn’t seem to add up to a good time. But he’s already transferring my bags inside the small sphere before I even have the opportunity to retort.

“Ms. Clark!” I turn around to see the driver frantically tripping through the sand, his arms wrapped tightly around a briefcase, “Your bag Ms. Clark, you wouldn’t want to forget this.” McGinnis 49

“Oh thank you, if I forgot all the documents...I’d rather not imagine the smug face

Jamori would have seeing me frazzled and unprepared...thank you again.” Even when

Jamori’s not here he has me off my game.

He smiles. “My pleasure. Have a safe trip.”

“Thank you, I’ll see you when I get back.”

He tips his cap at me and heads back off to his car.

Ty and I carry the last of my luggage onto the contraption. Ty helps me as I struggle to climb my way inside. It’s got some fancy console at the front and some storage, but otherwise, it's just a gray ball. Once the door closes, I’m trapped inside a big metal death ball. Great. Good thinking getting inside Pam. Should’ve finished my will before I left I guess.

Before I can settle in Ty hands me a life vest. “Here.”

“Am I going to need one of these in here?” The inside is only big enough for a few people, only just a smidge higher than my head, I’m careful when moving to not accidentally hit it. The walls are a matte gray with some simple benches circling the space.

“Shouldn’t. Probably not anyways, but,” He shrugs, sliding the door shut. He presses another button and I can hear the shifting of metal as an outer layer seals itself shut.

“Is it alright if I just hold it, it’ll probably irritate my neck otherwise.” I rub at my shoulders, and while they have been messed up since an incident in college. I do ham it up a tad--adding in all the melodrama of high school theater. McGinnis 50

He scratches the back of his head, “My bad, but, no can do. On your introduction paperwork in all caps, underlined to the extreme it says, ‘Cannot Swim. Must wear a lifejacket at all times.’ To be honest, I think he also wanted you to wear a snorkel and fins, but we only have the serious gear in here and that we don’t pop out unless there’s an emergency. But I do have this you can use.” He tosses an orange pool noodle at me.

“A pool noodle, seriously? Ty, how old do you think I am?”

He shrugs, “Listen, Jamori gave this to me to give to you.”

Oh if Jamori doesn’t get off his high horse and sign a deal with me I’m going to beat him with this pool noodle.

He taps at touch screen buttons on a transparent panel, so he must not notice the twitching in my face, “Oh, Jamori asked that I be provided all of those thoughtful gifts?

How kind of him—however, I’m sure he must have hit his head sometime during his long existence and forgot that I am very capable of swimming.” Seems even after all these years he needs to get his prank fix in. Never anything to hurt or humiliate anyone, just enough to annoy me.

Ty looks at me, signaling to the life jacket, I put it on, but once he turns around I loosen the straps as far as they can go and use the noodle as a neck pillow. We start our descent into the water once I’m sitting down. I hold onto the handles on the wall as tightly as I can.

Ty presses some buttons on the console, and the sphere shifts—layers spiral around us like rings on a planet. The final metal cover folds itself in half, making the top act like a one-way mirror. The metal pod cocoons us. The outer shell falls and reveals a McGinnis 51 one-way mirror where I can feel how small of a speck I am in the middle of the sea—for only a moment before we’re shaking uncontrollably.

“My bad Pamela, this is no big deal, just a little extra uh, fun—like a water ride or rollercoaster.” This kid has no idea what he’s doing--does he? If I die, I will haunt Jamori.

As I settle in the shaking and spirals of cool colors around me, I can finally see through the entirety of our ship. Schools of fish shuffle each way around us—grays and purples and blues all rise and fall. Long reams of seaweed tickle the bottom of the metal ship, they pass underneath my bare feet, and I shuffle alongside their movements.

The sunlight cascades through the surface of the water in such a way that it shimmers off of the scales of fish and the shells of sea turtles. My focus fixates on a simple bass, his mouth puckers ever so slightly to feed upon small shrimp swimming by.

In shadow above him, a large whale hums as he floats above us. He shoves the currents as he travels with a mighty heft, but he pays us no mind. I blink as I notice his skin fades into a prosthetic tail. His movements are still so graceful. He gradually rises past us and breaks the surface of the water.

Below my feet coral glistens, clearer than I’ve seen it in a long time—I wonder if this mirror is enhancing our vision. But beyond the shimmer, long strips of gray pass as lemon sharks swim underneath us, causing us to shake further.

Ty jokes, “Wouldn’t be able to warn them to move to the left or something, huh?”

I raise an eyebrow but keep my tone calm, “No, I’m afraid I’m no Dr. Phil for the sharks. They’ll do what they want.”

“Shoot, well, shit to that plan then. Figured as much though. Lost my trunks to a dolphin once, Jenn could not help me get ‘em back.” McGinnis 52

As he continues to joke around he starts to put on full scuba gear.

“What’re we stopping for? Is the ship damaged?” I go to tighten my life jacket but

Ty dismisses my fears.

“We’re just vibin’ but our shark friend over here ain’t. I’m going to go get a closer look, I’ve got a gut feeling one of them’s hurt.”

“So you’re going to abandon me on a boat. For a fish.”

“It’ll only take a second...actually it would go faster if you could help...y'know...connect with the shark and ask what’s up.”

“Since when did I become the fish doctor? I need to meet with Jamori right away, this is a complete waste of time.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that as he continues suiting up.

“Jamori won’t be happy to hear about this delay.”

He puts on his mask.

“What are we going to do, save every fish?”

He shrugs. As Ty goes to open the door I let out an exasperated sigh. If he wants my help he’ll get it in whatever tone I decide to give it to him in.

“Look I’ll see what I can do but don't expect much. I’m not wasting more than a few minutes on this.”

“Aye aye” he gives a sarcastic salute. I stare at my feet and look at the baby shark who keeps drifting off a bit lower than the other sharks before swimming back up.

Staring at him I’m trying to tune into a radio station on an old radio--with a weak antenna. The radio station’s tower doesn’t have the strongest airwaves and I struggle to even remember the station’s frequency. But after a few minutes of straining my body and McGinnis 53 squeezing my head as hard as I can...nothing. Nothing more than a simple discomfort in my throat from probably the shotty air quality down here.

“Hate to break it to you Ty, but all I’m able to figure out is that we should leave. I feel like I’m going to suffocate down here.”

Ty perks up. He seems almost happy even. Which I find incredibly rude. “Oh?

Why’s that?”

“My throat for one thing--”

“Something’s probably caught in its throat. Damn hooks get stuck in there all the time.”

“Huh, I--”

“Thanks!” And in a revolving door tube system, he’s out into the ocean below.

I’m tempted to just squash him with my foot through the glass. Before the sharks can strike he taps a button on his suit that releases a purple haze. The sharks fall into a twilight between being conscious and unconscious. To be honest, they all seem stoned out of their minds which feels fitting for Ty’s new shark buddies.

He pulls aside the baby shark and inspects the inside of its mouth. He’s there for a few moments before swimming back up to the ship.

I attempt to stay against the far wall as our dripping wet mop dog reenters the ship. Ty shakes himself off and plops down soaking wet back into his chair. He presses a large orange button on the console and we sit. I break the silence.

“Are we good to go then?”

