Postcards from Space

Image of an ornate snow sculpture of a pagoda and giant figures, possibly from a cartoon? One has glowing eyes.
Greetings, Earthlings.

We have been watching you for some time—observing your struggles with each other and your issues caring for this magnificent, water-covered planet. We come, therefore, in a sort of peace.

We come, let’s say, to cool things down around here.

Those of you who survive will come to appreciate our beauty—one of your former leaders called us “living ice sculptures,” a description we love. At any rate, you need never worry about “global warming” again.

With hope for a tranquil future,
Your new leaders
Silhouettes of a cowboy and saguaro cactus against an insanely bright blue field of stars.
Dearest Bess,
It’s powerful lonely out here without you. The supply shuttle only lands once per hectoday, and each time I have to spend decadays rounding up the Jersey Lizards—they’re so dang horny for the plasma engines that they break clean through the ion fence. Meanwhile, the photonic chickens ululate so deafeningly that I swear even the gene-tweaked saguaros try to cover their ears. But it’s worth it, when the shuttle brings me your letters. I only hope I can earn your passage here before the next gigastorm wipes Texas clean into the Gulf o’Merica. You’ll love it here. Through this planet’s blue atmosphere, every star in the sky looks like the blue marble of home.
Missing you!
Beau

Postcards: Cryptic Wisdom

Image of public art: a girl wearing a blue dress; her head is a shark's head.
I’ve been unfairly judged all my life. I look “scary” and I’m reprimanded anytime I get excited—they call it a “frenzy.” As a pup, I got sent to the principal’s office all the time. Every single time, he asked if I’d bit someone. I never bit anyone. Not as a kid, anyway.

Finally, in my 30s, I got properly diagnosed. I realized I wasn’t bad, just different. I sought out others like me and made real human connections. Friendships, then more. I do a lot of biting now, recreationally, and it’s wonderful.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
~Shark Girl
Image of giant metal horse heads at night, illuminated in many colors.
Town Clerics,

Our river has seen many deaths. Whether accidental or malicious, we consider them offerings to be accepted with gratitude. These recent women, though… So many women murdered in our river. “Witches,” you called them. But we see them for what they were: a community of loving women who dared to live differently. We do not accept these offerings. Tonight, we rise up in vengeance to claim our choice of tributes. Get your affairs in order.

Sincerely,
The Kelpies

Postcards: Unlikely Magic

Image of primary-colored swans swimming.
Dear family,
The natal gene tweak trial people assured us that any powers our baby developed would be benign. The trouble is that powers kick in during toddlerhood, and as we all know, toddlers can be a menace with literally anything. Maeve can control colors with her mind. Someday, she’ll be a top-notch interior designer. For now, she turns the park swans Crayola colors, which isn’t ideal. But it’s a hell of a lot better than what she does to our clothes, skin, and hair. Or her own. There will be no family Christmas card this year.
Love,
Amber & Forrest
Aerial image of a person with an umbrella; it looks like they are flying against a concrete sky.
Dear Mom,
I guess I’ve moved out?
I was on a walk—trying to sort out my life—and I got caught in an intense rainstorm. The only thing open was this spooky, dark shop. I went in anyway. “Choose your magic,” an eerie voice said. And there was my umbrella, bright and rainbowy like the one I had as a kid, but big. The tag promised it would “Take you anywhere you ask.” It wasn’t even that expensive. What the hell? I thought. When I opened up the umbrella, I whispered “Take me home.”
I held on for dear life as the umbrella ZOOMED me up into the air toward your house … but then it kept going! Hours later it set me down in this … commune, I guess. I’m a little scared to go in, but maybe I live here now?
Love,
Amy

