The Multi-genre Mashup SmackDown

How to see the Earth with Busted Binoculars

Obnoxious voices spluttered in the kitchen. "Was Lucretius the genius?" I chucked a coin at the stereo speaker while lowering into a seat. "Flat Earth believer–" As the coin made contact with the central dial it switched frequencies to a foreign station. Vowels and consonants morphed into a blaze of static.

My jaw tightened, "Have you ever seen the edge of the Earth?"

She–Marjorie pivoted on the kitchen tile. "No," she said, setting down a bowl of dried blueberries, "I don't have the means to see the edge of the earth."

Her eyebrows knit as I lifted myself from the leather seat cushion, it nearly stuck to my thighs. "Marj, you don't need equipment to see the edges of the earth." Her chin rose. "There are no edges." I stuffed berries into my mouth, like a scavenging squirrel.

She grinned, "That is according to your parents, Ember."

I squinted, sinking my canines into the head of the spoon. I froze, comprehending her statement.

"My parents have faith in ancient philosophers. It might not be traditional, but Roman ideas were widely accepted once." She breathed in, sitting adjacent to me.

I drug the silver surface from my lips, venom pooled on my tongue. She couldn't be serious, "It's as if conspiracy theories hold more substance than science in your heritage." I pointed to the stereo, with a wicked smile as if her parents were listening through the static.

She scooted closer, chair legs dragged against the carpet, "It's called philosophy Ember, not conspiracy."

I lifted my hands with ghostly fingers "My apologies, it's bogus no matter the name is. At least my parents root themselves in fact, and they don't go around broadcasting false claims to a public audience." I leaned back, the soles of my feet freed from the floor. "We can't all afford to be nemoral Marj, researchers don't stick to the tree line with busted binoculars."

She stood "Busted binoculars?" It was a common phrase for explorers who lacked direction and stirred civil unrest, to bring attention to their haphazard findings. Marj's eyes widened to a size I'd never seen before. "You think I have no morals, Ember?"

My spoon hit the table tail first. I chuckled though it was breathless. "No! I'm sure you have morals, you just lack a frontal lobe."

For hours Marjorie quipped back, and I'd return gunfire equally as lethal. The sun lowered into the canyon, while she handed me a historical analysis of an Eastern landmass. I pointed to annotations, and underlying definitions in unpublished manuscripts. She'd look farther past my data and notice improper sourcework. I tore her seismographs from cork board foam. Our shouts lifted into the stratosphere as the moon fell. We spoke feverishly, two families so rooted in exploration, we were practically geological soul mates.

As the stars faded and our throats rot, a knock pounded against the door. We were shocked into silence, though the clock ticked anxiously ahead. The blueberries were gone, but I could still taste them, the spoon was embedded into a dot distribution map, and we stood side by side. 

I turned as the door swung open. A newspaper laid on the micro-porch. I crossed the threshold to meet her. She unfolded the front page with a shriek. I dropped my chin to her shoulder as she touched my hand, a callus on her palm breached my knuckles. We read the headline in sync.

"HUMAN FALLS OFF SOUTHERN EDGE OF EARTH."