Speaker 1: Cool Zone Media book Club book Club book Club. It's
Speaker 1: the Cool Zone Media book Club. That's our new intro.
Speaker 1: I'm totally gonna get it exactly the same from now on.
Speaker 1: I'm very good at consistently making up ditties. Welcome to
Speaker 1: the Cool Zone Media book Club. I'm your host, Marta
Speaker 1: at Kiljoy and every Sunday I read you a story.
Speaker 1: It's like a book club, only you don't have to
Speaker 1: do the reading because I do it for you. And
Speaker 1: we read fiction and sometimes we read stories that are
Speaker 1: like the perfect story for Cool Zone Media book Club.
Speaker 1: Sometimes we read stories like the one today Today is
Speaker 1: an example of one of the perfect stories in case
Speaker 1: that didn't come across. Because today I'm going to read
Speaker 1: you a story called The Orchard of Tomorrow by Kelseyu.
Speaker 1: Who's Kelseu? Well, i'll read you her bio Kelsey You.
Speaker 1: He is a Taiwanese Chinese American writer who is eternally
Speaker 1: enthusiastic about sharks and appreciates a good ghost story. Over
Speaker 1: a dozen of her short stories and essays appear in
Speaker 1: Clark's World, Apex, Nightmare, Fantasy, Pseudopod, and elsewhere. Her debut
Speaker 1: novella Bound Feet was a Shirley Jackson Award nominee, and
Speaker 1: her next novella, Demon Song, will be published by Titan
Speaker 1: Books in twenty twenty five. Kelsey's first novel, It's Only
Speaker 1: a Game, is published by Bloomsbury. Find her on Instagram
Speaker 1: and Twitter at a novel Escape, or visit her website
Speaker 1: kelseu dot com. Her name is spelled k E l
Speaker 1: sa yu dot com. Kelsey lives in the Pacific Northwest
Speaker 1: with her husband, children and a pile of art supplies.
Speaker 1: And as one Shirley Jackson Award nominee to another, did
Speaker 1: you get the rock? One of the coolest things about
Speaker 1: the Shirley Jackson Award is that if you're nominated, they
Speaker 1: give you a rock that's engraved with you know, Shirley
Speaker 1: Jackson Award nominee, like whatever year. And it makes me
Speaker 1: really happy because it's a clever joke about the story
Speaker 1: of the lottery. Ooh, I wonder if I can read
Speaker 1: that to you all one day. I don't know to
Speaker 1: figure it out, but this story that I'm about to
Speaker 1: read to you, The Orchard of Tomorrow, originally appeared in
Speaker 1: Clark's World magazine in July twenty twenty three, and I
Speaker 1: just want to shout out. Neil Clark is the editor
Speaker 1: of Clark's World. Neil keeps winning well deserved awards for
Speaker 1: his work. He's one of the best editors in speculative fiction,
Speaker 1: and honestly, like, if this is the only place you
Speaker 1: get your stories, that's great. I love the stories that
Speaker 1: I read to you. But there are a bunch of
Speaker 1: really good speculative fiction magazines out there right now. Like
Speaker 1: we are actually living in a golden era of short fiction,
Speaker 1: which is interesting. We are not in a golden era
Speaker 1: of short fiction readership. We are in a golden era
Speaker 1: of short fiction authorship and published ship. We're also not
Speaker 1: in a golden era of Margaret making up words. We're
Speaker 1: in a pretty mediocre era of that. But I highly
Speaker 1: recommend Clark's World, Strange Horizons. I don't know, it's just
Speaker 1: the magazines that are out right now full of good stuff.
Speaker 1: You should read them if you like stories, which you
Speaker 1: probably do, or you wouldn't be listening to this The
Speaker 1: Orchard of Tomorrow by Kelsey U in the rich even
Speaker 1: tide glow, I wait for her in the place where
Speaker 1: the peaches once grew, mouth watering, little golden dusts to
Speaker 1: signal the arrival of summer. Hefty o Henry's skin, dark
Speaker 1: as rust honey, yellow flesh bursting with flavor, Dainty summer ladies,
Speaker 1: impossible to eat without juice dripping down your chin, and
Speaker 1: reliably sapid fair times to close out the season. As
Speaker 1: our elders tell it, this orchard was once bursting with
Speaker 1: variety of the fuzzy skinned fruit. I kneel down, dig
Speaker 1: my fingers into the soil, and scoop up a handful.
Speaker 1: It's dry, too dry, and it crumbles in my hand.