“Found a hook, pretty rusty too. Could cause one nasty infection. Called someone in.” I resist the urge to chuck my pool noodle at this overgrown child. McGinnis 54

“So, we’re going to sit here, in the middle of the ocean, for just one shark--”

A loud thwoomp shakes our ship and I fall back into my seat, my lifejacket scratches my nose as it flies up over my head. Bobbing in front of our ship is a big swimming robot. His torso is large and round. His arms extend and have claws at the end.

His oval head rests on top of its body. His larger torso fades into these long winding (and frankly beautiful) tentacles like that of jellyfish. At the end of these tentacles rest tiny, colorful, mechanical jellyfish. Unlike the larger creature with large glowing eyes and a small mouth, these smaller jellyfish would look almost real if not attached to this...thing.

A few jellyfish even pop off and whizz off into the sea, leaving some of his tentacles bare. It raises a claw to...wave? His glowing eyes smile at us.

“Are we okay? What is that thing?” Ty raises an eyebrow at me, I look down to see my legs are at my chest, and I’m holding my life jacket above my head like a shield.

Ty laughs, snorts even, “Yeah no, Pam, he’s chill. This guy here’s Talus, he’s just checking that all’s good.” Ty presses a few buttons then types something into his keyboard. Talus, the big jellyfish robot man emits a yellow glow as a ray of light scans over the ship. The light disappears. Talus waves at us once again and dives underneath our rising ship.

The remaining jellyfish scatter off the ends of him as he cocoons the baby lemon shark with his tentacles. The other lemon sharks snap out of their purple haze and butt their heads up against Talus. Ty looks to me like a kid who forgot his homework and needs to copy off mine. I sigh.

I strain my brow as I try to focus on the mother. I try to tell her that this is safe.

My inability to process what’s happening makes it so the lemon sharks continue to butt McGinnis 55 their heads. It’s only after I get a bit lightheaded from really focusing do the lemon sharks calm down and follow after Talus in a cautious stride.

As we gradually ascend I watch as schools of fish and whirring bots swim in and out of man-made caverns, all intricately built under the water. They look like ruins, all stacked upon and within one another. For a moment I think I catch a glimpse of stone bodies moving. I blink and they’re gone.

Clear domes sit at the bottom of the sea where people watch the sealife safely from within. Synthetic and real plant life fold within the cracks and crevices and expand beyond the structure. Giant pearl white Plumose Anemone sway back and forth across the deep floors of the ocean, along with colorful seagrasses, and thick brushes of red algae.

But beyond that are glowing reds and greens and oranges that I can’t recognize. Plants that dance along with the passing sea creatures. Vines of red, and trees of blue, and glowing mushroom-like plants that change with the skin of the fish passing by. We brush along some grass as we rise up past the labyrinth of alcoves and underwater caverns, past the long clear tubes that transport people to the domes below. As we ascend I watch the ripples of rain hit the saltwater. It’s a light, simple mist.

Our sub breaks the surface and these colorful interwoven man-made islands greet us. Vibrant vines and leaves cover tall asymmetrical buildings. The buildings are encircled by birds and flying droids. Meadows and trees take root on connected octagons of marine foam. The connected platforms stretch for what feels like miles. See-through domes made of hexagonal fragments allow the small sunlight peeking through the clouds to peer in. Off on a farther island, I spot a waterfall with probably the clearest water I’ve McGinnis 56 ever seen. Ty gives me shit about finally being able to enjoy our trip over here. I remind him that that’s a stretch, but, that I can’t deny the view.

We depart from Talus and the sharks as we reach one of the many docks attached to the island. I can’t help but watch Talus and the sharks swim closer to a rounded wall.

The outstretched walls of the island scoop them up as if they were the pebbles in a child’s pail of seawater. The walls close around the sides and bottom of them. A pool of water cushions them as the wall between them and the island descends, gently cascading them into a private pool of water built within a large stretch of the island.

The colors of the ocean fade as the gray outer layer of the ship closes around us as we dock. It’s monotone gray and dark again until Ty opens the door and I’m hit with fresh air.

Meadows and trees take root on connected octagons of marine foam. A young woman tells me as she greets us upon arrival—made from recycled bottles, this foam, and other materials to keep buoyancy and structure. The connected platforms stretch for miles, and I can only see so many from the platform I find myself standing upon.

See-through domes made of hexagonal fragments allow the small sunlight peeking through the clouds to peer in. A dome has scientists constructing some sort of robot or drone inside—one bird-like creature robotically flaps its wings as a woman with a welding mask slowly takes a flame to its exterior. A more abstract building, stretching high into the air, has colorful flora spiraling down the inside. The rainwater funnels into a chimney, the rain flooding through precise canals to reach the plants. Small spider-esque creatures scale the walls, and instead of creating webs, their bodies spray water out onto McGinnis 57 plants in darker corners where the rainwater doesn’t reach as well. The excess water enters channels underneath the city—through the tubes that connect each platform.

The young woman’s insights subconsciously lead my train of thought. They’re the only thing allowing me to process the bizarre world in front of me. The day is so dreary now—gray upon gray cloud, but this small world out in the middle of the ocean has such vibrancy to it that I can barely recognize the mist wetting my brow.

“I did it again didn’t I...I got so excited I forgot to tell you who I even am! Ms.

Clark, my name’s Renee. Along with Ty, I’m another one of the student researchers on board.”

“Hmm?” How long have we been speaking? When did Ty leave? Have I been replying to the things this young woman has been saying? My body’s been on autopilot this whole time and someone's just shoved me the wheel, flipped the switch to manual, and wished me luck.

“Oh—sorry, my name’s Renee” Her deep brown hair is pulled atop her head in a thick and coily poof. Renee’s yellow glasses pop against her warming black cheeks, “I hope I haven’t been rambling too much—Dr. Cortez says I don’t but….”

By the time I’m processing being in my own body, I’m standing upon a small retractable bridge between the island I started upon and another one covered in smaller buildings covered in green and purple flora. Birds rest upon the top of one of the roofs, watching out into the sea.

From the uncertainty in her voice, I’m sure this young woman’s used to hearing that she’s speaking too much, too much energy and passion in her words. I know the feeling. “No, not at all. You’ve been very helpful, Renee.” McGinnis 58

Renee stands up a bit straighter. She adjusts her glasses and smiles. “Well, we’ll be crossing over a few sectors. Dr. Cortez is finishing up and he’ll meet you in his office.”

“I can’t even imagine a true office being here…I’m not sure I’ve ever even seen him in one—does he still sign papers up in the trees?”

Renee laughs politely, “Sadly no, we do have a lot of pretty standard offices and facilities, though I suppose I try to stay in research centers or some of the more fun areas.”

Behind us, sandals clack against the pathway. Ty jogs back over, there’s no true urgency in his steps, but something tells me that this speed is fast for him. Ty pulls Renee aside for a moment. Renee looks back and forth hesitantly between Ty and me.

“Ah, um, Ms. Clark, slight change of plans... Dr. Cortez will be meeting up with us closer to one of our outdoor facilities. Ty’s going to take care of your luggage, and I’ll give you a bit of a tour until he’s ready. If that’s all right?”

I sigh and slump my shoulders, “Jamori’s being as ridiculous as always.” I look at

Ty, “Hey kid, be careful with my stuff, there’s some important stuff in there.”

