Zachary Roush's Blog, page 2
August 16, 2024
On the Future of Writing, Letter One
This is part 1 in a series of letters between and me, Zach Roush. I’ll be sharing my letters here on Realms while Reina will share hers on her Substack, . Here’s a bit about Reina: Reina Cruz is a writer and middle school teacher from California. She is the writer of the Daughter of Isis series and Marredbury. You can follow her on substack and on her website.
We’re talking about the “future of writing”, which also touches on other things like the future of creativity, how creatives stay creative, and how we do or not stay competitive with the rise of AI. This feels timely, oddly enough, with the release of Google’s Pixel 9 phone, which is being marketed as a vehicle for the AI future.
Subscribe today to catch the whole series! We’ll add links here as we publish more letters.
Dear Reina,
This is going to be interesting. I don’t normally write letters or nonfiction, so I’ll be flexing new creative muscles here. I’m also someone who tends to ramble and lose track of the points he’s making, and I predict this will happen. I’ll do my best to tie things together succinctly!
These days, it’s hard to feel like doing the work of writing is enough.I, like many others have pined and longed for the day that the results of my writing would justify the work, say, by getting published or gaining a huge following and turning on my paid subscriptions for Substack. We all want our time that we spent in the dark comes back to us. And when it doesn’t? What do we do? How do I future-proof my passion for writing?
Another problem I face is that writing and reading don’t feel all-consuming like they used to. Many readers have such vivid imaginations—much more than my own—but there is no comparison to how visual media presents stories, from social media to video games. It’s why we can’t stop looking at screens. Recently, I took a course in video game writing from The Narrative Department, and this opened my eyes to an entirely new medium that is quite future proof (on paper, anyway). The game industry, from 2019 to 2024, has grown in revenue from ~150 billion dollars to over 250, according to this report from pwc.com. That’s incredible growth. The same can’t be said for the book industry (which, contrary to popular book doomsayers, is still growing).
That said, let’s take our minds to the distant future, say, over a hundred years.
It’s 2151, and almost everyone receives an implant that gives them access to a personal AI assistant as well as a virtual world. People have to be hybrid human-computers to keep up with technology replacing them and the increasing number of individuals living online. Creators—storytellers, writers, filmmakers, musicians—don’t create their work in physical spaces anymore. It’s all done in concert with their implant. Creators can no pre-visualize what they want to make, let the AI create a framework, and then take over to make their masterpieces. The sheer volume of art made is incessant, and in tandem, this art is consumed exponentially. There are still people who read, watch films, etc., but the methods to make the art is completely virtual. It’s a reality of thought, not one of carbon copies.
Okay, back to the present.
The way we enjoy stories is always being expanded, not replaced or destroyed, which makes me hopeful for storytellers. We as humans won’t change too much, I hope, over the next 100 years, so it’s believable that the same mediums of storytelling will exist. It’s my hope for this future that drives me to evolve my own storytelling skills. I used to be so down on myself for being born in this era, where “no one reads anymore” and “even if you get published, the publisher doesn’t help you market your book anymore,” when really there’s more readers and writers than ever, and there’s always room in the ring for more of us. In other words, I’m sick of all the doom and gloom around creativity (even though it’s a very real hardship and reality right now).
There’s this metaphor I learned about from a teacher friend that she uses to help students change their behavior. She asks them whether the issue they have is a rock or a clay problem, basically, what can they change and what can’t they? I can’t change the world or the time in history I live in, but I can change the reasons I write.
Bringing it back: How do I make my time clicking away at these keys worth it? How can I future-proof my passion?
My focus is moving away from the results (getting published, trying to build a following), and into what really matters: caring about the craft. I’ll paraphrase Elizabeth Gilbert from Big Magic (an excellent book on creativity and writing): whatever you do creatively will always be hard, in fact, it’s like eating a shit sandwich. You have to decide which shit sandwich you can eat day after day.
My shit sandwich is the work of writing. I believe the work has to be everything. I can say this so strongly now because I spent so long pining after the typical things writers desire: I will get an agent and get traditionally published have bestsellers. I wanted my time in the dark, tapping away at my weird characters and awful stories, to matter to other people. I gave away my power to love the work because I wanted to be seen. Being seen does matter, but not as much as getting the work done. This is something Ann Lamott in Bird by Bird (another excellent book on writing) talks a lot about.
Let me digress. The future I laid out above may be a hundred years in the making or just ten. Who knows what technology will bring to our world, or what’s going to happen in general! That’s why writers and creatives in general need to find the shit sandwich they can tolerate day-in, day-out. All writers need to a way to love the work more than any results or eng-goals. Whether you want to be published or work on licensed novels or be a creative director doesn’t matter unless you can get down into the weeds.
I guess you could sum up my thoughts like so: forget about the future and show up every day to your work.
What do you think? Where’s your mind at with all this? Are you more goal-focused or work focused?
Can’t wait to read your response!
- Zach
July 19, 2024
Brood Part I
Hello and welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter and podcast. I’m Zach Roush, the creator of Realms.
Today’s story, Brood, is part one of three, and instead of enjoying my narration (if you’re listening, that is) you will be hearing the lovely voice of my friend, Cameron Daxon. Cameron is a writer, editor and occasional creative producer who lives in Los Angeles. He can be reached via LinkedIn for freelance opportunities.
As always, this podcast is in text and podcast format. to get these stories in your inbox, subscribe for free.
The humid dawn welcomed Alphonse into her arms with a gasping, clutching desire. He sneered at it: the heavy morning smelling of something sour and old and unforgiving. He went for a cigarette, found his pocket empty, and remembered that he was trying to quit. He popped a mint into his mouth instead.
Al was on his way to Jackson, Mississippi but planned on enjoying his time in Louisville. There was good bourbon to be had and, by God, he would get it from the source. Perhaps there’d be a lady friend or two involved—he just figured out how this dating app worked. He stood there thinking about this little vacation he was on. A week off in so many years wasn’t much to ask for, but his boss had busted his balls for it, asking Al to take a shorter vacation.
“I need to get another job. Can’t go back to that,” Al said to himself as he stood there. A cool breeze broke the fierce snarl of humidity and he took that as a sign. The vacation had gone well already. He’d seen his Mom in Indianapolis, his cousins—who were more like brothers—up by Lake Michigan, and both visits had enriched him. He’d avoided the ex, though he’d been tempted to drop her a line. He didn’t want her to think less of him but after six years of hell… Well, he still felt guilty for downloading that dating app. It was time to get out there again, at the behest of his friends.
He muttered, “Doesn’t have to be serious. Something easy. Light. Fun.” He grimaced and reached for another cigarette. “Damn it all…” Another mint, then.
At that, he decided to drive a while to see if there was much going on in these parts. The motel was hidden away off Highway 64 in some forest that reminded Al of the dense Amazon jungle he’d only seen on TV. Where some thick British voice explained things in a way that put him to sleep. Like the one on the TV, this forest was thick and primordial, lying in wait for its eventual return to glory. Humankind had only dimmed its empire. Long had it grown and died, nurturing life in its boughs and soil, creating a cycle of life that had yet to be broken. The motel manager, Hanu, the only worker around as far as Al could tell, stopped him on the way out.
“Where you off to?” Hanu asked, scratching at a growing bald patch on his head.
“Anywhere with people. You know a spot?”
“Yeah, the local bar. Ain’t much special about it, but it’s cozy. Got like a thousand whiskeys on the menu, if you’re into that. Don’t drink much myself.”
“That’s right up my alley. I’ll head there.” Al pulled out his phone, hoping Hanu didn’t judge this early morning visit to a bar. “What’s it called?”
“Won’t be on your phone there. Only can find it by feel.”
“Feel?” He looked at the man, perplexed. “You joking?”
Hanu smiled. “Of course. Just head five minutes down this main road here, then you’ll see a sign to a gravel road. Called The Pharaoh.”
“Huh. Sounds interesting.”