Speaker 1: I close my fist, sweat from my palm, soaking the
Speaker 1: dirt as I try to imagine a time when the
Speaker 1: ground was rich with nutrients, when the landscape was filled
Speaker 1: with ripening peach trees, silhouettes full and dark against the
Speaker 1: twilight sky, When my grandparents' backs and arms ached something
Speaker 1: fierce after a full day of picking fruit. All I had,
Speaker 1: all Laine and I ever had, were stories to show
Speaker 1: us what the world had been like. The sun dips
Speaker 1: below the horizon, and my hope sinks with it. So
Speaker 1: much has changed in all the time that's passed, but
Speaker 1: her haunts remain the same. I would rather have sat
Speaker 1: outside her place, the one that was once upon a
Speaker 1: time my home too, and awaited her return. But I
Speaker 1: knew I should give her the choice to see me
Speaker 1: or not. After eight years apart and everything I said
Speaker 1: to her when we last spoke, it's the least I
Speaker 1: owe her, So I shoved a note under her door.
Speaker 1: Meet me at the orchard at sunset. It was the
Speaker 1: right thing to do. Yet here I am, now, in
Speaker 1: the gloaming, all alone. I unclenched my fist and a
Speaker 1: dead beetle tumbles out with the clumped dirt. It lies
Speaker 1: belly up on the ground that once teemed with its kind.
Speaker 1: I brush my hands off and reach into the pocket
Speaker 1: of my thin coat, checking to make sure it's still there.
Speaker 1: The surprise I've saved for Lane, the one that might
Speaker 1: be my saving grace if she gives me the chance
Speaker 1: to show her. I turn, making my way toward the
Speaker 1: tree at the edge of the field, the lone survivor.
Speaker 1: It's bare and a fruit now, but it's still standing,
Speaker 1: leaning back against its trunk. I close my eyes, thinking
Speaker 1: of when Lay and I spent all our days whispering
Speaker 1: secret dreams for a hopeful future. So what you're back
Speaker 1: Now I open my eyes to see a hollow, cheeked
Speaker 1: version of Lane, wraith like and disconnected from the version
Speaker 1: of her that lives in my memory. Her sloppily patched
Speaker 1: shirt is too large, hanging strangely on her bony shoulders.
Speaker 1: Eight long years, filled with who knows how many hungry days,
Speaker 1: hungry nights, have whittled her away to this. Guilt twists
Speaker 1: in my gut, leaving me momentarily speechless. If she's shocked
Speaker 1: by how different I am, it shows only in the
Speaker 1: slight narrowing of her eyes, the same warm brown as
Speaker 1: I remember, but ringed with dark circles. Now Lane was
Speaker 1: always closed off to anyone outside her tight circle, and
Speaker 1: I'm no longer snugly on the inside. I suck in
Speaker 1: a breath, sharp with the pain of distance between us.
Speaker 1: This is a waste of time. She turns to leave.
Speaker 1: The movement is so like her, so very lame, that
Speaker 1: it reminds me of how things used to be, of
Speaker 1: why I'm here when I made her angry too many
Speaker 1: times near the end, she did this. She was usually
Speaker 1: the one to run from our fights first, but she
Speaker 1: always came back, unlike me. I reach out to grab
Speaker 1: her sleeve. Lane. Wait, She crosses her arms. What do
Speaker 1: you want to go back to the way things were?
Speaker 1: I bite back the words. I miss you. Want to
Speaker 1: share a tale with you? It's a dirty trick. The
Speaker 1: Terrible Winter. After Lane's parents died in a flash flood,
Speaker 1: she moved in with me and mom. On cold nights,
Speaker 1: when Lane's grief threatened to swallow her hole, Mom would
Speaker 1: wrap us up in blankets and tell us stories of
Speaker 1: Swan Wukong, the monkey King. I see longing cross Lane's face.
Speaker 1: Then she straightens, her veil of indifference falls back into place.
Speaker 1: She pulls away, forcing me to let go of her sleeve.
Speaker 1: I don't want to hear it. Please, I say, Andrea, Please.
Speaker 1: She sighs, and I still know her well enough to
Speaker 1: know it's a victory. However, small, somewhere inside the prickly
Speaker 1: creature standing before me, the ghost of my former best
Speaker 1: friend lives on. In the celestial gardens of Shi Wong Mu,
Speaker 1: the Queen Mother of the West, three types of peaches
Speaker 1: of immortality grew. The first bloomed but once every three
Speaker 1: thousand years, granting an extension of life equal to its
Speaker 1: growth time to anyone who consumed one. The second grew
Speaker 1: for six thousand years, offering immortality and strength of body.