Postcards: Love Stinks

Painting of old-timey Niagara Falls, with a lighthouse perilously near the edge and couples strolling.
My dear friend,
William suggested a moonlit stroll to the falls’ edge lighthouse, and I’m not sure what to think. A romantic site, to be sure. Witness to many a marriage proposal and even more stolen kisses. How often have we watched couples meander out—and how often have we seen one saunter back alone, whistling nonchalantly? Does he mean to bind us closer together (as our mothers desire), or to cast me away? I’m prepared for either. One of us may perish tonight, but it shan’t be me.
Love,
Theodora
Medieval drawing of flamingoes, one with wings raised.
My love—
I’ve made a stunning discovery on this research expedition. (It stunned me like a cloud of mustard gas!) We’d thought that the pinker feathers flamingoes get from eating shrimp was what attracted their mates. But we learned that, in females, a shrimp diet causes the most fragrant flatulence in the animal kingdom. They use their wings to fan that stench toward males they fancy—and it works! The males who don’t pass out go mad with lust and become eternally devoted to their stinky lovers.
Worry not, my sweet; I’m saving all my best farts. Can’t wait to get under the covers with you!
Your wife

Postcards: Questionable Decisions

Retro image of a woman rapturously delighted with a towel that's coming out of a massive mid-century dryer.
Dear Investors,

Development of the Cissell Compact dryer has hit a snag. Our chemically infused laundry does pacify its wearer, but stupefies washers to uselessness. Test housewives became euphoric, clinging to towels like their babies to blankies. The comedown drove them mad. “Oppression!” they shouted, vowing never to wash another man’s sock. They destroyed the prototype with frightening strength and fury. They tore off their brassieres and fled into the night, babies forgotten, arms linked, ululating with joy or rage.

Testing will resume once the Cissell Compact 2 is built.

Sincerely,
Cecil Cissell, CEO
Image of a derelict train engine and a barn-red station building, in a stark and hostile-looking Arctic landscape.
Dear Shel,
Travelers spoke in hushed tones of the Last Train, which led to such a place as one would never leave: valley, mountains, sky. What station did it depart from? What did it cost? No one knew. It was only a legend.
But then one weary night I saw an engine and single car gleaming at the platform, departure imminent. The destination said merely “NORTH.” I had but a moment to choose. I jumped aboard as the doors snicked shut.
So here I am. As I disembarked, the train aged rapidly until it looked abandoned for decades. It is desolate here: windswept valley, rocky mountains, ominous sky. I fear I can never leave.
Regretfully yours,
Jess

Postcards: Wishes Do Come True

Image of a windsurfer against a stark Arctic terrain.
Dear Gabriel,
As one of Earth’s top surfers, you are invited to represent us in the galaxy’s 37th-Millennial Celestial Surf Race. The organizers tell us that the race launches from a sea exactly like the Pacific Ocean (if it were liquid mercury). You’ll soar over mountains just like Mauna Kea (if it were lifeless and dusted in sulfuric snow). The rogue moons, comets, and asteroids racers will harness to are apparently spectacular. This is a tremendous honor—the organizers say no humans have ever made the journey before… Or maybe they said none have survived the journey? Either way, we’re all very excited for you. Go Team Earth! Do us proud!

Sincerely,
Earth Delegate,
Interstellar Millennial Games Committee
Van Gogh-style image of Seattle, with the Space Needle in the foreground and Mt. Rainier in the background.
Dear Allyssa,
I took Sarah on a perfect Seattle tourism day: Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, the art museum, sunset at the Space Needle. “I wish Van Gogh had painted reality,” Sarah mused. Two creepy little voices from near her ankles said “Granted,” and the sky … hardened into bold swoops of animate color. A yellow swirl struck the Needle’s spire and the whole tower rocked. We ran. “Stupid oddity shop socks!” Sarah yelled. “The lady said they were smart!” Not smart like smart wool; smart like malicious elves. At the bottom of the long stairway, we spilled into a city gorgeously menaced—strafed by colorful but dangerous air.
When you visit, we’ll go to the Troll—it’s safe under the bridge.
~Tiffany

Postcards: We Shan’t Return

Image of an Airstream trailer with kludgy wings and parachutes, atop a metal structure between industrial buildings.
Dear Dale, I only hoped to achieve flight. Could sails carry my little lead balloon across the continent, over an ocean, drifting on the wind? I accelerated over a mountain ledge, and my stomach dropped. I was going to plummet to infamy rather than soaring to fame. But something happened, something I hadn’t calculated. I rocketed up, into space! The blue marble dropped away, shrinking to nothing. I got scared—this tin can wasn’t sealed against the vacuum of space. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, the sky outside was as blue as Earth’s. I’ve landed atop some kind of structure. Soon I’ll climb down and explore this new planet. I hope it has tacos. Yours, Horace
Vintage-style image of an organ in a cavern.
Dearest Terrence, The cave sang; that’s how I found it. Wisps of unearthly melody from a crack in the earth. I descended heedlessly, enraptured by the siren call. After many twists and turns the cavern opened into a vast auditorium whose very stalactites were ringing. I stood inside a vast instrument, and at a keyboard sat a being the likes of which I’d never seen. Covered in soft dark fur, beckoning with a long tail, blinking her huge eyes in my lantern’s dim light. I dimmed the light further, sat at her side, and oh what a duet we played! I shan’t return. Love, Millicent