“Just 5 minutes and take a left,” Al mocked, his voice rumbling with discontent. It had been almost an hour since he'd followed the instructions. The gravel road seemed to have no end. He’d seen the sign, of course, but had yet to see any sign of the bar itself. All around him was sheer darkness despite the rising day; the lights of his Chevy struggled to dissipate. It was noisy, too. Noisier than walking through his uncle’s chicken farm. Al cranked down his window to unveil the raucous, near-painful ringing of insects. Cicadas. But not the mindless droning Al was used to. There was a rhythm. It produced a high ringing song, growing and piercing, and then a sudden drop. It was so precise and surrounding, it sounded artificial.
He looked out into that deep, wooded place, and wondered if he’d ever heard something so loud and disconcerting. His eyes wandered off the road, to his cup. The water rippled from the sound and—
“Oh, shit!”
His tires came to a screeching halt on the gravel road, the truck skidding sideways a little. He’d almost driven right off into the woods.
“Goddamn bugs.”
He navigated the bend with a huff and shortly pulled into the parking lot. The bar’s neon sign shone through the windshield. If you looked in from the outside, you’d see its red letters flashing across Al’s broad forehead: The Pharaoh. His wasn’t the only vehicle there, but there weren’t many to speak of. Not fancy cars, either. They must have been locals or travelers like him.
As he walked up, he noticed them: the thick, crawling carpet of insects advancing up every available surface. Large as his big thumbs, their nymph eyes concealed within a fragile exoskeleton, the cicadas were preparing for the final stage of life by shedding that thin skin. So many nymphs were still breaking through the earth in places, boiling out from the ground. Al inspected a nearby tree, its roots bubbling with new life.
“Yuck,” Al said.
He went to the doors and opened them, and was shocked by the volume inside. The meat of it, the tantalizing flavor of human recreation whacked him in the face. There wasn’t anywhere to sit at all. Standing room only, and the band setting up hadn’t even begun to play. The bar was built right. It had concealed all the frivolity and joy and unscrupulous behavior within. Quite possibly, Al guessed, in an effort to keep that cicada madness out.
“What in the hell?” Al said, astonished, excited. He loved to be where things were happening. And here he was, at The Pharaoh, the place loud and wild like it was Friday night on St. Patrick’s Day and not a Tuesday morning in June.
He squeezed into the bar, hailed the bartender. “Double bourbon, on the rocks.”
“Which one? We only got seventeen hundred of them in stock.”
Al grinned. “Your choice. Nothing too fancy, though.”
The bartender ducked down to grab a bottle. She poured an amber liquid into a square glass over a square cube of ice. Looked a little too fancy at first, but…
“This is The Pharaoh’s ‘house wine’.” The bartender winked.
Al sniffed. Sipped. Malt and fire, brown sugar and desire. Exactly what he was looking for.
“Yup. That’ll do. So, why’s this place called The Pharaoh?”
“Named after the cicadas. The ones outside right now. Rising from the earth and all. S’cuse me.”
She fluttered off to serve the new flocks of thirsty folk. Al pursed his lips, sipped again at his bourbon.
He grinned, smacked his lips. “Pace yourself, Al. It ain’t water.”
The show had yet to begin, and not feeling particularly brave to start up a conversation, he flicked open his phone. Started looking at potential lady-friends to meet up with. Swipe right. Swipe right. Oh, definitely left. Yikes.
One of the right swipes matched almost immediately. He got a message.
From, Cleo: So, not to be weird. But I’m here at The Pharaoh. I’m waving at ya.
“Wow. First time’s the charm.”
Al’s brows flew up. He looked around the room, sweeping back and forth. The large bar with double-height ceilings probably held three hundred people. He couldn’t find Cleo, probably because he had a hard time picking out details in a crowd. Wait, was it that woman, waving? Didn’t quite match the picture. Al waved. The woman shook her head at him, then someone else joined her. Al felt his face flush. Somebody could point right at something and he’d never find it. Something his ex used to joke about all the—
Enough of her. Where was this woman?
“Al!”
Her voice rang out above the din. There she was, a curly-haired woman at a table. She had a seat open, gestured to it. Al’s stomach dropped and a cold sweat broke out. This was new territory. Meeting a stranger through his phone without even chatting first, no time to perfect the pick-up lines or flirt. But her smile was inviting. Thoughts raced through his mind as he smiled back, mechanically, and walked toward her.
Don’t spill my drink, don’t trip, don’t look like a goofy-ass fool, shit what are my priorities, what do I talk about, who am I, do I have BigMac particles in my teeth, did even I brush my teeth, will she hate that I still smoke sometimes, oh God, I’m here I’m sitting down.
“Alphonse, but you can call me Al,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Cleo. Not short for Cleopatra, though.” She laughed at her joke. “Pretty miraculous, us matching here and now?”
“Are you kidding me? This whole bar is a miracle. A party like this on a Tuesday morning? All those goddamn bugs outside?”
“That’s what it’s all for.”
“What’s that?”
“Those bugs out there been in the ground for 19 years. Waiting. For this very moment.” “Shit,” he said like it was two words, “you kidding me?”
“No sir,” Cleo replied and smiled. She was missing a tooth on her lower jaw. It shocked and endeared her to Al all the more. He took a longer gander. Freckles. Nice skin. Brown eyes. Not a radical, almost manufactured beauty, as some women he saw on that app were. Her eyes were earnest, searching. Or was Al imagining it? Something struck Al the same way a preacher’s words might have struck him as a child. Something momentous and wonderful and massive was occurring around him and he just happened to walk in. An accidental interloper at the birth of a star.
Was it love at first sight?
Maybe she was just Al’s kind of beautiful. And he’d caught her at a beautiful moment.
They clinked glasses. She was drinking bourbon, too.
“To auspicious moments,” Al declared, then lost Cleo’s words in the music that started playing.
What followed seemed miraculous to Al. Music that pounded and roared in the best sort of way, the band playing mostly things he loved and from many genres of rock; songs from Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, and even the Front Bottoms.
The bourbon went down easy; jamming to those tunes, a beautiful woman at his side, all the tides and troubles of his life locked away beyond the doors. When the band finished their set, Cleo and Al headed to the bar and went for something more top-shelf. The shots were over forty dollars.
She said, “You already bought the first three rounds, I’ll get this one.”
“But…this is a date, isn’t it? I should…”
“No need for that. This is a special day to be celebrated,” she clinked her glass against his, “and hopefully not forgotten.”
The bar had settled into a rumbling quiet, half the patrons gone with the band, and the rest a mix of locals and interlopers who preferred to keep to themselves. Al set his cup down on the counter and felt something squirming underneath.
“The hell?”
He pulled his hand back like he touched a hot stove. He wasn’t burned. Just terrified at the texture and wriggle of the cicada on his skin.
Cleo laughed. “Oh, they get in every once in a while. Leave their skins everywhere. It’s normal.”
“It’s kinda creepy. You don’t mind it?”
“Never.” She picked up the Nymph delicately like it was a precious gem. “They’re part of the cycle of this old place. This bar is just a bump on a log here.”
“Won’t disagree with that.” They tapped glasses again, but Al looked this time before setting it down.
“Where’re you staying?” Cleo asked.
Al gulped. “Motel down the way. Was a bitch to find this place, but I reckon it won’t be so rough gettin’ back.”
“Well, we could go there or my place. It’s just down the road half an hour. It’s quite beautiful.”
Al tried to casually down the rest of his expensive bourbon. It burned on the way down, burned away a little bit of fear and anticipation. He hadn’t been with a woman, naked or otherwise, in some time. He was lonely. He hoped she was, too, in her own way.
“Your place sounds fine if it’s okay with you.”
Thank you for reading today’s story! Next Month with be part 2.
Do you think Al can trust Cleo?
What’s going to happen next?
Subscribe to find out as soon as part II’s available.
Until next time, Realm Walkers
My name is Zach and you’re reading Realms.
May 17, 2024
The Sunborn's Sorrow
Hello and welcome to Realms. My name is Zach and I’m the writer and reader of Realms. I am a game writer and novelist currently living in sunny Southern California.
Realms is a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter that lets you escape to new worlds every month, right from your inbox.