Ty gives another mocking salute, “I’ll be sure to polish the bags too. Don’t sweat it, I’ll make sure all’s good. You survived the trip here didn’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

Ty gives Renee a tight side hug and wishes us both a nice day. Ty hobbles off back toward the docks as Renee leads me the other way.

"That sounds good to me," I rub my shoulders, "Shoot, I should’ve asked him if he could take this life jacket off my hands." McGinnis 59

"Oh, I've got you covered." She pulls a whistle from around her neck and blows into it. I can't hear anything, it must have been a sound too sharp for my ears.

Soaring down from the air is a cyborg bird that can only be described as looking similar to an Eagle. Her face and one wing look real enough, but a lot of her body is made of prosthetics. She's not a pretty bird, but there's some charm hidden in her ugliness. Renee seems to think so at least as she curls up into her.

"Hey buddy," she scratches at the side of her head and the bird shimmies in pleasure.

“Oh, why, hello.” Half of my current nature drives my legs to shuffle me back out of fear. The other subconscious half thrusts my fingers forward to try and greet the creature. No matter how disturbed I find this birdish creature.

“Say hi Penny.” Penny ruffles her feathers, she’s indifferent to this whole exchange I presume. She is at most a bird and at least a robot. “Penny’s a rescue, lots of prosthetics needed, but she’s able to fly again.” Renee presses a few more buttons on her remote and spherical bots roll toward us--their ridges bouncing off the surface. In front of my feet, they pop out, rolly-polly looking creatures.

“Wow...uhm,” I try to sound more grateful than perturbed, “I’ve got the whole animal kingdom as my entourage, huh. A very interesting service.”

“Isn’t it! I love them so much.”

I slide off the life jacket. One of the rolly pollies elongates its body and wraps around the life vest in the shape of a tire. The two roll away with the jacket in the middle of their bodies. McGinnis 60

Renee whispers something to Penny and sends her back off into the air. Penny snatches the pool noodle from my hands. “Penny’s going to drop that off then head back to her enclosure. She’s a good girl though, and can help you with more stuff later!”

I’m not sure what I trust less, robot bugs, android birds, or Ty. I hope they don’t accidentally drop all of my stuff into the ocean.

As we walk closer to the center of this branch of the island, we pass by the large seawater pool Ty and I spotted earlier. By the time we arrive at the pool, the air reeks of fish and blood. This pull sits on a tilted crescent and has an overhang above blocking out the sun in some spots. This area acts as a small harbor. It’s both detached and connected to the sea. As I step forward there’s an oddly familiar feeling in my gut. Peering into the large tank, I spot him, the baby lemon shark. When I turn I see a few other lemon sharks outside of the ring floating. Watching and waiting.

There’s jogging back and forth from the border between the site and the ocean, a small hump rises and falls between the areas. The sand-dune hump rises and falls with the entrance of new patients. Bots and humans alike guide wounded animals inside. There are only a few, but they come in stages and the dunes rise and lower with the flow of the waves.

Some researchers are off in boats farther out in the ocean, searching the waters.

One woman tosses a bright yellow spheroid into the air, as it hits its peak ascent, fins spread from its sides and it dives into the water. It stays underwater for a few minutes.

When it resurfaces it glows a bright red, and torpedoes back to her boat. Another bot a few boats away breaks through the surface, but this one is a bright lime green hue that bobs in the water. The nearby two boats drive closer to it before one quickly suits up in McGinnis 61 gear and dives in. Behind the diver follows a cute little robot. Soon after the diver descends, the guy driving the boat latches the boats together to create a net or harness of sorts. The robot and the diver work together to carry up a sea turtle. I can’t tell what’s wrong but his shell looks distorted. They gently lower him into the netting. The diver climbs back into the boat and the robot springs up into it like a jack-in-the-box.

It’s fascinating watching all of the devices at play here. Jamori used to be so headstrong about avoiding extra devices as much as possible. Perhaps that only was to cover up his inability to avoid “replying all” to emails. I wonder what made him change his mind. Though, I suppose these aren’t the bright screens of my laptop, that cause numbness by noon and headaches by three. These are full-on machines.

Renee is signaled by another young man and Renee motions for me to approach.

He’s sewing up a wound on the side of a catfish. There’s practically an entire hospital working on some simple fish. I know my team used to go to some extra lengths, but, this is excessive, no? I try not to laugh as I rub the side of my abdomen.

A young woman next to him rubs her eyes with the back of her arm as she continues to patch up another catfish.

“Are you okay, Li?” the young man starts.

“I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ll try to be more careful, thank you.” This young woman has long dark brown hair pulled into a braid aside from the straight bangs on her face. Her skin’s naturally tan and her ears are full of piercings covered in Band-Aids, probably to not get caught on anything while she’s working. The bags under her eyes are more potent than mine. When she isn’t holding the fish her fingers shake. McGinnis 62

“Jenn,” Renee bends over to her, “Are there enough bots sending supplies over. I can set up a few more if necessary.”

Her face flinches as the fish in her hand squirms. She turns upward, “No, we should be fine here. Thank you, though.”

“Ah,” Renee begins, “Ms. Clark, this is Jenn Li, one of our marine biologists on site. Jenn, this is Ms. Pamela Clark, she’s visiting. Oh and Mark Gibbins is one of the other interns. ”

Jenn appears to be the same age as Renee but seems to have a pretty important role on site. She’s small but focused, and as I watch her it clicks in my head.

There’s a small wisp of energy that floats from her to me and then back again.

When it hits me a wave of exhaustion has me catch myself stumbling forward. She’s an empath all right, an exhausted one at that. Thankfully I only catch a flicker of her aura, most of my channels being closed off. But we are both

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Pamela,” her face lights up through the fatigue, as if there’s an automatic switch somewhere in there, “I would love the chance to get to talk to you later if you have any time free,”

I do another quick scan around the docks, “With the way Jamori’s been off and about, I should be free. Though,” the bags under her eyes touch her smiling cheeky, “I’m not so sure the same can be said about your schedule.” She looks at the blood in her hands and sighs in laughter,

“It’s a small accident, but, nothing we haven’t faced before, nothing I can’t handle.” She scrambles as the fish in her hands squirms again, “Actually Renee, if we could have more bots on anesthetics that would be great.” McGinnis 63

“Of course! I’ll get on it right away,” she turns to me to tell me it’d just be a moment and if that’s fine. When I nod she side-shuffles over down the escalation, pulling out a walkie-talkie looking remote control from her pocket. On one side she’s speaking

English into it, then she flips it over and begins relaying codes in her best monotonous voice. Renee’s consciously stopping herself from talking too fast.

“Ms. Pamela, I was just curious, with you working with Dr. Jamori and all, and as an empath like me, gosh I just want to know what that’s like.”

“Mmm, I see.”

“I’ve only been out in the field for so long, but you worked with him for years right?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m constantly asking him questions but anyone I could learn from—just any advice, really.”

“I see,” I shrug "There isn't much I can say that you probably haven't heard."

"Oh, I mean, I'm sure anything you say would be helpful, but, if you don't want to that's okay."

"It's fine to ask. But, in my opinion? The less you tap into it, the better. You're going to wear yourself down for no reason,” a laugh through my nose, “and you'll be losing your mind before you're even my age."