Speaker 1: The third ripened every nine thousand years, and its gifts
Speaker 1: were the most precious of them all. For the consumer
Speaker 1: of the rarest peach would become as eternal as the
Speaker 1: sky above and the earth below, and live as long
Speaker 1: as the fiery Sun and the frigid moon. To celebrate
Speaker 1: the ripening of the peaches, Shi Wong Mu and her
Speaker 1: husband Yu Wong, the Jade Emperor, would invite all the
Speaker 1: deities to their Azure banquet hall on Mount Kunlan for
Speaker 1: a magnificent gathering. There they would present the peaches of
Speaker 1: immortality for all to partake, thereby ensuring the deity's continual
Speaker 1: immutable existence. In the brief space of my tail, Lane's
Speaker 1: eyes have grown wide and attentive. Her arms are still crossed,
Speaker 1: but her posture has loosened. I can't help myself. I
Speaker 1: shift toward her. The movement so slight, I hope she
Speaker 1: won't notice. Instantly she's on guard. Lane steps backward as
Speaker 1: if I'm a creature bearing fangs. Her shoulders stiffened, and
Speaker 1: she presses her arms tightly together again, narrows her eyes
Speaker 1: as if to remind herself to stay wary. When she speaks,
Speaker 1: her voice is pure ice. Let me guess you learned
Speaker 1: that story from one of the dragons. She spits, the
Speaker 1: diminutive that we and most other common porn folk used
Speaker 1: to refer to the world's wealthy elite. I WinCE, No,
Speaker 1: it's not like that. Did you enjoy it there? Waking
Speaker 1: up on a clean, fluffy bed every morning for eight years,
Speaker 1: eating your fill each meal, and spending your leisure time
Speaker 1: enjoying all the things they stole from us, everything they
Speaker 1: hoarded in their precious locked towers so they could continue
Speaker 1: to live in comfort while the rest of us died
Speaker 1: for scraps. Lane's voice breaks at the end, her choked sobs,
Speaker 1: A thing with spikes lodging itself deep inside my heart.
Speaker 1: This is so much worse than the way she screamed
Speaker 1: at me when I first told her the dragons had
Speaker 1: offered me a job in one of their distant preservation greenhouses.
Speaker 1: Back then, Lane and I spent most of our days
Speaker 1: doing any work we could find in exchange for food
Speaker 1: and basic comforts. Her mom, for her, for me. Whenever
Speaker 1: we had moments free. My mom would rest at home
Speaker 1: while Laine would visit the elders in the community, listening
Speaker 1: to their stories as she helped them in any way
Speaker 1: she could. I, meanwhile, spent my time applying the knowledge
Speaker 1: passed down through my family, trying to work out how
Speaker 1: to restore the damaged soil so it would grow things again.
Speaker 1: The planter at our tiny shared house had barely begun
Speaker 1: to sprout my first successful attempt when a recruiter showed up.
Speaker 1: Lane was gone. Knowing the dragons as I do now,
Speaker 1: he likely waited until I was alone to approach me.
Speaker 1: I took in his clean tailored clothes, his rosy cheeks,
Speaker 1: untroubled eyes, and perfectly styled hair, the disdainful look he
Speaker 1: directed at the home I shared with the ones I
Speaker 1: loved most, and I told him to go to hell. Sure,
Speaker 1: he said, with a dismissive little laugh, I'll do that,
Speaker 1: but first you'll want to hear this. We can give
Speaker 1: you all the resources you need to grow things, real things,
Speaker 1: not this child's play. Your grandparents were farmers, right, I
Speaker 1: glared at him. They had an orchard back before the
Speaker 1: world broke, before assholes like you came and took the
Speaker 1: last of their fruiting trees. And exchange for resources that
Speaker 1: should be freely shared. Now get the hell out. I
Speaker 1: was ready to run inside, grab my Almah's old shovel
Speaker 1: and smack him on the head. Consequences be damned. And
Speaker 1: then he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I
Speaker 1: did enjoy it for a time. I finally admit to
Speaker 1: Lane thinking about the day I entered the Dragon's Lair.
Speaker 1: I won't lie to her. At first, it was a relief.
Speaker 1: Lane stares at me, and I'm afraid I've made things
Speaker 1: even worse. But she doesn't say anything, so I go on.
Speaker 1: I it's useless to describe what it felt like to
Speaker 1: get a full night sleep, to have so much food
Speaker 1: available that I gorged myself sick for a week before
Speaker 1: learning to take it slow, to know my mom would
Speaker 1: stay alive for three more years thanks to the pills
Speaker 1: the Dragon's horse for themselves. I can't say any of it.
Speaker 1: Laine would only hate me all the more, so I
Speaker 1: say the only thing I can say. I missed you, Blaane.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry I left. She presses her lips together and
Speaker 1: turns away. She's tense, agitated, fingernails digging into her own
Speaker 1: arms and she's about to begin pacing. I can't tell
Speaker 1: if I'm closer to regaining her trust or losing her forever.
Speaker 1: So I begin the next part of the story knowing
Speaker 1: it'll be hard for her to resist a tale about
Speaker 1: the one character she always loved hearing about the most,
Speaker 1: which is these ads. No, it's not part of the story.
