Content warning: implied murder
Your storm windows stood no chance of protecting you, even though you’d had them specially made from steel. Readying for the storm you knew would come.
I watched you install them. And you felt me watching, I know. You prepared and I lurked. Waiting for atmospheric turbulence. Wind shear. Moisture.
Cold air aloft.
When heavy clouds glinted green, you scurried indoors.
Within that green heart, I tossed ice crystals up and they fell down, over and over, each cycle growing seeds into hail. Big as your fist. Big as your head.
Big as you.
And then, I let them fall.
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The last eight years have been the warmest on record.
Little Blue Marble‘s anthology of speculative climate fiction and poetry from an international slate of authors mourns and hopes in equal measure for the fate of our world and its ecosystems.
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