"I suppose," she checks her final stitches, "I can always buy a heating pack and some wrinkle cream," she laughs at her silly quip, "Just doing what I can now."

"Sure, sure. Just giving you the honest opinion you asked for. Can't do your job if you're half passed out all the time." McGinnis 64

She twitches at this statement. I don't know what kind of nonsense or fluff Jamori has been spouting to her. She is a pretty young woman but at the pace she's at I'm sure she'll look more like a corpse soon.

“Ms. Pamela, don’t you think we should be doing what we can with the gift we have?”

A gift? That’s a sickeningly optimistic look at it. “You can do what you want. I just can’t understand how saving every fish helps. I mean, you heal its wounds today only for a shark to pop on over and eat it tomorrow. Or, he’ll get caught up in the next fishing net that passes his way.”

Jenn finishes the last stitches and lets the catfish swim about in a wide swallow bucket. “If you broke your leg or sliced open your hand wouldn’t you want a doctor to fix you? I didn’t think someone like you would want to limp everywhere.”

“Yes, but you and I are humans. These are fish.”

“Fish that live in the same world you do. Sure Pamela, we all eventually die.

There’s no need to lose lives more quickly than necessary. This may be a fish, but doesn’t she get to enjoy her life too?”

“I noticed you dropped Ms.”

“We can speak on the same level, we’re both adults aren’t we?”

“I’m not trying to offend you. I only don’t think there’s any point in doing this.

You’re destroying your body, and for what?”

“And I don’t believe there’s any reason not to help.”

“You’d give all your energy to save a small and unintelligent creature like that?” McGinnis 65

“I wouldn’t have to if companies like yours cared more. But yes I’ll do what I need to do.” She turns her gaze back to the catfish. “Thanks for the advice, but I have to focus now.”

I feel our auras pushing up against one another. Once Renee comes back, I can tell she senses the tension between us as she hurries me along. "I think everything should be under control now," Renee says bye to Jenn then asks me, "Ready to head over to where

Jamori's at?"

“I’ve never been more ready.” Renee guides me closer to the center of this platform.

In the center of our labyrinth of buildings, there is an enclosed part of the ocean with towering flowers growing from the center. The dark clouds have long since left, and now only a gentle sunshower remains. The flowers shimmer against the sunlight, and the lilac petals rest against the wind. It stretches up into twisty vines and the roots extend into the water. I peer over and watch the fish swim in figure eights around the roots. Even the roots have colorful leaves and vines extending from them underwater.

“We’re experimenting with new underwater habitats,” Renee gestures to the center, “It’s pretty cool, we’re grafting various trees and flora together and combining it with some more natural, at least unharmful, preservatives and chemicals,” she waves her hands again as if she’s trying to backtrack, “of course though our main priority is restoring and protecting the current ocean habitats. However, if through synthetic means we can create more habitats that would be great, y’know?” McGinnis 66

I nod, “It’s very pretty,” but it’s just a flower, nothing more. She’s overjoyed, and

I decide not to ask her how long they’ve been working on that single prototype of a habitat.

Her gaze is nostalgic, “Yes, it is.”

As I fixate on a petal that is hanging on as hard as it can--a large BARROOM quakes against the ground.

I fall on my ass, hard. At the flash of light, a deafening grows in my ears. They’re full of cotton, I’m rubbing the inside of my ear but I can’t hear anything. Smoke fills my nose and screams rumble under my skin. My fingernails are clawing at my skin, desperate to release the screams from within.

I whip around to see metal, oil, and flame just outside the rescue site. Boats burn amidst the oil, and I can’t even hear the screams of humans, but my flesh is ravaging itself from the inside out. The carcass of a whale bobs in the ocean, its fatty stomach melting as it rolls across the oil. It attempts to pull itself out of the engulfing flames.

As I look up the dust parts. A young woman holds her arms above her head, unscathed. Jamori’s kneeling body covers her, his forearm bleeding profusely as it holds up a beam that had been headed for her skull. I can’t hear what they’re saying as she sits up, but he looks at her concerned. Are you hurt, I imagine him asking. And when she frantically waves her hands and screams at his arm, he smiles. I’m glad you’re okay, don’t worry about me. My hearing gradually returns. As screams become background noise he is still doing his part to ease this woman’s fears. He and I...our empathic connection has weakened over the years, but I can only imagine what emotions lie beneath the surface. McGinnis 67

Before I can convince myself to stand help is at his side. Three people yank off the beam and can barely bandage him up as he won’t stay still. He quickly moves toward the center of the explosion. The man never stops. And just like that, he disappears into the fog.

“Ms. Clark! Ms. Clark, are you okay? Can you stand up?” a shaky voice snaps me out of my trance. Renee’s legs are unstable and her scrunched face is fighting back tears.

She holds out her hand to me but I stand on my own.

“Renee, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head. With every attempt of hers to speak and explain she chokes back on her words. I put my hand on her shoulder and tell her that’s all right.

“Let’s go find Jamori,” I rush off in the direction Jamori went. I check over my shoulder to make sure that Renee is still at the back of my heel. I weave through crowds of ash, blood, and smoke. Screams echo against the booming sirens. I watch as a young woman is carried unconscious across another woman’s back. A young man is dragged by the armpits as he screams at his burnt soles. Through each patch of smoke is a new section of this horrific tapestry. I don’t look too closely at the bodies being put in bags. I don’t think too hard about animals breathing their last breaths. I block out everything except my path forward. I just keep moving.

A small “camp” of medics is set a little way up from the shore. They’re assessing those that are just returning to shore. They’re treating the injured before the medics arrive to bring them up to infirmaries far behind us. A couple of medics recognize Renee and run up to her. They tell her that the med center is almost at capacity and they need more medical supplies and equipment transported down here. Renee’s immediately typing in McGinnis 68 communication codes to available bots. Rounded bots on wheels balance crates of supplies on their heads. A young intern drags a bunch of IV bags down the hill. Renee tells me to go on ahead, she has to help organize this chaos. I can tell she’s distressed by everything going on. But, she lets the bots handle the major interactions. She controls them from the sideline. Away from the direct line of people, there’s greater focus from her--more confidence.

Amongst the medics, I spot the familiar dreads pulled back into a ponytail. His glasses keep sliding down his nose. He has a light blue octopus tattoo that’s now faded against his black skin. Jamori shuffles between each doctor, and various members of the rescue team. His entire face is in a sweat. He’s handing out masks to everyone he can to combat the smoke. His arm’s bruised to hell though. He speaks with composure and assurance to the doctors, but his body moves with a sense of urgency. He’s typically a very calm man, but I can feel the fuses on the back of his heels. He’s on a warpath and will fight the forces of the explosion themselves if he has to.

“Jamori,” I call out. He doesn’t register my voice, so I call out again, “Jamori!”

He looks up. Jamori relaxes his shoulders and a slow smile forms as he races over to me. He places his hands on the side of my shoulders and gently rests his forehead onto mine.

“You’re okay?” he asks me.

I nod. “Yes Jamori, I’m fine.”

His laughter is shaky, but he laughs at the news nonetheless. I can’t help but laugh too. I haven’t seen this man in a decade, and in these few seconds, every emotion we’ve had together comes flooding back. In this brief moment, he abandons that defensive man McGinnis 69 he was on the phone. It’s infuriating that after all these years his smile is still so charming. I’m glad that he’s okay.