Realms has gotten an upgrade! Thanks to Chloe W on Fiverr for the new, dope-as-hell intro and outro music! I’ve needed some for a long time and Chloe made it happen in 48 hours!
She was so professional, creative, and helpful, and I’d recommend looking to her for any podcast tunes you need.
Chloe, thank you!
The Sunborn’s SorrowStranger! Friend! Come hither to this sliver. Long has it been since any woman or man passed their shadow overhead. No I am not a whijinn or a darksmyte. I am Sunborn. Imprisoned here. Let me speak, hear my tale. It is a good one, I assure you.
Before I do, perhaps you have a mirror and can reflect that delicious dawn to me?
A jewel, a diamond, or a brass hilt?
No? No shame, no shame. I am plenty happy here, drinking my solar allotment through my fingertips.
Pray, do you have a moment? I am a prisoner, yes, but not dangerous. Not like a few slivers down. Don’t even look at the star-crossed hole. Ey will devour you.
Yes, please, stay a moment. Take a rest. You’re on pilgrimage, no? Here to learn and engage spiritually through the humble act of trodding on the Goddess Shayla’s good Earth.
Yes, yes, drink. Enjoy. I will not annoy you like a blood-sucking dontyo. I will soothe your ears, relax them from the praying you must be doing. Oh, by the Goddess, thank you! That is a comfortable little hollow there.
Yes, I will begin. I was a prince of worship once. A shining star. My story might not sound all that new to you. It’s very rote. But I’ve been working on a new twist to it. A spiral of new flavors.
Yes, I am Sunborn, of the Gratinuous Cloud, of the capital city of Glory. I deserve to be here in this sliver, where only my fingers can drink the sun. Here is my tale:
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedFingertips to lips I sipthe golden rays of which I long forsun rag, wrung outdry and dying and huskya Sunborn such as I will witheralways desiring to surge through the awful sliver that denies me the light.I rage at the unfairness of being cast aside and cursedfor my radiance. It is the brightest, after all, who are dragged downcringing and screaming to the depthsby the sunless rabble.A prince I was, winged and clawed andterrible with glory; burdened bypurpose: to lead the worlds belowinto the sun’s embrace. Yes, onemight hear this and call melustful, greedy for conquering.Not all desires are foul, good pilgrim,no, not all things go too far; You know the darkness of the shadowlandsor even closer, the darkness in all hearts; the Goddess spared no one inher designs. We are all light andshadow at once, even the Sunborn.I did not propose a plan, noI led my personal Angels to the citadels atop the lightning cloud to wrest the Scepter of Divinity from my fourth mother’s hand.The killing was not easy, despitewhat they claim; it was not intended.They got in the way and my Angels werehasty; but it didn’t matter anyway.The Scepter, just as fate, chooses the Sunborn who wields it. It did notbless me with undying judgment; it cast measide and down, burning with the coldof a thousand dead suns.Yes, rejected. Yes, spurned. Yes, stained.I turned away from the values of my people.And now I am in this sliver. Now I waste away in the sunless salt flats of the Cinnamar Sea, waiting for the summer solsticeto sustain me.Oh, you’ve heard my tale? Was it unique enough, pilgrim? Did I give you something new? I hope so. I have been penitent in my self-desolation. I am cursed to wait for a thousand cycles before my third mother will deign to visit me. Then, perhaps, parole will be granted to this fallen prince.
Can I tell you a secret, pilgrim? Can I admit something?
Now, I am humbled. Now, I know the truth of the world: that to conquer you must dance with a mask of pain, only revealing your true self when it is time to die.
It’s wisdom I offer you, for free.
Might you spare me some sunlight, dear one? I can see now that you carry an empty sheath. Just…oh thank you. A few more degrees. Yes.
Oh that sun is simply delicious. Like rich eggs on toast. Buttered earth and sunset. Goddess, yes!
Thank you, pilgrim.
I will find you one day, and give thanks.
May the sun rest easy on your shoulders.
Thank you for reading today’s short story!
Until next time, Realm Walkers.
You’re reading Realms.
May 3, 2024
3 Body Problem: It's got some problems, but a bad plot ain't one!
Hello and Welcome to Realms!
Realms is a fantasy and sci-fi newsletter. I am the writer and narrator of this publication. I consume tons of sci-fi and fantasy media that I think everyone should know about. In these two genres, I’ll be reviewing books, video games, podcasts, films, and TV shows.
And just like Realms’ short stories, you’ll get reviews once a month. Never on the same week as a short story.
And here’s what I offer with my reviews:
A short, spoiler-free summary
My take and thoughts
Whether or not it’s worth your time
Notable quotes or moments.
And finally, I’ll give it a score
Speaking of…I’m stealing my scoring system from fighting video games. From best to worst, it goes: Z, S, A, B, C, D.
from netflixLet’s get on ahead with today’s review!
3 Body Problem: Hard Sci-fi for Western ViewersThe OverviewNetflix’s 3 Body Problem, directed by D&D (David Benioff, D.B. Weiss), is a wonderful adaption of very complicated, high-science material. This series takes the novel The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu, and brings it to life in an enjoyable, yet notably more western way. There’s a lot of mixed press about this series, but I’m here to tell you that it’s very well done. A great entry in Netflix’s sci-fi empire (though I think Apple TV+ is edging them out more and more.)
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see the show, as I read the books and loved them, and many reviews were blasting the show for being terrible. But I read one that convinced me otherwise, and after watching the show myself, I’m happy to have dived in. Now, I can add my own thoughts to the mix.
3 Body Problem is a great achievement for TV viewers everywhere. What you might not know is that the source material is hard sci-fi, which means science fiction that is grounded more in science than anything else. Character motivations, complex emotions, and more take a back seat to delivering high concepts from science. If you watched the show, you got drip-fed bits of physics, science, and technology; in the books, it’s an unstoppable freight train of those things.
That’s why, for me, the Netflix show is so well done. It takes the sci-fi concepts I really loved in the novels and condenses and refines them, though I do think there could have been a smidge more, as there seemed to be quite a bit of fluff in the show, like long exposition shots, scenes of characters walking or driving, etc. Less of this, more sci-fi weirdness, please.
On the note of character development, 3 Body Problem handles the ensemble cast well. It gives you just the right amount of each character, and develops their inter-relationships. It helps make the show feel realistic and grounded. Characters talk to each other and actually listen, which is a detail I appreciate in my shows. The characters all want things, too, which should be a given, but isn’t in today’s crowded show lineup.
Other excellent things include: special effects, camera work, and editing. Nothing really took me out of the world of the show in these areas.
The ProblemsNow to talk about the imperfections that did impact my experience. For one, and this appears to be a uniquely Netflix issue, is the lack of bright colors in the show. I’ve done some digging into this after seeing a lack of color and contrast in multiple Netflix shows. You can read more about this here. Netflix has standards for all of its own shows, understandably, but this standard of filmmaking leaves my eyes craving bright colors and firm textures. Everything tends to be muted, desaturated, and even when the filming is crisp, it lacks weight. Compare Netflix shows to others, and you can spot the differences. Marvel has a similar issue with its own films.
One issue I take with 3 Body Problem is the near-total westernization of its cast and storyline. In the novels, a majority of the plot takes place in China, with some international movement and involvement. The creators changed this for obvious reasons: to make the show more palatable to Netflix’s audience, to make it more diverse and representative, and probably so they didn’t have to content with too much disagreement from Chinese authorities.
I get the changes. I get why they blended the book’s characters with new backgrounds, and even inventing new characters to serve the television’s story better. I’m not against changes like this as long as they help the story be stronger. In this case, I’m not sure they do.
In the first book, we see China during its cultural revolution, this is the inciting incident that gets the whole story going. In the show, however, these incidents move one of the main characters, Ye Wenjie, out of China. This effectively eliminates a big question at the heart of the books: what is the purpose of absolute authority? In the book, the characters struggle with an autocratic communist state, then, when the alien threat becomes apparent, that same state mobilizes its power to counteract that threat. Its power is justified in many ways. The show does not wager this particular question in the same clear, powerful way. There is mystery, action, great storytelling, and questions of humanity’s place in the universe, but it is missing that extra punch. It’s missing “the sauce” so to speak.