Speaker 1: I just there's ads and they come here that This
Speaker 1: is where the ads go. This is where the first
Speaker 1: of the two breaks go. I trust you to find
Speaker 1: the four to fifteen second button. I mean, listen to
Speaker 1: these wonderful deals that we all believe in. Here they
Speaker 1: are and we're back. In the course of his journey
Speaker 1: to the West, Swoon Wu Kong angers several gods and
Speaker 1: gains heavenly powers, thus attracting the attention of the Jade Emperor.
Speaker 1: At first, Hu Wong appoints him Keeper of the Horses,
Speaker 1: the lowliest position in heaven, intended as both a slight
Speaker 1: and a means to keep him under observation. An outsider
Speaker 1: to the deities politics, Swan Wukong does not immediately recognize
Speaker 1: the offense. Once he learns of it, he's outraged to
Speaker 1: contain the vengeful, destructive monkey, Hu Wong sends a band
Speaker 1: of his celestial warriors, but Swong Wukong defeats them all.
Speaker 1: In doing so, much to Huong's chagrin, Sun Wukong earns
Speaker 1: himself the revered position as guardian of Chi Wang Mu's
Speaker 1: private orchards. Swang Wukong is pleased with his new role,
Speaker 1: having witnessed a fellow monkey die of old age earlier
Speaker 1: in his adventures. He fears death. He will do anything
Speaker 1: to avoid it, and his fortune is great for his
Speaker 1: appointment coincides with the rare ripening of the precious fruit.
Speaker 1: He watches as preparations begin for the banquet, anticipating both
Speaker 1: the taste of heavenly fruit and an end to his mortality.
Speaker 1: For surely, as protector of the peaches, he is guaranteed
Speaker 1: a spot at the table. Yet the feast of peaches
Speaker 1: approaches and still no invitation arrives. Swoon Hou Koon thinks
Speaker 1: of the peaches of immortality laid out on a serving
Speaker 1: dish in the azure banquet hall, awaiting the arrival of
Speaker 1: Chi Wong Mu's honoured guests. He thinks of the way
Speaker 1: that gods slight him at every opportunity. He thinks about
Speaker 1: how they never wanted him here, and how now that
Speaker 1: he's forced his way in, they still find ways to
Speaker 1: exclude him, and he finds a way to sneak inside.
Speaker 1: Lane's eyes are a war zone, torn between the hurt
Speaker 1: that must have been festering during our time apart and
Speaker 1: the legend of the Monkey King. She loves so much,
Speaker 1: and this tale is new to her. I discovered a
Speaker 1: translated copy of Journey to the West in the Dragon's
Speaker 1: library the month after Mom died. Each night, curled up
Speaker 1: alone in on my warm, cozy bed, I read. If
Speaker 1: I held the book at just the right angle, kept
Speaker 1: him only my bedside lamp on, and turned away from
Speaker 1: the empty bed on the other side of the room,
Speaker 1: I could almost pretend Mom was still there, just out
Speaker 1: of sight, softly snoring as I whiled away the evening.
Speaker 1: Weeks passed before I read far enough to discover the
Speaker 1: tale of Swan Wu Kong and the Peaches of Immortality,
Speaker 1: a tale Mom never told me. In Lane, despite the
Speaker 1: fruit at the heart of it, Despite my grandparents peach orchard,
Speaker 1: this one where my mom and Lane's mom grew up
Speaker 1: playing together while their parents picked fruit, Or maybe because
Speaker 1: of this orchard. When Lane and I were a ten
Speaker 1: and eleven. Lane's mom told us about the scorching hot
Speaker 1: summer when a wild fire destroyed most of the peach trees.
Speaker 1: The way the sickly scent of charred fruit and thick
Speaker 1: miasma of smoke lingered for days, The way volunteers from
Speaker 1: town came over to help glean the salvageable fruit and
Speaker 1: discard the ruined ones, to call the dead trees and
Speaker 1: cut the rotten bits from the ones that could be saved,
Speaker 1: To make jokes with my awe Gong, to distract him
Speaker 1: from the pain of seeing his precious trees charred to ash,
Speaker 1: and bring my Almah discreet tissues to soak up the
Speaker 1: tears she pretended she hadn't shed. Lane's mom was the
Speaker 1: one to tell us because decades after the fire, it
Speaker 1: was still too painful for my mom our grandparents to
Speaker 1: speak of. And even though it was my family's history,
Speaker 1: my family's tragedy, Lane, as much as I soaked up
Speaker 1: every word, it was Laine who wanted to write what
Speaker 1: she saw was a terrible wrong. It was Laine who
Speaker 1: wanted to bring the orchards back to life, to restore
Speaker 1: the land to what it had once been. It was
Speaker 1: Laine who first suggested it would be worth trying to
Speaker 1: restore the soil, revitalized the land, to pick up the
Speaker 1: work my mom had begun before she had me, The
Speaker 1: work Mom would have continued once I was grown, had
Speaker 1: she not become ill. It's Lane who stands before me,
Speaker 1: now surrounded by the ghosts of my family's peach trees
Speaker 1: in the orchard that my grandparents had once thought would
Speaker 1: sustain my family forever. Why are you telling me this tale,
Speaker 1: she asks, voice wavering between confusion and anger. Did she
Speaker 1: did your mom? Is this one of her stories? Mom
Speaker 1: died five years ago. My voice is even. I've learned
Speaker 1: to mask the ache that accompanies those words. Lane worries.