He steps away, and the small moment of relief is gone. His body stiffens.

“Pam, I can’t believe I’m asking this of you, but my team needs you. The rescue teams are doing their best, but…we need more empaths out there. Too many of my team is missing right now.”

“Jamori, I’m so sorry to hear that but...I don’t even remember where to begin. I haven’t used...well..that in years.”

“Please Pam,” he’s desperate, “I’ll be willing to be more open-minded with our negotiations.” Damn, he’s desperate. Jamori was going to drag this on for weeks, I know he would have. But, now he’s willing to strike a deal to save these people. He’d sell his soul to keep anyone else from dying. I know I won’t be of much help but, this might be my only chance.

“Count on me.”

His eyes are distant, “I hope I can this time.”

Jamori catches someone who’s zooming past in a wetsuit. He quickly explains to him that I’m an empath who will be helping out. Jamori gives me one last nod.

“You’re coming with me Jamori, aren’t you?”

“I have to find out if there are any other explosives, Pam, I gotta get everyone to safety.”

Well, shit.

And I’m running, but it feels like I’m stuck in a nightmare where my legs don’t move. And I’m running with all my might while the smog pushes me back. Am I going to McGinnis 70 hack up a lung? The burning in my throat and the way I can hear the throbbing blood inside of me convinces me so.

I’m hopping into one wet shoe, then the next, strapping on my gear—flashes of red pass into my eyesight as I struggle with my suit zipper. The surface below me rises and falls as some platforms raise in defense while others lower for easier exit. I’m trailing behind the others of what I presume are the rescue team, by the time I’m there they’re practically done with the briefing. Bring the bodies here, report here, press this if you’re in danger, I miss it all. Elbows shove into me as bodies push forward, racing to their stations. Time slows down as I hear the past screams and burning seep into my thoughts. It’s been over a decade and that night still lurks in my memories. I shake it off the best I can.

I trail behind a trio—perhaps I can blend in with them before racing off and away—nobody would notice me. I can just return to the office and explain the situation. I don’t have to do this. Then Jamori would never sign a deal with us. And Mr. Lombargh would reduce me to his barista if he didn’t fire me altogether. Would I even know how to get back to shore?

I don’t have the moment to think up an escape plan, they’ve got me grabbing the boat with them. I have to lower myself so we can all carry it. I tower over these children who are attempting to be heroes. The surface in front of me lowers into a steep decline into the water, we drop the boat down and they drag me in with them as we slide down into the water. A large gush of salt and oil splashes onto us. One of the young men cries and the other kid next to him yells at him to snap out of it. I have no idea what expression they’re seeing on my face as I listen to the whir of drones chopping through the smog. McGinnis 71

We push off into the water, a bubble shield surrounding the top of us, but I’m using the little strength in my arms to dig the oar into the water. The man steering in the front of the boat is hounding me to go faster. My triceps scream and I bite deep into my bottom lip. It crackles under my bite. Yet another life jacket sits before me in this boat.

This time I grasp onto it tightly and put it on immediately.

The man calls out—which one of you is the empath—I grunt in a sort of response.

He takes me off the oar and pulls me to the front. “We’re looking for Emily Keether, she’s in her late twenties.” It’s hard to take him seriously with his pale white skin peeking out from his sunglasses burn. “She’s another empath. Trace her, do what you must. Tell us which way to turn.”

“I haven’t...I don’t think I’ll be able to find her,”

“Now I know your kind, I know you can if you try a bit. That girl’s good as dead if you don’t give this everything you’ve got. Tell us what you need.” His hand grips into my already aching left shoulder.

In the dark behind my eyelids, I narrow down into the sharp pain in my side. It’s so faint, my body numbs out most of these pains now. But I fixate on it. Do my best to tune out the cracks in my lip, the increasing pressure on my shoulder blade, my stinging lungs. I recoil against the growing phantom glass in my ribcage. The man’s hands grip down hard on my shoulders before I can squirm away.

“Where! Point in the direction of her if you can.”

My fingers wriggle against rope I cannot see. I barely get a pinky out toward my left. He bellows out more orders and they’re off. I sit up, pushing myself away from the pain toward the back of the boat. McGinnis 72

It’s as if we’re white water rafting through a river of lava. A blaze shoots up past my right ear. I grip my ear as the flame scalds off the top skin. I shriek. Before I can even process that pain I have to crouch again to not inhale fumes of black. The man grabs my shoulders again to keep me still.

A splash of water muffles the calls of the rescuers. Saltwater splashes onto my face and sits underneath my flat body. The man’s holding me down but my arms splash up and down in the puddles of sludge beneath me.

The phantom embedded within my body twists further into me, I writhe up and down. Is the blood spurting out of my mouth real? Is it mine? My upper body shakes and flops. I can’t move below my knees, they’re stuck onto the raft. The young man yells something about the raft shields. I don’t catch what he says as my senses are diluting in and out.

Again the man yells at me. Wherever the pain grows they steer toward. The fires around me echo across one another, I feel the flames near my skin but also a skin that feels foreign. Is it Emily’s? Oh god, is it mine? Am I going to burn up?

My throat isn’t a great advocate for me as only scratchy whines can reach the crew, and they seem to want to stay on course. Do they not know that my skin will soon be engulfed, flakes fly off in crisps, and my eyes melt out of my head? Of course, they don’t feel beyond what they can see and hear.

A loud whoomp and I’m weightless in midair. A spiral of smoke then fire then water and I crash into the cold sea.

My hair catches across my face as my knee thwacks against the side of the raft pulling me underneath it. The life jacket only elevates me up higher into the raft. McGinnis 73

Saltwater slips into my mouth as I attempt to keep my lips above the water, the raft forming a small bubble over my head.

The suit grows heavy as it clings to my legs, I can't even attempt to adjust it without my head submerging underneath. Water stuffs my ears and salt piles into my nose like if it were cement being poured into a pothole on the road.

It's so cold and I can't see for shit. It's dark and cold and fuck my stomach. I grab my stomach and under the water, I am again. The waves crash above the raft. The explosions are merely little pffts to me underwater. My calls for help go unheard. Are the rest of the crew trapped underwater? Are we all going to drown?

My shoulders shiver. When I go up for air I’m panting and struggling not to swallow any water. With my little force, I start to push up into the raft. Only the corner raises and I worm my way under it. Another wave pushes me back and I lose my grip.

My face is fully underneath the waves as they smother me. My eyes sting, my side bleeds from a place I can’t pinpoint. My nipples freeze and I can't kick my legs. They’re still trapped underneath the hell that Emily is under. I can sense the pain grow sharper. I lift with my arms, my face is under as my life vest holds up the raft from my back and I swim forward. Only smoke and fire await me as I pop my head out and shimmy the rest of the way. I heave myself onto the ropes that dangle from the side. No sign of the rest of the group.

Shit.

A force jabs into my ribs more the more I struggle. I take hold of the raft and try to pull myself up onto it. Everything below my chest is dead weight. A sad attempt at a pull-up follows. McGinnis 74

My pathetic whimpers catch against another crash of the wave. I tuck my head into the raft. Bobbing a moment away, trapped under the far corner of the raft is one of the oars. It's cracked but it's my best option. I tightly wrap one hand around the rope that burns at my fingertips. With my other arm, I pull myself as close to the oar as I can. My hair catches in my mouth like seaweed and I choke on hair and sea. I finally get a hold of the oar. Shaking, I toss it atop of the raft. I can hardly feel my freezing legs anymore.