I hope that season two can incorporate these deeper themes and questions. They’re relevant to today, as we ourselves are wrestling with our governments and the power that they have, from taxation to individual rights to healthcare. The highest goal the sci-fi genre can achieve is to encourage reflection on our reality. Even though this show is on Netflix, an organism that seeks to addict us to content consumption, the core story of The Three Body Problem doesn’t exist to be mindlessly consumed.
We’ll see if the next season can spoon-feed us less and challenge us more.
Anyway, time to give 3 Body Problem a rating:
A - a beautiful sci-fi epic that outshines many other Netflix shows and films. It has its faults, but they’re not glaring by any means.
Did you watch 3 Body Problem? What did you think? Did you also read the books? How did the adaptation work or not? Let me know!
Thank you for reading!
Until next time, Realm Walkers,
This is Zach and you’re reading Realms.
March 30, 2024
Adams Apple: The Complete Story
Hello and welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter that lets you escape to new worlds every month, right from your inbox.
My name is Zach and I’m the writer and reader of Realms. I am a game writer, fitness trainer, and novelist living in sunny Southern California.
Adam’s Apple is special. It’s my first serialized story. This is the complete story, put together for your convenience.
Adam’s Apple is my first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by The Chronicler.
Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.
Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.
Adam’s Apple Part IHISTORICAL TRANSCRIPT FBI-Z01, OCT, 2031
ONLY LAB PERSONNEL WITH ZETA CLEARANCE CAN ACCESS THIS TRANSCRIPT.
IF YOU DO NOT HAVE ZETA CLEARANCE, RETURN THIS FILE TO PUBLIC RELATIONS STAFF IMMEDIATELY.
IF THIS FILE IS FOUND OUTSIDE ELYSIUM PREMISES, PLEASE CALL 1-800-359-7486. IF YOU ARE NOT AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE AND ARE FOUND IN POSSESSION OF THIS DOCUMENT, IT IS WITHIN OUR RIGHTS TO DETAIN YOU, FREEZE ALL ONLINE PRESENCE, APPROPRIATE FUNDS, AND MORE, ALL WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION OR NOTIFICATION OF ANY GOVERNMENT BODY.
IF YOU ARE AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE, YOU KNOW WHAT RIGHTS YOU ARE AND ARE NOT AFFORDED WHEN IN POSSESSION OF COMPANY PROPERTY.
PERSONAL NOTE FROM DR. KARASEVDAS: THIS REPORT IS ON FILE FOR MORE THAN SENTIMENTAL REASONS. IT EXISTS BECAUSE WE ALLOW IT. IT EXISTS BECAUSE IT INFORMS US OF THE LENGTHS THE GIANTS WE STAND UPON WENT TO IN PURSUIT OF EVERLASTING LIFE. THIS TRANSCRIPT OF AGENT ADHIKARY’S AUDIO RECORDINGS IS THE ONLY COPY OF THIS REPORT ON HAND. ALL OTHER RECORDS, AS FAR AS WE WERE ABLE, WERE DESTROYED. IF YOU KNOW OF OR HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT ANOTHER RECORD, INFORM YOUR LOCAL SUPERVISOR IMMEDIATELY.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
FBI REPORT - JORDAN ADHIKARY - 2031 - [REDACTED], INDIANA
This first-hand report details the origins of the delivery agents used to transmit [REDACTED] directly into cell DNA via RNA manipulation. For details on the chemistry, please see INTERIOR LAB PUBLICATION 12.A.
To be clear, this report exists only in Elysium’s archives. Officially, all FBI records during the Ohio Rebellion were destroyed.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
Dates: [REDACTED]
Geotag: [REDACTED]
Agent: Jordan Adhikary
Agent Supervisor: Lev [REDACTED]
Hey Lev, just checking in. I arrived at [REDACTED] around 6 p.m. My hotel is going to give me bedbugs, but that’s to be expected. I can’t imagine there’re more than two people running this place. Cleanliness isn’t a priority anymore. Just happy to be off the roads. St. Louis is a hellhole now, the roads shot to bits. No one got ahold of me, thank God. I’m happy to report that the WarHorse XC is a capable machine. (I’m writing this so you can tell your pals at the DOD. The military should buy a million of these things.)
Nothing good to eat within a ten-mile radius here. Happy I brought hubby’s cooking. Don’t know the next time I’ll get food this good. I know I’m not supposed to include semantic details like this, but they’ll get cut out by the AI anyway. I guess I’m nervous. First solo mission. First mass murder case. Potentially a murder-suicide, based on the details.
Going to get some rest. I’ll be going into town tomorrow to meet the local sheriff, then see the murder site.
Damn, these dumplings are good. I love you, honey.
Shit, not supposed to record that.
I’m at a local diner that’s serving burgers and shakes and pies like it’s eighty years prior. Place looks brand new. Chrome everywhere. Real leather chairs. The black and white checkered tiles polished to an almost offensive shine. God, I hate these tiles. Here comes the sheriff. He’s in a khaki getup, leather belt, hard black revolver. No energy weapons or smart guns. This town hasn’t advanced to the twenty-first century…
Hey, Sheriff! Over here.
Hi there. You can call me Kevin. You didn’t wait long, did ya?
No, no, of course not. I’m always too early for my appointments. Old habit. Anyway, I’m Special Agent Adhikary. And before we begin discussing the case, I have to inform you that our conversation is being recorded. FBI policy. Helps us keep track of everything. I don’t have to inform you, but I want to.
I understand. I ain’t got nothing to hide…but some folk won’t like that at all. And, to tell you the truth, we really didn’t think anyone would take notice of what happened here, specially with the war on…
This sort of case is high on our priority list. Can’t have strange mass deaths like this going on within the United States. At least those states still with us. But enough about that…tell me about yourself.
Well…uh, I been sheriff here for bout twenty years. My daddy was sheriff, too. And, might I say, it’s mighty dangerous for a woman to be out cross-country solo. You come through St. Louis?
You’re sweet for asking. I did go through St. Louis. I did have some trouble. Actually, they had some trouble with me.
I’m sure they did. Your machine there sure looks like hell on two wheels. Well, I don’t want to waste time. This thing we got here is grisly. Worst thing I ever come across in my career. Here, watch the drone footage.
Wow, these are high-res. Police drone?
Yep. We don’t got fancy androids like you do, but we got a top-of-the-line drone.
I believe it. Okay, so what do we have here? An enormous apple grove. Lots of fruit on those trees, still, despite the season. Okay, here’s the crime scene. There you are, Kevin, with your deputies. And now the bodies. A ring of them lying with their feet around a deep excavation, where a tree once stood. They’re naked. Why? I see signs of being dead for some time. Bloating. Tissue decay. The smell must have been atrocious. They’re men and women, all adults, among the deceased. Their throats are cut. Can you zoom in there? Yes, every one of their throats had been hacked open as if with giant scissors, making a diamond shape from their chin to the nape of their neck. Almost like another mouth. Is that the cause of death, Kevin?
Overdose on sleeping pills, all of ‘em.
So the wounds…
Post-mortem.
I see. So these people have been poisoned or poisoned themselves, and had their throats opened up later. They died there, in a circle. This looks planned. Ritualistic. I’m sorry to say, but I gotta see it, Sheriff.
Sure thing, miss. I’ll have my partner take you out there.
Why not yourself?
I…can’t. My neighbor, Sherry, was—
I understand.
I really can’t believe they sent one of you out here. It’s…surprising. It’s really not necessary, I don’t think.
Kevin, can I be honest here? You look a little pale. Will there be a jurisdiction issue?
Not from me. Though…I’d just be careful round here. Small town, you know? Outsiders, Feds or no, ain’t usually welcome.
If it goes well, we’ll have this solved in no time and I’ll be back East.
