This is But One Fragment Five Hundred Words Long Constituting Part of Something Much Larger, With At Least One New Episode Per Week, And May Be What We Call A Serialized Novella.

I hate this city. Beyond this window is a four-storey drop to the alley where a service bot is sweeping. Beyond this window are the reeking streets of Asgarth, wet and musty. The rain fell this afternoon and wet the stones and stirred the traces of life that sneak into the city on a whim and a wind. A bit of green pokes through the reds and browns and the bot clips it away with a quick flick of a torch. It might have been nothing, but why take chances after all. After all, beyond this window the people clamber to understand the forces that tie them to this place – the powers that keep them working to construct a better stronghold from the flora around them – this city.

Even children know why we fear the grasses. It is a plain truth of our lives.

I hate this city. Then the aroma of fresh nutbreads wafts through the alley from a nearby bakery, twisting through the air as I imagine it perfect as a voxscope illustration, upwind into my small loft. And I forgive the city for just a moment.

When people first came to this place they didn’t understand those truths that we now take for granted. They built a new home in a strange place, but never asked for explanations.

I’m thinking about this now because I once had this conversation with Timo.

“I’ve read about that.” He had said. “The first people who came here wrote about walking through the grass and feeling the crisp tingle of grass below their feet. They discovered a lot about this place before it was a city.”

“They walked in the grass?” I was skeptical.

“I think it might have been different then.” He had replied. “That was a long time ago. It was before the wars. It was before Essence.”

I had laughed… or, no. I hadn’t laughed. I remember. I had just shrugged. “What did people do before Essence?” Essence is all I understand about this place.

“They worked with their hands, I guess. They fought amongst themselves, and…” He had seemed so confident about the facts he had read, but hadn’t thought much beyond that. “… And, wouldn’t it have been nice not to worry about the grass, so much?”

“Yeah.” I had been indifferent. “It would have been simpler.” I wouldn’t know who I am without this never-ending battle. “But we’d be unemployed.”

He had considered this. “I’d trade it.”

I hate this city. I look into the sky and another airship floats by, lumbering under the thrust of faint, distant engines. I look into the sky and see my work: The service bots clinging to the sides of airships I’ve never ridden, endlessly sweeping and torching bits of flora from the hulls. I built those, I think, and then wonder if the things I’ve made understand something of Asgarth that I do not. And I wonder if they’ve seen Timo from up there.