Speaker 1: Her lip bites back a tear. I'm sorry, Andrea, I nod,
Speaker 1: but I'm frustrated with myself. I would do almost anything
Speaker 1: to repair Lane's in my friendship, but I won't use
Speaker 1: Mom's death. I won't use Lane's compassion, her grief, her
Speaker 1: sympathy to my advantage. She didn't tell me about the
Speaker 1: peaches of immortality. I learned about them later. Lane stiffens,
Speaker 1: her voice grows hard again. The dragons they had a library,
Speaker 1: and Lane kicks the base of the tree hard enough
Speaker 1: to make me flinch. A fucking course, a private little
Speaker 1: library they keep for themselves and their sick offense. How
Speaker 1: did it feel to work for them, to help them
Speaker 1: preserve the fruits they plundered from us, from farmers like
Speaker 1: your grandparents, to keep safe in their walled off greenhouses.
Speaker 1: How did it feel to read the stories they made
Speaker 1: sure to save, to collect for themselves under the claim
Speaker 1: of preserving knowledge for the good of humanity? Why are
Speaker 1: you really here? Did they finally let you off your
Speaker 1: leash for one evening? Or are you on some mission
Speaker 1: for them? You know what, Andrea, it doesn't matter. I
Speaker 1: don't need you anymore. I'm done. Lane turns and strides off. Lane.
Speaker 1: I left, I left my work there. I'm done with them.
Speaker 1: She stops for a second, but doesn't turn around. I
Speaker 1: see her take a deep breath. Then she shakes her
Speaker 1: head as if to remind herself she's done with me,
Speaker 1: and starts off again. I hurry to catch up. I
Speaker 1: didn't just leave, I call out after her. I also
Speaker 1: stole something precious from them. This time she does turn around.
Speaker 1: You did what? Let me finish the tale? Please, then
Speaker 1: I'll tell you everything fine, but I'm gonna keep walking,
Speaker 1: all right. I walk alongside lane, hoping like hell it
Speaker 1: isn't the last time I get the chance. Swan Wou
Speaker 1: Kong eyes the centerpiece of the celestial banquet table, a
Speaker 1: bowl of eternal peaches, larger than any earthly peach, perfectly
Speaker 1: proportioned and plump with juice. His stomach growls something fierce,
Speaker 1: and his heart fills with longing for the fruit of
Speaker 1: the gods. The key to shedding his mortality lies within reach.
Speaker 1: He takes one, waiting for Hu Wong to appear in
Speaker 1: a rage, for a band of celestial warriors to attack,
Speaker 1: for the guests to arrive and show their outrage in
Speaker 1: any number of ways, but no one stops him. Swan
Speaker 1: Wu Kong eats the peach of immortality. One is all
Speaker 1: he needs, One is all anyone has ever needed. But
Speaker 1: he eyes the bowl of precious fruit grown in Si
Speaker 1: wang Mu's sacred guarded garden, hidden away and cultivated for
Speaker 1: her innermost circle, a guarantee that they'll stay eternal, stay
Speaker 1: in power, a gift for those who already have everything.
Speaker 1: The peaches are not meant for folk like him, Swan
Speaker 1: Wu Kong eats another peach, then another, his heart hardening
Speaker 1: with each bite. He's full to bursting, so full that
Speaker 1: hunger is not but a distant memory. But he keeps
Speaker 1: eating until he's finished every last one. He washes them
Speaker 1: down with a vessel of heavenly wine, and just to
Speaker 1: spite them further, he seeks out the corner of Lautza,
Speaker 1: the father of Taoism, and steals his infamous pills of immortality.
Speaker 1: Swan Wu Kong swallows those two before he leaves shi
Speaker 1: Wang Mu Palace. He knows that what the hell? Andrea
Speaker 1: Lane interrupts, Is this supposed to be some sort of allegory?
Speaker 1: Are you supposed to be Swan Who Kong, the heroic
Speaker 1: monkey king who stole something precious from the corrupt elite?
Speaker 1: Are you going to try to convince me you work
Speaker 1: there because you wanted to get close to them, to
Speaker 1: do something for good for us commoners. Lane's practically breathing fire.