Postcards: Ancient Mistakes

IMage of the Chichen-Itza pyramid against a purple sky. A person climbs its steps.
Dear Kirk,
The UFO descended from a gorgeous sky—so fast!—until the whole pyramid was shadowed by its enormity. A loudspeaker spat crackly syllables belonging to no earth language, overlaid with a robotic, uncanny, emotionless second voice: “Payment on this structure is in arrears. The grace period of one millennium has been exceeded. Repossession will begin in 10… 9…” There must have been a lag, because before “8,” the whole giant pyramid shuddered up into the UFO, with us clinging to it for dear life. The aliens say they’ll only take us home if Earth pays what they owe, so… I’m guessing this is goodbye.
I always said I wanted to travel more!
Love,
May
Image of a statue head broken on the floor, looking gloomy.
Dear aspiring emperor, This lesson can only be learned too late: photos don’t steal souls, but sculpture does, embedding a piece of you in every pair of stone, plaster, or metal eyes. A heady rush at first, to be sure! Once, I looked over countless town squares across my empire. But statues topple even easier than empires. Now my many eyes behold middens, ruins, rioters with pickaxes. Yet I live on, perhaps forever, infamous, with nothing but my memories as I watch my works crumble. Yours in despair, Ozzie

Postcards: Cute, Fluffy & Powerful

Image of a white mouse perched on the lower jaw of something large and toothsome.
Dear Punky, Tonight, we take over the world, using the very creature who tried to eat us. The probes have been inserted into his brain, and a remote test showed all his voluntary functions under my control. With teeth and claws like this, I can’t fail! I trust you prepared my cockpit in his hollowed-out eyeball, and secured the passage to it through his sinuses, so into the mouth I go! This would be perilous if you hadn’t disabled his swallowing reflex. You did disable it, right? When next we meet I’ll be monster-emperor of the world! The Brian
Image of a shaggy sheep standing under a red post box in a grassy field with rocky hills behind.
Dear Applicant,

We at Muse-By-Mail appreciate your interest in our services. It’s not easy to admit you need supernatural help with your art, and it’s more difficult still to obtain the address and special postage required to deliver your card to our remote mailbox. Kudos.

You have requested inspiration for an epistolary project that will impress your friends and family. While this is a unique proposal, The Muses are not currently interested in inspiring it. We hope to see more of your groveling in the future. Next time, include an offering.

Sincerely,
Baabaara Gimmer,
Muse-By-Mail intern

Postcards: Unseen Dangers, Dangerously Unseen

Image of two space-suited cats exiting a lunar lander called "MIZIA," being greeted enthusiastically by flag-waving cats wearing strange hats.
Dear Earthlings, We were human when we launched, but treated like animals. “Volunteered” for a likely suicide mission to find the lost lunar explorers. Imagine our surprise to be greeted like heroes here, embraced like family, welcomed home. We took our helmets off and found our faces transformed. Imagine our joy. Send as many ships as you like; we’ll welcome all who make the journey. Or send no more and leave us in peace. Warmest regards, Cat People of the Moon
Image of an ornate set of clothes on a headless, handless mannikin.
Dear Admissions, Please accept my application to the School of Fashion. I’ve enclosed a photo of myself modeling my favorite items I’ve made in sewing class here at St. Clair’s School for the Invisible. I couldn’t choose, so I wore everything! As you can see, I favor bold color and texture combinations. It’s so important for clothing to really catch the eye, for safety (and personal expression too, of course). I hope you like it. A lot of my blood, sweat & tears went into these pieces—it’s hard to use a sewing machine when you can’t see your fingers. Thanks for your consideration! Tanya