They're numbing to the ocean. My hands burn as they pull at the rope, my chin barely touches the bottom of the raft, it feels like a deflating blow-up air mattress. But underneath me, I feel a strong push and my stomach is now flat underneath me. I look down to find the older man from the boat pushing me up.

"Climb dammit, hurry up!"

A sting in my belly button rings out into my abdomen. I still manage to wriggle up through the shaking. My forearms grip into the raft. I don't know what the hell this man is using to lift me--his hands, his head, fuck if I know what's shoving into my ass all

I can think is climb. The back of my heels press into the man's slimy hands. One final shove up. My stomach flops down onto the raft, and I'm panting through sandy hair, oil slick against my life jacket. When I try to squirm I slide across the top. I immediately become a starfish on this raft. Only two seconds to close my eyes and breathe, but those two seconds remind me how destroyed my throat is.

"Hey! You on okay?"

“...yeah.”

"Then get back over here and help!" McGinnis 75

I strap the half an oar underneath some of the rope nettings. I crawl over to him.

The shoulders of the life jacket press into my chin as I peer over the side. I hold onto a piece of the rope behind me and let my other arm dangle off the side. My contribution is merely my arm as a vine. I barely have the strength to hold onto the raft. This man has to use the ropes and my arm as his climbing gear. He crashes back into the water. He tries to spit but it drips down his face. He climbs again. Over my back he goes, and I'm not sure how I don't tumble forward, my face almost kissing the sea as it raises to me. He shuffles off of my back and pulls me up by the back of my jacket.

We somehow manage to string together sentences between the pants and chokes.

Our heads are pressed into the raft. We hover beneath the smoke.

"Did you see TJ or Karl?" I stare at him blankly. "The other people on our raft."

I shake my head.

"Damn." He scans through the fog, "Their suits have trackers, hopefully they went off okay."

"Trackers? What about Emily then?"

"Hers broke, we can't get a clear signal on her. Can you still lead the way?"

He wants me to keep this shit up? Does he not remember us being blasted by explosions and swallowed by the sea? Shouldn't we stay here? Why is nobody tracking us down? And for that matter shouldn’t we be looking for the other two that fell off with us before we go to Emily?

"Hurry! She's going to die if we don't hurry." She may already be dead. But fuck we may die here too. He snatches the oar bits. I focus on my abdomen and rib cage and McGinnis 76 the imaginary ice-skates cut along my skin again. I'm merely banging my head on the foam in the direction the pain grows. Her aura is somewhere past these flames.

He rows somehow with the chaos of the waves. Our boat dances with the tide. I can only catch a glimpse of him dangling from side to side as I bash my head in.

That's when I hear the shrieks, and the flesh of my nose begins peeling, ghosts of scabs and skin flake off of me. But the cuts in my skin remain. These are two clashing souls. The man calls out ahead, he's screaming Emily's name.

A wrecked boat lies sideways on the sea, a young woman is half on the boat, the lower half of her is hidden beneath the body of a writhing and crying narwhal. His tail flails against the flames and he presses into Emily's body. She coughs up blood. She’s stuck underneath this beast that crashes into her over and over again. The narwhal is stuck in between flame and the wood that pierces it. It feels as though they’re skewered together. She's somehow holding on, but I still can't access any feeling in her hips down.

"Jesus Christ," he starts, " Emily!" the man calls out, "Emily, say something!" I doubt she can respond. Hell, an entire beast is crushing her ribcage. It's a miracle she's still breathing.

She coughs at us in response, but nothing of any substance.

"We'll be there to get you out sweetheart! Hold on," and in the same breath an aside to me, "I have no clue how but I’ll be damned if we don’t get this thing off her now."

This raft has no sedatives to shoot into the creature, no tools, no nothing, or, at least within his rambling they don't anymore after we flipped and spun a million times over. He yells out estimated coordinates into his coms device. He thumbs behind him to McGinnis 77 the other side of the raft. He says if I stay put up here he'll dive back under, check if any supplies are still attached to the pockets under the raft. He wants me to make sure she’s still breathing. I can tell by his back and forth across the raft that he’s not thinking straight. Emily must mean a lot to him. His determination is now raw panic.

But I catch the phantom glass pushing into me. I know one false move from

Emily and an artery will be punctured. Not that she has much choice to stay still. The creature on top of her thrashes and she has to move against its rhythm. She won’t survive much longer.

“When are more people coming to help?”

“Should be a few minutes.”

“Okay, I’m going to try something--”

He goes to speak up but I flop into the water. It’s a sad attempt at even a belly flop. My arms cramp up. I rely on my life jacket to push me up. Doggy paddling with the waves and bobbing where it pushes me back. The man keeps yelling down at me. He extends the oar my way. I know it wasn’t a graceful fall, I didn’t intend to swallow all of that saltwater. Though I did intend to swim out toward Emily. The blood that seeps out from beneath my life jacket is mostly not my own. I hope at least. Some of my senses are so blurred into the mess in front of me. Is my nose able to smell such pungent wounds?

My toes regain a tinge of feeling. They twitch at the wriggles of some fish beneath them.

The rest of my legs are still dead weight as the waves throttle me forward. My senses buffer as I flash between two truths. McGinnis 78

I have to hold out my hands to prevent my whole upper body from smacking into this narwhal. When my hands thump into its rubbery skin it thwacks harder into the air.

Emily hacks. She squeezes her eyes shut, and pushes up against its stomach.

Its burnt skin is both slimy and crisp against my forearm as I sling my arm around the narwhal’s body. I lean my head up against its skin. It’s hard to keep it still against its slippery skin as it hits back at me. The water carrying my life jacket away only adds to my instability. My free hand grips tight onto the wooden bits of the ship that Emily’s on.

My fingernail brushes against her side and I pull away. It’s already hard to keep their auras straight.

My forehead digs into the narwhal’s exposed stomach. A prick in my temples sends ripples of gashes down my skin. Blood tastes thick and warm on my tongue. I try to spit it out, but there’s nothing to spit out. I do that a few more times.

That’s when it all hits. I fall through space and water at the same time then after my next breath, I snap back. The wooden and metal rod that pierced Emily’s side rearranges my organs. I feel full of metal and fire as the hole on my stomach burns outward. But then I’m pierced from the same rod but the other direction. The narwhal’s stomach has been pierced and so has mine. In seconds I am thrust in and out of my body, from hyperawareness back to numbness through that cycle.

Do I scream? Do I pass out? I can’t tell what’s real anymore. I try to focus all of my energy on the rod piercing me through my stomach, but the overlap of pain is excruciating. The rods clang in my stomach.

The narwhal’s thrashing begins to dissipate as my chest jerks. I try to unclench my right fist but my arm continues to pound into the sea. The more rapid my twitches McGinnis 79 become the slower the narwhal moves. Although its body remains impaled, it’s more at ease. My head thwacks against its still side.

