Some of the mountains on my cosmic sphere splooge out thick liquid fire spurts that run downhill and cool and turn into vacation destinations after a few thousand years. I am a woman living on a planet that has noodle-shaped guys squiggling silently in the soil and four-legged mammal kings with hammer feet, or horns on their heads, or coats covered in spots and stripes. My planet also has live, feathered, beaky skeletons flying through the environment, and big, heavy creatures that are tusked and trunked and have sad, long memories and wash their bodies in cold mud puddles and know who their babies are. There are large, deadly cats watching everything in the dark, sneaking through the fanned-out ferns.
There are delighted pigs and gossiping geese and dogs that sprawl with their mouths open so that they can cool off after running around.
This story is from the September 23, 2019 edition of The New Yorker.
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This story is from the September 23, 2019 edition of The New Yorker.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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