Time Travel Incident Report

We should have seen it coming—the barely visible glare, the brewing electrical storm, the office windows full of spooky action—but instead the messengers had to come wearing our own faces. The journey itself was badly planned—temporal infrastructure inadequate, the portal certainly unpredicted, funding bodies kept in the dark. Now, the boy insists I take the letter. At around one thousand feet tall, stepping from a door to the way the land used to be, he feels the urge to check his feed—in a subversion of weather, people are participating in widespread revelation, while the prices of household products and utilities fluctuate wildly around us. The judge is watching with his little kangaroo face, his little kangaroo hands, claws clasped in a panicked summons. Now on our backs the sun is staining the lavender plumes—rings of red coral pulse in strings of light against the cold. In the letter, someone has written how they are always thinking about how we are groupings of particles so tiny, everything a coalition, a collaboration, a teaming of life! The voided forest waits on for its carers. I only seep in lilac, the wavelengths to which it will go—