I’m recording live from the incident site. Sat uploads aren’t working now, so the timestamp will be incorrect. Sheriff’s deputy, Jameson, led me about ten miles out of town. The apple orchard is huge and tucked away, closer to [REDACTED] than [REDACTED]. This part of Indiana has [REDACTED], making it easy to hide anything from orchards to stills. I think they made moonshine around these parts. Probably do, to this day.
It’s quiet here. Something’s spooked the birds and critters. I’m noting this because I’m slightly freaked out. I don’t know why I was sent here without a partner agent. I get that a rebellion and budget discrepancies are more important than my life, that’s government jobs for you. It’s just…I’m a few shades darker than most folk around here, and that’s more than enough for people in these parts to get up to no good.
I digress. We’re approaching the site the Sheriff showed me in the drone footage. The bodies are gone, which is something he left out. The deputy doesn’t seem surprised. He seems aloof. There’s the hole where the tree was dug out. Inspecting it, the tree was removed professionally. Recently. The earth is still wet. I’m seeing something shocking: bones, a skull, human remains. They look like they’ve been here awhile.
Deputy! Can you explain this?
Sure. This orchard’s planted over a mass grave from ye olden times. Settlers and the like. Don’t know which one, but these are the bodies of a once-local tribe.
How lovely. So, we’ve got a mass suicide. A mass grave. A missing tree. A sacred tree, of sorts. All signs point to organized and possibly religious behavior. I’ll have to dig up more history later. Thanks, Deputy.
I think we got ourselves a C-word. Wish you were here for it, Lev. You always had the stomach for the grisly shit. My hubby’s not going to like this one when I can tell him about it.
Okay. Finally got sat reception. Wish I hadn’t checked the news. Rebels took Detroit today. They’re getting support from Canadians, of all people.
A couple new people are staying at the motel. A couple of old gas Harley’s sitting in the parking lot. Do people still ride to Sturgis? Don’t know. Makes me curious. Possibly paranoid. Gotta trust that feeling, like you always say, Lev.
Digging into this area, I’m finding out a lot of interesting things. One, there was a huge [REDACTED] plant, making [REDACTED], and it went under in the late Eighties. Our beloved federal government saved it and transferred production to make [REDACTED]. That plant was shut down when the groundwater was coming up highly radioactive. It was all hushed up, though. That orchard’s not one mile from the old plant. Maybe everyone here’s a bit loose in the head from it. Even from our records, no cancer cases were reported. Means it was way worse than anyone could have predicted.
No records of extremist activity around here, religious or otherwise. Not even the KKK has a presence, which O-K-K-K with me. Ha! Sorry.
I’m not seeing reports of any other suicides or murders. A clean county, by all accounts. Some reports of drunkenness, and yes, moonshine. But nothing else. It’s going to be tough to crack this town open. I’m a fed to them. I need some sort of connection. Something that…huh. I got it.
But first, I gotta find the spices hubby sent with me. They’ll make this totally real cheese hot pocket taste like something. I’m feeling a little homesick.
At least there’s Shrimp Crisps™ EXTRA SHRIMPY in the vending machine.
I went to church.
Yes, actual white Jesus church.
I got a lot out of it. For one, I got to hear how Adam and Eve represent the perfect relationship. Still not sure how the pastor got there, but whatever. Second, I got a huge bag of apples. A sort of welcome packet from the pastor himself. Third, I got a lot of strange looks and gringo pleasantries. Surprisingly, no one asked where I’m really from. Maybe this place is better than its reputation?
I learned several important things that concern me. Most concerning is that the bikers at the motel are definitely there to watch me. Not sure who they’re affiliated with. We did not exchange “biker formalities” in the parking lot, as expected. They were cold to me. Then, the pair of them, whom I’m calling Big and Hefty, proceeded to stare at me the entire service. It wasn’t until I slipped away to the bathroom and found a way to get a good look at them that I saw what was on their jackets.
A huge patch of a tree with skulls hanging from it instead of, I’m guessing, apples. Its roots are in the shape of a human body lying face up, its back arched. Strange, right? I asked Sheriff Kevin about them. He said they’re out-of-towners. I pointed out the apple patch. He paled, Lev, literally paled and suggested that maybe they’re fans of apples. It’s not the first time he’s paled in my presence.
The next important and concerning thing is that many next of kin of the deceased were at the church service. The pastor listed all ten names and those close to them stood to receive a prayer. I’d say about half of the congregation stood. Plenty of people to interview, yes?
No. No one would speak to me except the Sheriff. I followed up with him about his dead neighbor and he started crying. Maybe I came on too strong about it, as you tell me I tend to do. There I was, with a bag of apples, the town sheriff—a pillar of the community—bawling his eyes out, everyone staring at me including Big and Hefty. I don’t know when I’d felt so unwelcome before like I was some foreign host injected into a body. In this case, the body of Christ.
Sorry, couldn’t help it.
I changed tactics. I lingered until most people mosey’d on to Sunday brunch or whatever. I spoke with the pastor. He was cordial and warm, but not forthcoming. I got the feeling he was protecting his people, but from what threat? My hubby warned me something like this could happen in a place like this.
I changed tactics again, though I knew it was liable to get me in trouble. I walked around town until I found the local park. I did the routine, pretending to look for my lost ten-dollar bill. Got a couple kids to speak with me. They told me two things:
1. Don’t eat the apples.
2. Get out.
How’s that for progress?
Adam’s Apple Part III’ve been up all night. How can I sleep? It’s too cold, and I think the bedbugs got to me because my head is itching like crazy. I guess I’m waiting to keel over or feel something in my chest and watch it explode or something gross like that. I’ve called in the SOS. Won’t know if anyone’s coming to my rescue for at least an hour. I’m betting not. At least the server sats are working. I’m uploading everything to the servers now, in case something happens. In case something happens…Ok please don’t delete this next part, Lev, this is for my husband.
Please don’t hold it against me that we had a fight and I got an assignment and I didn’t stay. Please know I want to work it out. I will work it out. When I get out of here, alive and well. Yes, I’m being delusional as always. Yes, I have your favorite mortar and pestle and all the good spices. No, I’m not sorry about that. But everything else…? Consider this: I’m a BFI (big fucking idiot). But I’m your BFI. No one else’s. Forever yours.
[Breathes, sobs.]
Back to the job.
Okay I’m going in like Lois Lane here. Recorder is gonna be on the whole time, with that and the uplink on the WarHorse, my batteries are gonna drain fast.
First, I’m getting answers. I know two bikers that would love to talk to me. I’m going to be doing very illegal things on here, from now on. So, Lev, make sure you make it sound like I’m telling them jokes or tickling them instead of…what I’m actually going to do. I need to do it. I don’t think I have time for the long game. Here I go. Taser at the ready.
[Boots walking on pavement. Knocking on a door.]
Hi there, I’m having trouble with my bike. Can one of you guys help me?
[A door creaks open. There’s a grunt.]
Sorry, it must be the dynamo-spectrometer.
That’s not a real—
[Electrocution noises, a gasp, a crumpling sound.]
One down…
Hey!
[Electrocution noises, a gasp, a crumpling sound.]
And the other.
Wow. For big, scary cultists, or whatever they are, they went down easy. Let’s get them talking.
[Groaning.]
Where’s Gil?
He’s in the bathroom, enjoying a college-party-style view of the toilet. It’s the only place I could zip-tie him.
[Muffled shouting.]
He’s fine.
The fuck do you think you’re doing? This isn’t your town. These aren’t your problems. Just leave.
One, I’m FBI. Two, this is my entire life. You think sane people do this job? I love solving murder cases, white-collar crimes, counterfeit organ schemes, crypto fraud, etc. Human nature provides endless job security. And a serious case of depressive nihilism, if you think about it too much. I just like solving the puzzles.
This isn’t a puzzle. This is a trap. And you’re caught in it, little bear.
That’s almost a compliment! At least I’m not a deer or something.
[Muffled yelling.]
Shut up, Gil! Your turn is coming up. First, a snack. How about…an apple?
[A knife flicks out, there’s a crisp cutting of a fruit.]
No. I won’t. Ah!
[Muffled groaning and screaming. Then, a gasp.]