My neck locks itself against my lifejacket. I can only rotate enough to glimpse at the boat. I throw a hand in the air and flail it to wave back to him. He yells something inaudible to me. My right ear rings and my left can’t pick up any stations--only static. He picks up his walkie a few times in between strokes of the oar. I scream again.

It’s impossible to keep still. The narwhal smacks back at me with its tail as a bump against him. As I bite down hard on my inner cheek I scramble against him. My body is on fire and freezing and numb and hypersensitive and I want nothing more than to swim away. Their auras are mixed martial arts and I’m being jabbed in the stomach and kicked in the legs and everything all at once. But if I let go I may lose his signal. He may thrash again. I still can’t feel my legs. Emily won’t be able to take any more.

I’m a madman scrambling at a body that is killing me. But I’m trapped, just as they are. I cannot kick my legs, I can barely move my hips or my chest. I cannot pull out metal that is not truly inside of me. I cannot stop coughing up blood that I have three times the amount of.

The man finally reaches us, and he clambers over to Emily. He leans his back on a plank of Emily’s ship wreckage. He bends his legs in and pushes up against the narwhal’s body.

As he presses the animal back with his feet and the oar there’s a tug and pull inside of me. The narwhal and I stagger our convulsions. His are less present than mine.

The man holds him up off of Emily the best he can. Between gulps of seawater, the man keeps trying to talk to Emily. McGinnis 80

Through the flame and fog, the silhouette of a ship arrives. A group in protective gear comes in like an old television slowly turning on. I can’t see them, but I feel the netting and claw and their heavy arms as they remove this creature.

The imprecision of its removal twists and rips and tears open wounds in new flesh. For a second I feel empty. Everything sags back together. Then wet. Then spurts of blood and I’m being dragged to the boat trying to center myself on my own body--a body

I can barely recognize anymore.

My eyes open and close to them patting my face. I sit up leaning against the raft’s edge. Dizzy. Others carry Emily and the man onto the boat. My left leg is asleep. The right is jittering against the bottom. The narwhal is in a smaller craft tugging behind them but he’s a puddle of blood at this point. My tongue struggles to find words when I’m asked questions. They shine a bright light into my eyes. There’s an aftertaste of pain and terror in my bones. They bandage up my cuts and set me aside.

My soul rings around the outside of my body before shooting back inside. My heart pumps fast. Sweat beads drip down my pounding head. As my senses settle I hear her. Emily screams out in pain. Water splashes on her back as the pain resettles in the

Narwhal. They’re more vocal, but the narwhal is in the netting and Emily is in the boat.

She’s grasping at her legs that won’t move. The medic on board is holding her down to work on her gaping wounds. She passes out. The medics scramble some more to keep her stable. Nothing Emily can do now. Nothing more I can do either. McGinnis 81

Mist hits my face. I can hear the whirring of more drones and helicopters above.

As the smoke rises I feel the heat dissipate. The unruly flames shrink from small fires to tiny embers.

The boat speeds toward the base, we’re moving slowly but with purpose. It feels as if I am on that boat forever. Though I can’t be far from the island. The man tells me his name is Robert. He wants to be by Emily’s side but the medics stop him. He demands that he get to hold her hand, that she’s his daughter. They warn him to stay back. She’s in critical condition and they need all the room to work that they can get. They give him a sympathetic look but hold firm in their stance.

Our shoulders touch, but he feels so far away. He looks on the verge of tears and

I’m sure if he leans his head on my shoulder now he’ll crack. He and I both know that now is not the time for us to be cracking. We sit in silence and listen to the hum of chaos around us. I unclench my hands repeatedly. I bite down on my tongue just to make sure it’s mine. By isolating each toe, each leg, every small part I can bend and twist is the only way to convince myself that I never was stabbed. I was in that water, but that’s it.

One more distant alcove is now the dropoff point. The boat pulls into the harbor.

Medics meet us before we’re even stopped to whisk off Emily. The others are helped off one by one. Robert chases after them. I watch as another boat takes the narwhal off further from shore. They plan to treat them elsewhere, but I can feel his presence fading.

It feels as though his spirit dangles above him like a deflating balloon.

As I watch I feel fingers graze my hand. I’ve been offered a hand to help me out of the boat. I take their familiar hand in mine--

“Thank you for saving Emily.” McGinnis 82

As I go to stand they lock their hand around my wrist. I shoot my eyes up to catch the daggered stare from Jamori.

“But I never asked that you come back with her.”

His hand digs into my wrists. A man stands in front of me who at first feels unrecognizable, but is unmistakably Jamori.

“You were stupid to come back. Don’t your buddies have an escape boat set up for you somewhere? Or did you get caught up in another company’s bullshit--is your head so far up their asses that you couldn’t spot that this was a suicide mission?”

“Jamori? Let me go--you’re scaring me.”

“You’ve become a much better actress over the years, Pamela, you ticked me again.”

“Can you speak with some sense, Jamori?”

Veins bulge on his forehead, and the shadows of their essence wrap around my arms and neck.

“Here are your two options,”

Jamori’s the kind of man who mourns the loss of bugs.

“I can tie you up and push this boat back out into the sea. My team won’t be looking for your boat. When the police ask, you’ll have just been another victim of the fire.”

I’m terrified of him.

“Or, you come with me right now and tell me what I need to know.”

He shakes me by the wrists, repeatedly demanding me to stand. His dirty fingernails dig into my battered skin. His voice booms in a way that reverberates amongst McGinnis 83 everyone around us. He commands this space in a way that even the explosion could not.

This is a man who wears flip flops, loose tank tops, and never had a temper to lose. His words are sharp and he sounds on the edge--of angry tears, of breaking, of murder. He’s never been more terrified. He’s never been more terrifying.

Jamori’s head barely reaches above my shoulders, I’ve always been taller than him. But now, I am a mere speck, curled up on the boat as he towers over me. It’s as though his shadow’s arms move and lock the rest of me into place. I shiver. Jamori is still.

There’s a disconnect between my brain and my tongue. I fumble at a mirage of words.

“Answer me! You can’t run away this time! Pam, answer me!”

I yank back by my wrists, “I can’t answer you Jamori when nothing you’re saying makes sense!”

He tugs me up onto the island and calls out to two female workers behind him.

Jamori releases his grip on me and starts stamping toward the buildings.

As if I’m a child, they lift me by my armpits to my feet. Hands hit against my arms.

The shorter of them pats me down while the other inspects the boat. They whisper something into their communicators before they lock their arms with mine. They drag me in the direction of Jamori. Oh shit, he’s got to be kidding me. Does he really believe I had something to do with this?

I whip my head back and forth between the two women--pleading that they let me go, but they’re fixated ahead. I scream out to the back of Jamori up ahead. With each sentence I speak my voice cracks with uncertainty. McGinnis 84

“How could you? Jamori, you know me! Jamori tell them to let me go! Jamori!

Jamori!”

Every time I squirm their grip tightens. I try to reach out to the bots whirring past, but I’m tugged back. One’s wrapped around my shoulder as to threaten that she can dislocate it at any minute.

Even the helpers and injured surrounding me will take a beat to glance at me. A man being stitched up cries out in horrifying sobs when he so much as hears me passing by. I tighten my mouth and scrunch my nose to keep any tears or snot from leaking out. A young woman who’s readying to get her boat back into the water--she looks at me. The palpable bloodlust in her eyes makes me shudder. If I were to get these women off of me, she would charge like a bull straight through my chest. I’m sure of it. I stop struggling.