Speaker 1: She's so angry. You know, when I saw your note,
Speaker 1: I wondered how you'd play it. Half the reason I'm
Speaker 1: here is because I wanted to know what excuse you'd
Speaker 1: come up with. Now I know you're going to paint
Speaker 1: yourself as some sort of fucking martyr. At least I
Speaker 1: win that bet with myself. No, Lane, I don't think
Speaker 1: I'm the goddamn monkey king. I know I have no
Speaker 1: right to be mad, but her accusations cut away at
Speaker 1: my self control. My words tumble out unvarnished. Of course,
Speaker 1: I don't fucking think I'm Swan Wokong. And he wasn't
Speaker 1: doing it for the common good? Didn't you listen to
Speaker 1: the story? He was selfish as fuck. He only wanted
Speaker 1: to take because he was pissed that he wasn't invited.
Speaker 1: Everything else was a justification, unlike these ads that have
Speaker 1: no justification for being here except for the way our
Speaker 1: economic system works. Here's ads, and we're back. Then? Why
Speaker 1: bother telling me the story? Is it because you think
Speaker 1: I sit around all day and daydream about stories, because
Speaker 1: I'm a dreamer who doesn't understand what the real world demands.
Speaker 1: That sometimes people have to give up childish ideals in
Speaker 1: favor of security and shelter and medicine. That things are
Speaker 1: more complicated than I'm willing to admit. That some people
Speaker 1: grow up and grow out of being dreamers, while others
Speaker 1: let themselves get left behind, until all they have are
Speaker 1: dreams worth less than poisoned dirt. Her words steal away
Speaker 1: my anger, my breath, because they're not her words. They're mine,
Speaker 1: thrown at her in anger on that last day before
Speaker 1: I left to work for the dragons. She says it
Speaker 1: like she's repeated the words in her head a thousand times,
Speaker 1: like she replays them in her mind before she goes
Speaker 1: to sleep, like every word is a fact, an inarguable truth,
Speaker 1: a bludgeon. Her words hit me the same way my
Speaker 1: first taste of ripe, juicy peach did four months ago,
Speaker 1: the moment that knocked me from my comfortable complacency, that
Speaker 1: reminded me of how much I love the woman before me,
Speaker 1: who should have been there to taste that wonderful fruit
Speaker 1: we once dreamed we'd share some day when we'd regrown
Speaker 1: the peach trees. I feel it again, the self loathing
Speaker 1: for every fiber of my well rested, well fed being,
Speaker 1: not only because I was willing to leave her behind,
Speaker 1: but because I was willing to stay long after I
Speaker 1: should have left the dragons. I want to crawl into
Speaker 1: a dark hole in the ground and wait there until
Speaker 1: my body grows still, my flesh cold, and I'm nothing
Speaker 1: but meat and bones, feeding the insects. I almost turned
Speaker 1: to leave again, but Laine deserves better. Lane always deserved
Speaker 1: better than I gave her. I'm sorry. The words are
Speaker 1: a drop of water on a forest fire, as pointless
Speaker 1: as staying silent. I wish I could take back what
Speaker 1: I did. All I can do is tell you that
Speaker 1: I was wrong. I was absolutely wrong. I know her
Speaker 1: words cleave mine, sudden and vehement. No, she says again,
Speaker 1: that's the worst fucking part that you were right when
Speaker 1: you left. I had nothing without you. My dreams felt worthless,
Speaker 1: all the things I thought we could do to change
Speaker 1: the world. She shakes her head. I've gone so many
Speaker 1: days without food, seeing so many people suffer and die
Speaker 1: because of the greed of people like the dragons, And
Speaker 1: as much as I want to say, all it did
Speaker 1: was make me more determined, that would be a goddamn lie.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I wonder why bother or too small to change anything.
Speaker 1: We're too insignificant to do anything but do what we
Speaker 1: can to survive. She lowers her voice to a whisper,
Speaker 1: and she won't look at me. Too many nights I
Speaker 1: lay awake, wishing had gone with you. I put my
Speaker 1: hands on Lane's shoulders to stop her in her tracks,
Speaker 1: because I can't let her go another moment, believing this,
Speaker 1: because it breaks me to see her so broken. Lane
Speaker 1: doesn't pull away. She's shaking, and when I draw her close,
Speaker 1: I realize she's sobbing with her entire body. There's so
Speaker 1: little of her left. I hug her, and she cries
Speaker 1: on my shoulder, the same way she did half our
Speaker 1: lives ago, the day she showed up at my house
Speaker 1: newly orphaned, face a wreck of blotchy tears. I listen
Speaker 1: now as she tells me how the last few years
Speaker 1: have been especially hard, so goddamned heart, I swallow a
Speaker 1: reply when she whispers that this doesn't mean that she
Speaker 1: forgives me. I wait until her tears run, until she
Speaker 1: wipes her face on the hem of her shirt, until
Speaker 1: she's spent, Lane, I say, and she looks up. You
Speaker 1: weren't wrong. Laane starts to shake her head, but it's
Speaker 1: half hearted, like she's too tired to care anymore. I
Speaker 1: put more force into my voice. I need her to
Speaker 1: know I'm not just saying it. I'm the one who
Speaker 1: was wrong. We need dreamers. We need people like you
Speaker 1: who can imagine the way things could be. Dragons think
Speaker 1: they're the only ones who are truly free because they've
Speaker 1: shackled everyone else. They think that access to all the
Speaker 1: world's most precious things makes their lives richer, fuller. But
Speaker 1: all they've done is create private, little fortresses of fear.