Hush. It’s good, isn’t it? Now we’re in this together. Apples to apples. Tell me, why are you two watching me? I’m going to double-check the answers, by the way.
[Muffled yelling] Don’t say nothing, Ned!
Gil! If you talk again, I’m going to hurt your buddy here.
I’ll take any pain for Adam and the Tree.
Ok, Ned. So you’re part of this cute little club I’ve been hearing about.
It’s very cute. I’ll be one of the ascended soon enough if that’s truly one of the Apples of Grace. Is it from the church?
Yes. Is that how you infect newcomers? Keep them quiet?
Ha! Only the nosy ones. If you’re looking for compliments, you already figured out more than any agent, cop, or private investigator who came before. They din’t have your resources, though.
So where did I cross the line? Digging up government records?
Turning the Sheriff against us.
To quote my favorite Jedi, ‘You’ve done that yourself.’ Getting the Sheriff’s lover to kill herself was probably not the best way to keep him in the shade of your cult. That’s what it is, right? You have an enigmatic leader who espouses arcane, secret knowledge and a way to ‘ascend’ to a higher plane?
You don’t have long. Tell me, has the itching started? I saw you scratch your neck. It begins there in the base of the skull. It spreads to every surface of your skin. It’s the new body growing within you. From there…[sucks in a breath] it’s all pain and madness. That’s why we prefer the sons and daughters of Adam to be…half-baked.
You’re talking about the ritual suicides? The apples? What does cutting their throats do for them?
Symbolic. Even though only men got ‘em, we let the women join in.
Oh my God. Is that the cult version of equality? Ok. You cut out the Adam’s Apple. And then what?
[Laughs.] Imma let you live it. Experience is the best teacher.
If you say more, I hurt you less. Fair trade?
Fair? Only Adam can say what’s fair. He will come for you, little bear caught in the trap.
You know what they call me at the office? Mad Dog Jordan. And you know what else is true? With all the chaos in the country, I’ve been endowed with legal power to mete out justice as I see fit. I’ve never used it before today. Probably means I’m on a power trip… Wait, that’s a good pun. I am on a work trip.
Any suffering I endure will gain me greater righteousness. This is my cross. This is my test!
[Recording deactivated.]
Sorry, Lev, didn’t want y’all to hear that after all. The itching’s definitely not from bed bugs, by the way. [Laughs.] I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to think that my badge, my presence meant something, that it would protect me.
Something’s wrong with this country. With our people. Makes you wonder if our nation was ever any different. Sickos hiding away their secrets. American greed taking over their minds. Not just for land and money. For control. For people. I’m rambling. I wrote a thesis on this, didn’t I? Ages ago. Back when we still had paper to write on.
Ned was less than forthcoming with his information. I hurt him, bad. Worse than I’ve hurt anyone. I just got desperate when the itching started, right where they said it would. Like something light and invisible crawling down my neck. It’s morning now, Lev. I haven’t heard back from my SOS hail. Network must be down. Or something big is going on down East.
I did get something out of Gil. Screaming tends to loosen the tongue. He mentioned a church within the church. A people within themselves. People in the ground, feeding the Tree. Feeding Adam and Eve, who dance in conjunction forever. Kinky. Hard to read between the lines, but these crazed people are mixing their metaphors and reality.
Time to buck up. I’m my own Superman-Lois Lane combo. Time to fight and find the truth. Not time to wrestle with the moral gray.
I’m so tired, though. My knuckles hurt. My soul hurts.
Once they find Big & Hefty…I won’t be treated lightly anymore. Gun’s loaded, now. Not enough ammo for the whole town, but enough for a whole cult, I hope.
I have time. A little. I need to track down the bodies. They went to the morgue. That’s how they got the toxicology report. And despite all the lies, it’s legit. They have no reason to fake that. And it shows that not the whole town is in the cult’s grip. Some people are still doing their jobs.
My hunch is that the bodies aren’t there anymore. And that I can find out where they were buried. If there’s other dead, at the graveyard, I can connect the dots. Or I’ll end up somewhere else where these “Sons and Daughters of Adam” are ending up. Or I’m making logical leaps and bounds due to mad apple syndrome.
I can’t tell anymore…
Damn. Not two days ago I was here in this pleasant downtown, having the best goddamn pie of my life. Now I’m skulking around like a thief. Are they manufacturing this thick-ass fog? And where the hell is everyone? God, can’t these rural towns just be normal?
The morgue’s a three-for-one combo. Police station, morgue, funeral home. That’s America for you, more bang for your buck. Used to be anyway. Odd. Police station is dark. Doors chained up. Let’s see…the funeral home is open.
[Muffled footsteps on carpet.]
No one’s here, at the desk. Or anywhere. Morgue’s gotta be this way.
[Quiet footsteps on tiles.]
It’s cold in here. Naturally. Two prerequisites for morgues: be too cold, be too creepy. There should be bodies in here, but…
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
No. No body in this tray.
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
Or this one…
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
Shit! Shit! There’s nothing here. Except…wait. An apple. A single apple. How?
…just as I thought. No bodies. Shit, I’m getting itchy again, but worse, like poison ivy. That steroid I took is wearing off already. Lev, this is a really tight spot. Please, please, send somebody. I can’t keep it together.
Wait, what’s that? Someone’s calling my name. Who…
Cultists! Oh God. Oh God. Okay. Oh God. I’m cornered. Shit. Okay. JORDAN GET A GRIP!
Lev, I’m taking a stand. I’m using my firearm. Authorization ID ZA-93.
[Feet pounding. Jordan’s name screamed.]
They’re coming closer. This was an ambush. A plan. Ok. I’m holding steady. FBI! I am armed and ready to fire!
[Doors burst open.]
Kevin? No. Stay there! I will fire!
[Screaming. Gunshots.]
Man down. Oh, God. Sheriff… I think it’s clear….
Joooordan. Joooooooordan. Adam is waiting for you.
Two assailants. Big & Hefty. How did they…doesn’t matter. Hands up! On your knees! I will shoot.
[Speaking in unison.]
The New Adam cannot die. We cannot die.
Don’t move! Don’t take a single step!
[Shots fired. Screaming.]
They’re down, Lev. They were going to hurt me. Shit. The Sheriff. He’s…dead. And something else… [Heavy sigh.] Can this get any worse?
His eyes are shot through with what looks like worms or a growth. His skin isn’t right. It’s tough. Like leather. I can feel something moving beneath. He must have eaten an apple. Or forced to eat one. Perhaps that’s why his mind was gone.
[Sobbing.]
Is this going to happen to me? Lev? Am I going to lose it all by myself? Here? In [REDACTED]? Oh God, and all for nothing. No answers. Nothing solved.
There’s something here in the Sheriff’s pocket. Paper. Wow. A real Sticky note. Orchard, it says.
A final gift from Sheriff Kevin. Or something else. I do not relish going back to the crime scene.
I’m pulling up the map now. No way. I didn’t see it before, but that church isn’t even one klick away from the crime scene. Fresh apples, eh?
Thinking about what Gil told me…The orchard must be part of their rituals, and there might be a ‘hallowed ground’ where they meet. Probably a place where these special apples come from.
I’m thinking of the history. An orchard over a mass grave. Is that the people…feeding the tree? A people within themselves…are they burying more and more people? These cultists…are they only interested in a twisted version of death?
Wait…
Oh, God…there’s people outside. At least ten of them. Hold on, Lev. Gotta mad dog it.
Jordan Adhikary. You are chosen!
[A group of people chant.] Chosen! Chosen!
[Whispers] Also in the words of my favorite Jedi…Hello there! Might you all back away from the expensive government vehicle? I’m on FBI business.
Tell us, Jordan. How did the Apple of Grace taste?
Top five in the apples of my life, to be honest. Damn good. Mind telling me what you’re doing out here? Having a service, Reverend?
We came to witness Kevin’s transfiguration. He was born again, was he not?
I don’t know what you mean. He attacked me. He was out of his mind. Now, like I said, please back away. I am authorized to use force.
