Bella Li
The Twenty-second Voyage
Back then the fallout had been sporadic and highly variable. First the owls, dying in great numbers. Across the wastes of high-rises in decay. Bones of animals collecting. In the yellow zone the streets were vacant and undulating, sun stretched through infinite spans. Walked between statues, lain on their sides. Counting the means by which the dead return, upstairs in the foyer of the grand hotel. In the auditorium Elvis stuttering to life; electric hits, flies on stage. You ain’t nothing but crying, crying all the time. The terrors of a terrible age. At the end of the hall stepped onto what had once been a terraced path, garden-enclosed. From which you could, in the time before. I’ve never seen a real, or found a live, wild. Pulleys and circuits and turrets and gears. And we imagined this would be a friendless world. Today we are higher than yesterday. Tomorrow, up at dawn—the climb, the sudden levelling of the path into.