Speaker 1: They play petty games with each other because they fear
Speaker 1: one another too. They've taken everything, and so they're afraid
Speaker 1: to lose anything. I wish I could say that I
Speaker 1: regret my choice to leave. I can't not when that
Speaker 1: choice gave my mom three more years. Shouldn't have said
Speaker 1: the shit I said just to make myself feel better
Speaker 1: about what I was doing. I shouldn't have stayed for
Speaker 1: five years after she died. I want to say I
Speaker 1: did it because I had some grand plan to learn
Speaker 1: what I could from them and upend everything. But the
Speaker 1: truth is I got comfortable. I told myself the security
Speaker 1: was worth it. Leariness has seeped back into Lane's expression,
Speaker 1: but she doesn't leave. At least she's listening. People like
Speaker 1: me lack imagination. I swallow hard. It's not an admission.
Speaker 1: I like to make people like me. Can only see
Speaker 1: what's right in front of them. Sometimes you never could
Speaker 1: see the orchards the way I could. I look around,
Speaker 1: trying to picture the trees the way they were in
Speaker 1: Lane's mom's stories. I wished for so long that I could.
Speaker 1: I say, Lane's sighs. It's a long, weary sound. What
Speaker 1: does it matter anymore, It makes no difference if you
Speaker 1: regret it or not. It happened. You left, I stayed.
Speaker 1: We're here now, and it's too late. The world has
Speaker 1: only gotten worse. There's nothing to come back to. All
Speaker 1: my dreams crumbled to dust, just like you knew they would.
Speaker 1: You should have stayed where you were. I shake my head.
Speaker 1: There are two things I learned there in the dragon's enclave.
Speaker 1: First that the fruit of today never tastes quite like
Speaker 1: the fruit of yesterday. Thanks to breeding, to natural selection,
Speaker 1: to climate change, fruit evolved in taste and texture over time.
Speaker 1: There's evidence that peaches were domesticated as far back as
Speaker 1: eight thousand years ago in northwest China. But those ancient
Speaker 1: Chinese peaches, they're gone forever. She eyes me, okay. And Second,
Speaker 1: there is one good thing about the dragons. Lane's lips
Speaker 1: turned down. I almost laugh at the skepticism radiating off her.
Speaker 1: Oh yeah, what the hell is good about them? They
Speaker 1: keep really good records on how to care for their
Speaker 1: precious things. I pull something from my pocket and hand
Speaker 1: it to her. Lane's eyes narrow, but she accepts the
Speaker 1: small journal filled with the notes I memorized and painstakingly
Speaker 1: copied from the Dragon's records over the course of the
Speaker 1: last four months. Her brows furrow. What's this? I hand
Speaker 1: her the other item from my pocket, the thing I've
Speaker 1: been saving, hoping it'll be enough, A small cloth wrapped bundle.
Speaker 1: She unravels the cloth, and her breath catches. Is that
Speaker 1: is it? What I think it is? The wonder in
Speaker 1: her voice makes everything that went into this moment worth it.
Speaker 1: It is. Lane turns over the ridged, blush pink peach pit,
Speaker 1: running her fingers over its smooth grooves. She wipes her
Speaker 1: eyes and laughs involuntarily, a little hiccup of a thing,
Speaker 1: and then her shoulders slouch again. But it's a waste.
Speaker 1: You should have smuggled out food in medicine. That's what
Speaker 1: we need most. I did that too, She shakes her head,
Speaker 1: still staring at the peach pit. Then why bother with
Speaker 1: this one tree won't change the world. Besides, it's not
Speaker 1: just that the dragons stole the last fertile peach trees.
Speaker 1: It's that this soil won't grow them anymore. Your grandparents
Speaker 1: orchard will never go back to what it used to be. No,
Speaker 1: it won't, I say, surprise alights Lane's face. It probably won't,
Speaker 1: I amend. Maybe someday the peaches will return here. But
Speaker 1: there are pockets of the world that it will still
Speaker 1: be able to grow them, or places that will be
Speaker 1: able to grow them for the first time. This isn't
Speaker 1: the only peach pit or the only fruit we want
Speaker 1: to bring back to the world. Outside the dragon's protective
Speaker 1: little bubbles, there are many of us, so many more
Speaker 1: than I ever could have imagined, smuggling out the things
Speaker 1: they hoard, the plants, the animals, the stories, the technology.