Violence is necessary to pass from this world to the next. The Lord burns away the chaff through his justice! You are His justice!
[Gunshots.] Last time I’ll fire into the air. WarHorse has its own defenses, too. That’s it. Back away. Slowly. Slowly.
Chosen, Jordan. You have been chosen. You ate of the Apple on your own accord.
Yeah, I know.
[Motorcycle whirs. Tires screech.]
And I’m outta here!
Jesus, they’re just watching. Flashlights following. Lev, why hasn’t anyone responded to my SOS? Why? God. Kevin’s dead. Whatever happened to him…no. I can’t believe it. I’m going to make it home. I am…but I have to solve this thing. I have to.
Can’t wait to see that old orchard again.
Adams Apple Part IIII’m back at the ritual suicide site. I’m not seeing anything I haven’t looked at before. It’s been cleaned up, really well. Even the hole where the tree was taken is filled in too. The survey drone is circling, looking for anything. It’s foggy here. Cold up in these hills. I never did like winter in these parts. Too gray. Too cold.
Found something. Machine tracks leading away from the site. Motorcycle. ATV. Maybe a truck. Let me get the WarHorse and find out.
All right. Tracks are leading me out the other side of the orchard, toward a set of hills. Hope it’s not far. Night’s falling. Don’t want to be out here too long. Just checked my battery levels…And it’s not good. I could get stranded out here, but I don’t want to stop uploading. I need it all to be there. To matter. Maybe someone can finish the job if I—well—when, at this point. I’m not feeling myself. My skin’s on fire. My ears are ringing. When I touch my skin, I feel something roiling underneath. My joints hurt. It’s getting harder to focus.
Either I’m suddenly ninety years old or that apple is changing me. Into what? A Daughter of Adam, one of them would say
If that wasn’t enough, my scintillator’s detecting high levels of neutron and gamma radiation. It’s getting stronger. Not quite deadly to me, but who knows? In the near distance, I can see the huge factory buildings that have long housed various facilities.
Tracks are leading around a hill. Let’s see what it’s hiding.
[[break]]
I’ve found a cave. Not just any cave. A man-made subterranean facility. Definitely federal-spec. Looks like Quantico. I’ve also found a sign: [REDACTED] Facility for the Treatment of [REDACTED]. A whole place just for treating ailments from the former federal facility? And now that it’s not theirs…does this belong to Elysium or the cultists? Or both?
I’m not seeing any guards in the little surveillance booth. I’m checking for local networks. There’s nothing here, though. Shielded, probably, from my sensors. Once I get inside, I’ll have to be careful. Highly likely they already know I’m here.
I’m taking the rifle, Lev, just FYI. If anyone comes looking for my body, you can trace the rifle signature. Going silent for a little bit.
There’s an old, broken road through the facility. I’ve been following it for awhile. Just goes deeper and deeper. Radiation’s staying steady. I see something up ahead. A sort of station building. No one around, though, thank God. Those cultists will be coming after me, I keep thinking. When they get here, will I already be like Sheriff Kevin? What’s the final stage of this…abomination I’m becoming?
Shit. Gotta stay focused, Jordan.
In the office, now. Lots of file cabinets here. I’ll upload my scans.
There’s some damning evidence here. Could ruin or make our careers, Lev. Your career, anyway. This is the site of a huge federal fuckup. Bigger than the Bay of Pigs or that Gonorrhea study or the Iranian Coup of ’28. [REDACTED] was nuclear contamination that killed ninety-nine percent of staff at the factory here. They set up this whole “Treatment Center” to hide what happened. And not to help these people. To experiment on them. They got such high levels of radiation that their DNA and I quote, “became like a potter’s clay, ready to be molded into new shapes.”
Jesus.
A thousand people were held here until they died. And then…Oh, Lev, this is serious. And this is just my devilishly good hunch. They kept hiding it all. Think of it: a thousand radioactive bodies need a lot of land to get rid of them. A mass grave. A mass grave that needs to be hidden. What better way to hide it in plain sight? A native burial ground. An orchard growing delicious, lovely, all-American apples. But the radiation wouldn’t go away…would it? What would happen to all those trees growing through all that mutated flesh? What would it do to the apples?
Someone’s here. A vehicle’s coming. Setting up to defend myself.
They kept driving. I’m following now. I’m seeing other roads every fifty meters leading to other stations and buildings. It’s big, but not sprawling. Like an underground hospital. I’ve passed a psych ward, a soccer field, a cafeteria, an oncology department, radiation testing, DNA lab, and patient quarters that look like the most miserable barracks of all time.
The truck’s heading for the “Solarium” according to the signs. In the scope, I spied three people in the truck and ten people in the bed. A few I recognized from the church. I thought about taking fire on them, to be honest. Just to neutralize the threat. Maybe that’s the soldier in me. This whole thing has really brought out my bad side. I don’t want to be the mad dog. That’s why me and you…wait sorry. Not you. My husband. What’s his name again? What’s his name? Why can’t I remember…
Sorry. Had to stop recording. I’m losing my memory. Stuff is just gone. My husband’s name. The state I was born in. Who my first kiss was with. It’s not fuzzy, it’s erased. I can’t remember why…Who was I fighting with? Shit. Not you and me, Lev. Me and my hubby. Who loves me. Who cooks for me. Who puts up with my late-night comings and goings, with my long missions. He didn’t want to put up with the mad dog anymore.
Sorry to say, she’s all who’s going to be left soon.
Maybe I’m not sorry. Not at all. You didn’t love me for who I was. You never understood what I had to fucking do. I was the first and last defense of our country. Our people! Duty means something to me. You didn’t understand because you were born with everything. I came from the other side of things. Bowing, scraping, fighting, training, studying, killing myself just to edge out the competition.
Here I am, again, protecting soft people like you from the dark side of life.
Can’t keep thinking about you. I have a job to do.
I think I lost my mind for a second. I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare just as I’m stepping into another. The truck is parked outside a large gate with a side door. It looks like a bulkhead on a spaceship. There’s no sign of the people. I’m opening the door.
Who’s there?
FBI! Hands in the air!
You can’t be here!
[Gunshots.]
She’s down. She’s…dead. God. She’s so young. What’s wrong with this place? What’s wrong with me? I’m going deeper.
You bastard, you wanted me to leave! You wanted me to die out here! You…
Oh, my head. I don’t know where I am. I just, sort of, woke up inside the solarium. It’s an entire forest in a greenhouse structure that must be forty feet underground. It’s warm. There’s a lot of light. Too much foliage. It’s overgrown. I hear footsteps running toward the entrance. I’m hiding, I…
You’re all under arrest! You’re all criminals and traitors to this country! I pass judgment, here and now! Death!
[Gunshots.]
Lev…
What’s happening?
Followed their footprints deeper into the Solarium. Have to keep going. Have to get away from myself. But you can never get away from yourself or anyone or your mistakes.
I hear singing, now. It’s quite beautiful. It’s soothing to the screaming in my ears. It used to be just ringing but now it’s screaming, Lev. Tell my husband the tinnitus was better than the screaming.
There’re stacks of rotting cherry and oak trees piled up everywhere. They must’ve felled a hundred to make room for apple trees. New plantings, sprouts, saplings. Are these the trees that grow the cult fruit? What did they call them? Apples of Grace. The singing is closer. It’s haunting. It’s beautiful. It’s a hymn of some sort. There’s a lot of voices. They’re humming, too.
…in the harvests we are sharing,
God's will is done.
For the harvests of the Spirit,
thanks be to God;
for the good we all inherit,
thanks be to God;
for the wonders that astound us,
for the truths that still confound us,
most of all that the New Adam found us,
thanks be to God.
I can see them: about fifty people standing in concentric circles around a tree. They’re all raising their hands. Wait…now they’re collapsing. En masse. In ecstasy? From drugs? I can see one man in the middle. The reverend. He’s holding branch trimmers. The humming is still going.
He’s walking toward the nearest person…he’s…cutting their throat. Oh my God. He’s placing an apple there. I need to stop him, I need…
[Low groaning.]
