Author: malcolm

Every morning, Mary would do the same thing. She’d wake up, stretch, meditate for a few moments, write in her journal, and head out to the beach for a morning walk.

She did this in any weather. Hot mornings, stormy mornings, wintry mornings.

“I just don’t feel myself without my morning constitutional,” she would say. “Some days, the sky will have a twinge of purple and the sea will be green.”

Mary noticed the weather changing just like everyone else. She was worried about climate change, but just like everyone else, stuck to her route.

“There’s no way I could live somewhere else,” she said.

And one morning, she was swallowed up by the green sea during the seasonal hurricane.

This story is part of a series of travel stories set in Imaginary Landscapes.

I reached the top of the hill and across the plains, over the forest, I could see the city. Home. Gentle pillars or smoke were floating out from the neighborhoods and I could feel the warmth from those distant hearths. I figured the sunlight would last me until my arrival, and I would finally have a night off the ground.

I had been on the road for months. I no longer recall what I set out looking for. With such a tight focus, I lost sight of what I was looking at. The next thing I knew, I was on my way home.

I started down the hill and a feeling of dread began to sink in. It was summer, it was warm, those pillars of smoke were not from fireplaces.

As I descended down the hill, into the forest, I lost sight of the city. I got through the woods, and in the last few rays of sunlight, I could see smoldering piles of rubble where the city had once stood.

This story is part of a series of travel stories set in Imaginary Landscapes.

The dim light made the coffee appear to be completely black. She took a sip and a slight reflection of her face came into view. Just a snapshot of her the space between her upper lip and her nose. She set the cup down and let out an audible sigh. The coffee was still warm and felt nice in the relative cold of the cave.

Another sip.

With her coffee finished, she felt guilty sitting there much longer. There were always people waiting for a table. Sure enough, as soon as she began to show signs of beginning to leave, she was flanked by a few people she assumed to be on a date asking if she was leaving. Outside the cave, with a belly full of coffee, she continued along the trail.

This story is part of a series of travel stories set in Imaginary Landscapes.

I believe I shall die soon. The sun never sets in this wasteland. I recall the storm and being flung overboard. Then I was here. No shore, no beach. The ground melts in the sun. I see nothing but more of the same white, milky ground in every direction. I felt as though I were sinking more and more with each step, and yet I sink as I stand in this ice cream desert. There is no escape.

This story is part of a series of travel stories set in Imaginary Landscapes.