Speaker 1: Others are fighting in small ways, setting up a future
Speaker 1: where we take back what is ours. But this is
Speaker 1: part of it. People wrote stories about fruit trees, built
Speaker 1: legends around them because they mattered. You were right to dream. Lane.
Speaker 1: Hope flares in her eyes, and it's the most beautiful thing.
Speaker 1: We'll travel find a spot for this pit. I have
Speaker 1: a few places we can start. I gesture towards the notebook,
Speaker 1: and Lane hands it back to me absently. And if
Speaker 1: those ones don't work, we'll find another and try again.
Speaker 1: We'll test them, we'll grow them, We'll keep trying. We'll
Speaker 1: do anything we can. Our world is never going back
Speaker 1: to what it used to be. Peaches aren't what they
Speaker 1: used to be. But with a lot of effort and
Speaker 1: a little luck, maybe you and I will be the
Speaker 1: first to taste the peaches from the orchard of tomorrow.
Speaker 1: I reach out my hand, throat tight with hope. I
Speaker 1: don't deserve a second chance, but Lane was always a
Speaker 1: better person than I. Laane looks at me a gaze
Speaker 1: that pierces me through. Then she looks beyond me. She
Speaker 1: takes several deep breaths, and I brace myself for her refusal,
Speaker 1: for the pain I know I deserve. This time, she'll
Speaker 1: be the one to walk away. She wraps the precious
Speaker 1: pit back up in the cloth and tucks it away,
Speaker 1: and she places her hand in mine, and though her
Speaker 1: skin is cold, warmth floods me, lighting up my entire body.
Speaker 1: She glances my way, and her expression is still wary,
Speaker 1: still uncertain, but she doesn't loosen her grip or let go.
Speaker 1: You are going to tell me the end of that,
Speaker 1: swan mu kong taale right. I smile at her, blinking
Speaker 1: back the tears that fill my eyes. I'll tell you
Speaker 1: on the way. I'll tell you every tale I read.
Speaker 1: She squeezes her hand in mine, and together we take
Speaker 1: our first steps towards the place where the peaches will
Speaker 1: grow once more. And that's the story. I hope you
Speaker 1: all liked it half as much as I did, because
Speaker 1: then you still liked it a lot.
Speaker 2: I don't know.
Speaker 1: It's funny, like you know, I usually have so much
Speaker 1: to say about these stories. And one thing I like
Speaker 1: about this writing is that it's just clear right. There's allegories,
Speaker 1: there's like thoughts and concepts in it and stuff, and
Speaker 1: they're just written in a way where you don't need
Speaker 1: to like really dig in to be like I wonder
Speaker 1: what this one little thing here means or whatever you
Speaker 1: just know. And it's also not heavy handed, like I think,
Speaker 1: this is an amazingly well read, well written story. I
Speaker 1: must said, well read story, and you know well that too.
Speaker 1: I don't know, I have no idea if I did well,
Speaker 1: but whatever So if you enjoyed this story, if you
Speaker 1: go to Kelseyu's website, which is k E L s
Speaker 1: e a yu dot com, all of her publications are
Speaker 1: listed and linked there, so you can read so much
Speaker 1: more of her work. And when I asked her what
Speaker 1: she wanted to tell you all, like what's a plug here?
Speaker 1: At the end, she said, the story's most likely to
Speaker 1: fit a similar audience as the Orchard of Tomorrow are
Speaker 1: in memories, We Drown from Clerk's wor World, a scarcity
Speaker 1: of sharks in Reckoning, and Harvest of the Deep in fantasy.
Speaker 1: I have two books out Bound Feet, which is a
Speaker 1: horror novella and It's Only a Game, which is a
Speaker 1: young adult thriller that just came out last Tuesday. And
Speaker 1: I have another horror novella coming out next fall with
Speaker 1: Titan that's called Demon Song. It also ties in Swan
Speaker 1: Wu Kong and Chinese folklore, so anyone interested in that
Speaker 1: story element might enjoy it. And I'm looking forward to
Speaker 1: finding those books. They seem really good. All right. Well,
Speaker 1: if you listen to this on Cool People Did Cool Stuff,
Speaker 1: you should also check out it could happen here. And
Speaker 1: if you listen to this on It Could Happen Here.
Speaker 1: You should also check out cool People Who Did Cool Stuff.
Speaker 1: I'm Margaret Kildoy and I will talk to you all
Speaker 1: next week with another episode of cool Zone Media book
Speaker 1: club Club glubul.
Speaker 2: It Could Happen Here as a production of cool Zone Media.
Speaker 2: For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visitorsite cool zonemedia
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Speaker 2: find sources for It could Happen Here, updated monthly at
Speaker 2: coolzonemedia dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening