• Isabella Sevilla

Torus (Part 1)


Warped space is the setting of both my Short Stories and my upcoming novel, Hiraeth. It’s Speculative fiction (Soft Sci-Fi and Gaslamp Fantasy), that being said, we can start.

Toroid 6.11

Toroid/torus, a rare yet plausible planet structure that resembles an Earthling pastry. It’s impressive on its own, but its colonizers simply find it hilarious. I suppose they see it as a copy of the pastry, rather the inverse. Regardless, the mechanic opens the beam, sweat upon his brow. The pint-sized powerhouse behind said beam chugs down their imported hot bean juice…I think that’s what it is at least, maybe the leaf one.

“Have you chosen a name yet?” I asked in a guttural tongue.

“No.” He then pulled down a lever, so I was gone.

The first few times you go through the beam it burns cold. One gets used to it, I guess the imp couldn’t, so that's why he never uses his projects. One would think that teleportation is quick, it's rather not. Like an elevator ride but it burns your eyes if staring directly at it (yes, even with the helmet on. Though I guess I’m biased… I entered the port, assignment at hand, posture kept, stomach empty. Unsurprisingly, the port contains tons of the dough delicacies. It’s written and drawn at the top of each shop, no grubs. This is humanity’s latest playground, an amusement park of sorts.

I buy one regardless and hope this doesn’t get brought up. I wouldn’t be caught dead-. I hide it in my bag, it’s blueberry jelly smears throughout the glass slides. A familiar figure approaches, I dare not look.

“…Hey” the vermine in flesh, “Are you here for the collision proposal too?”

I pass him and dare not speak, lest he speaks of her. God forbid I think, therefore I will be as dead as I should be.

“It’s been a while, I’ve wondered why you never reached out?… I’ve heard that speaking with people who’re grieving the same thing as one does help. I think it would be really beneficial for the both of us! You have my number, ri-“

His speech is slurred as he beckons toward me. I have nothing to say to a man who let the one being in this wretched world which we both cherished. It would be petty to trip him over, I am grown. It would be petty, I repeat to myself. My jaw clenches; I think again. I think of her, about ideals, about what’s real, I think of the infrastructure that led me here, no- I think of a promise said without thinking, about the hill, about the state she was…, about how he told me. The nerve, the nerve, the nerve!

I speed past him and scratch my arm until grey turns to blue. If there’s something we can both blame is this meeting.

Photo credits: Raspberry Jam Donuts with Vanilla Sugar. Sweet & Simple Kitchen