When I stop struggling my brain can focus once again on the weariness of my body. While I was not ripped apart like Emily, my legs scream in agony, not able to hold myself up. Beyond forcing me forward these two keep me steady enough. Everything inside my body has been shaken up by both reality and mirage. Sharp pains stab at my pelvis. My insides burn up. My cracked lips bleed and my wet arms sag, pulling my whole disposition down with them.

The sirens blare as they rush my body up the hill against the waves of medics and bots head toward the water. I look over my shoulder but the smoke and haze encroach on the land, consuming each body it touches. Bots put out the last few flames, which only add to the tarp of haze.

A half-collapsed building greets us at the top of the hill. Jamori stops to wait for us but doesn’t turn around. The card scanner buzzes with electricity as the round doors McGinnis 85 spiral open and shut rapidly. Jamori types in some code and then kicks the machine. The door halts halfway open. We crouch through the doorway one at a time, each of my arms still held onto tight.

Inside, separate building alarms sound. They usher me past glass that gazes into a small enclosure with a hole blown through the side of it. Trees tall and wide stretch up to smoke that covers the top of the enclosure. The flora near the explosion is burnt to a crisp or covered in glass. Colorful birds fly manically. Blue and orange wings fly out through the hole, a set of red wings cowers in a corner. My upper back twitches. And my ears sting-- through the glass, I hear their shrieks. Panicked interns flail about. Their distress does not calm down the birds. Another older researcher lures birds into cages--snapping at the interns to calm down. The birds are confused. Where will these researchers take them? Is there anywhere safe on this island? I’m sure if there is, that’s not where I’m being taken. Through the maze of hallways, lab coats blur past us--some sprinting others limping. Carrying computers, folders, animals, or even each other.

In the enclosure, I spot a familiar cyborg bird. Its talons and beak are metallic, but its feathers still lush with red. Renee’s bird is large compared to the others huddled around her, but she cowers at the smoke and sirens all the same. I can’t imagine that

Renee isn’t trying to reach her right now. But, she’s in charge of dozens of bots; she’s helping with medical supply distribution. She leaves that post more may die. But if Penny doesn’t get out, I have a gut feeling that might break her.

She may not have the second to check. Penny and the other birds squawk and cower. Their heads sharply twist in an attempt to see through the fog. As I’m dragged along I scan the enclosure. High above them is a vent with a wide opening. When I close McGinnis 86 my eyes I can feel the fresh wind from it blowing onto the leaves atop the tallest trees in the enclosure.

I have to push up onto my toes to focus on Penny. I gesture my neck and head up, my upper back and shoulders move back and up as if I were readying my wings. The two guards grip harder into my arms to hold me down, but I’m jumping as if I were trying to fly away. Penny twitches her neck upward, then to the other birds, then to me. She tussles her feathers and takes off toward the vent, the other birds hesitantly follow after her. I don’t hear any noise beyond the burning of the trees inside. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach--what if I led them to a dead-end? Are they trapped?

But as I strain to focus to find Penny’s heartbeat, I hear the loud chirping of birds.

I throw my head back. Through the explosion-made sunroof above our heads flies past a flock of birds, with Penny leading the way. Whiplash overtakes me as the one woman shoves my head back in line; I smile to myself as we march further down the corridor.

He signals for the women to drag me into another room as he walks into a different one. The women push me down into a chair as Jamori walks back in with a young man who has a make-shift cast on his arm. Jamori helps him to a seat and pats him on the shoulder in thanks.

“Pamela, my intern here Nathan’s been dragged into this mess. A mess that you caused and I let happen.”

Jamori touches Nathan’s forehead. I notice that Nathan stands up straighter and that Jamori grimaces as he gently pulls away.

Jamori turns to me, “Where are the others?”

“Jamori--” McGinnis 87

“Tell us now before anything else sets off. Where are the other bombs?”

“Jamori I had nothing to do with this! How could you even think that?”

“The center of the explosion was found to be inside the same craft you arrived in; mere minutes after you arrived; you and your luggage the only new factors inside it. That was Ty’s craft and now he’s...tell me if there are other bombs. Where are they?”

Chills echo through my stomach. This can’t be happening. I didn’t know anything about a bomb--and there could be more. How many animals died? How many people died? And he thinks I did it. That I hurt everyone again--that I killed so many again.

Before I know it I’m laughing. Tears spill down my face as I laugh and I laugh, then I cough up blood, then I laugh again. I must look like a maniac. Their grip on me tightens as I thrash around.

“Jamori you think--I wouldn’t--I didn’t do it--I didn’t do it!”

“Well Nathan didn’t do anything and there he is in pain because of one of your messes.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t know anything!”

“Your company wants to expand and conveniently an entire forest gets sick. You want our beachfront land and a bomb goes off. Am I missing anything? Do you take me for an idiot Pam?”

I don’t respond. I can’t stand the idea of what he’s implying.

Jamori stamps over to me and pulls me up by my arm. He bends down to whisper to me, “You haven’t tapped into your empathic side in a long time, that’s probably why you don’t understand the gravity of what Nathan and everyone else went through. Let me correct that error.” McGinnis 88

I feel his suffocating blue aura grow and sharpen. And each crystal blue spike rises and crashes into me. In flashing bursts my back burns with the burnt wings of a seagull--I shriek as blood spills out my neck-- my face feels cool as everything grows dark and quiet--a young man’s senses damaged. How young is Nathan? Does he even know how bad he is right now? My arm throbs; the same arm that Jamori has a tight grip on.

Over and over my body is battered then reset then destroyed again. The two women probably only see me distraught and flopping around. There’s a fear in their eyes though--they’ve never seen him like this.

I doubt Jamori even trusts me enough to let me speak. He tries to lower any barriers, read my aura. I don’t know what he expects to find, my aura is already as raw as it can be; but he lashes at me--searching for any crack.

“Jamori I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know anything! Please stop! I don’t know!”

There’s a rage still fuming off of him as his eyes widen. He presses his hands into his face as his aura releases its grip on me. I collapse onto the floor.

“You truly have no idea, a pawn once again, how pathetic, and how useless!

Dammit, Pam! Dammit...” Jamori’s aura sinks to the floor, weeping in a way that his body won’t let him.

“Jamori! What the hell did you just do with your aura Jamori? What did you do to me?”

“This is how you make me, Pam, how society makes me. To protect my family, my people, I have to be made out to be the monster.” McGinnis 89

“I didn’t do this Jamori.”

“I trust you, Pamela, over and over again I trust you to do what you want and it only ever drags me down with you. It doesn’t matter what you say...my family is hurt and dead because of you and because of me. Now I need answers before I lose anyone else.”

A researcher runs up to him, “Dr. Cortez--police boats are on their way--dozens of them--more than I’ve ever seen.”

His face scowls, he’s never gotten along with authority before, “Stay ready for anything, and get as many people evacuated from this area as possible. Make sure the bots are still scanning the area.”

He takes my hand and pulls me up to my feet, he starts walking me back the way we came, he doesn’t look at me when he speaks to me. “Either you’ve learned to control your aura beyond my own abilities, or you’ve become even more negligent and naive than I thought humanly possible. We’re going to find out which right now.”