Jesus! What? The tree just…oh my God. There’s a human face in the wood. It’s…it’s humming the melody of the hymn. It’s got no eyes in its sockets. It’s not a person. The apples…turn the people into trees? Somehow that’s not very terrifying. It’s kind of hilarious. I could make so many puns—
You always wanted me to set down roots. You always wanted me to branch out. You told me I was rotten to the core. You hated me you hated me you hated me you—
Get a grip, Jordan. The pastor’s killing people here.
Hey! FBI!
Daughter! Welcome. Welcome. You’re taking to the Grace well. I can see the bark growing. Do you feel God revealing truth to you? Is he speaking?
I’m going stark mad here, you prick. Your little fruit is destroying me. Don’t you know I have a life? People who care about me?
Put the gun down. You’ve prematurely sent too many of the flock to God. He grants them greater mercies for their suffering…but you, he will judge with a finer eye. He is judging you now. Are you not in pain? Are your mortal memories slipping away?
Yes they are. But that’s beside the point. Put those cutters down. Tell me who you are and what this is about.
Is it not obvious? I exist to guide the Sons and Daughters of Adam into paradise.
How long have you been at this, hm? How long have you been destroying people?
There is no destruction here, only resurrection. I’ve been serving the New Adam for a decade. Long has it taken to get here. I have you to thank, of course, for advancing our work. We would not have had so many converts if you had not arrived. I had foretold of a wolf among the flock for some time.
Doesn’t take a prophet to predict the FBI showing up after a mass…What is that?
Ah! The New Adam has decided to bless you with a visitation.
I don’t know what that means. What I’m seeing is a body breaking itself out of that tree behind you. Is that…is he?
The first Son who ate of the tree. Long ago, there were two trees. Man ate of one and knew death. Now, we eat of another and know life.
You stay right there! Both of you! I—
[Gunshots.]
No! How could you! How dare you! I’ll kill you myself!
[Gunshots.]
They’re down. The pastor. The thing from the tree. I’m walking through the field of bodies.
You…
You’re alive, reverend? Lucky. You are a lucky man. Let’s see this New Adam…
There’s a hollow in the tree where it came from. The thing itself is not human. Not anymore. It’s got arms and legs, but its skin is all bark. I shot it in the head and chest. There’s fluid leaking, like blood, but not the right color. It’s brown. Its head is all jagged bark and empty eye sockets. It’s still humming. Why is it humming?
He will call them by their name and awaken them…
What’d you say?
Please, give me an apple. Let me join them!
Shut up! God! That humming!
Why are the trees humming? I—
[Gunshots.]
Get away!
[Gun clicks.]
Shit! Get away!
I’m not going to…they’re chasing…I…
End of transcript.
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Adam's Apple Part III
Hello and welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter that lets you escape to new worlds every month, right from your inbox.
My name is Zach and I’m the writer and reader of Realms. I am a game writer, fitness trainer, and novelist living in sunny Southern California.
Today’s story is special. It’s part III of III for my first serialized story. You can find part I here:
And part II here:
If you want to listen to parts I-III in one go, here’s the complete story:
Adam's Apple: The Complete Story
It’s also the first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by The Chronicler.
Explore this dark, brooding, and creepy universe and enjoy its many branching paths.
Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.
Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.
Adam’s Apple Part IIII’m back at the ritual suicide site. I’m not seeing anything I haven’t looked at before. It’s been cleaned up, really well. Even the hole where the tree was taken is filled in too. The survey drone is circling, looking for anything. It’s foggy here. Cold up in these hills. I never did like winter in these parts. Too gray. Too cold.
Found something. Machine tracks leading away from the site. Motorcycle. ATV. Maybe a truck. Let me get the WarHorse and find out.
All right. Tracks are leading me out the other side of the orchard, toward a set of hills. Hope it’s not far. Night’s falling. Don’t want to be out here too long. Just checked my battery levels…And it’s not good. I could get stranded out here, but I don’t want to stop uploading. I need it all to be there. To matter. Maybe someone can finish the job if I—well—when, at this point. I’m not feeling myself. My skin’s on fire. My ears are ringing. When I touch my skin, I feel something roiling underneath. My joints hurt. It’s getting harder to focus.
Either I’m suddenly ninety years old or that apple is changing me. Into what? A Daughter of Adam, one of them would say
If that wasn’t enough, my scintillator’s detecting high levels of neutron and gamma radiation. It’s getting stronger. Not quite deadly to me, but who knows? In the near distance, I can see the huge factory buildings that have long housed various facilities.
Tracks are leading around a hill. Let’s see what it’s hiding.
I’ve found a cave. Not just any cave. A man-made subterranean facility. Definitely federal-spec. Looks like Quantico. I’ve also found a sign: [REDACTED] Facility for the Treatment of [REDACTED]. A whole place just for treating ailments from the former federal facility? And now that it’s not theirs…does this belong to Elysium or the cultists? Or both?
I’m not seeing any guards in the little surveillance booth. I’m checking for local networks. There’s nothing here, though. Shielded, probably, from my sensors. Once I get inside, I’ll have to be careful. Highly likely they already know I’m here.
I’m taking the rifle, Lev, just FYI. If anyone comes looking for my body, you can trace the rifle signature. Going silent for a little bit.
There’s an old, broken road through the facility. I’ve been following it for awhile. Just goes deeper and deeper. Radiation’s staying steady. I see something up ahead. A sort of station building. No one around, though, thank God. Those cultists will be coming after me, I keep thinking. When they get here, will I already be like Sheriff Kevin? What’s the final stage of this…abomination I’m becoming?
Shit. Gotta stay focused, Jordan.
In the office, now. Lots of file cabinets here. I’ll upload my scans.
There’s some damning evidence here. Could ruin or make our careers, Lev. Your career, anyway. This is the site of a huge federal fuckup. Bigger than the Bay of Pigs or that Gonorrhea study or the Iranian Coup of ’28. [REDACTED] was nuclear contamination that killed ninety-nine percent of staff at the factory here. They set up this whole “Treatment Center” to hide what happened. And not to help these people. To experiment on them. They got such high levels of radiation that their DNA and I quote, “became like a potter’s clay, ready to be molded into new shapes.”
Jesus.
A thousand people were held here until they died. And then…Oh, Lev, this is serious. And this is just my devilishly good hunch. They kept hiding it all. Think of it: a thousand radioactive bodies need a lot of land to get rid of them. A mass grave. A mass grave that needs to be hidden. What better way to hide it in plain sight? A native burial ground. An orchard growing delicious, lovely, all-American apples. But the radiation wouldn’t go away…would it? What would happen to all those trees growing through all that mutated flesh? What would it do to the apples?
Someone’s here. A vehicle’s coming. Setting up to defend myself.
They kept driving. I’m following now. I’m seeing other roads every fifty meters leading to other stations and buildings. It’s big, but not sprawling. Like an underground hospital. I’ve passed a psych ward, a soccer field, a cafeteria, an oncology department, radiation testing, DNA lab, and patient quarters that look like the most miserable barracks of all time.
The truck’s heading for the “Solarium” according to the signs. In the scope, I spied three people in the truck and ten people in the bed. A few I recognized from the church. I thought about taking fire on them, to be honest. Just to neutralize the threat. Maybe that’s the soldier in me. This whole thing has really brought out my bad side. I don’t want to be the mad dog. That’s why me and you…wait sorry. Not you. My husband. What’s his name again? What’s his name? Why can’t I remember…
Sorry. Had to stop recording. I’m losing my memory. Stuff is just gone. My husband’s name. The state I was born in. Who my first kiss was with. It’s not fuzzy, it’s erased. I can’t remember why…Who was I fighting with? Shit. Not you and me, Lev. Me and my hubby. Who loves me. Who cooks for me. Who puts up with my late-night comings and goings, with my long missions. He didn’t want to put up with the mad dog anymore.
Sorry to say, she’s all who’s going to be left soon.
Maybe I’m not sorry. Not at all. You didn’t love me for who I was. You never understood what I had to fucking do. I was the first and last defense of our country. Our people! Duty means something to me. You didn’t understand because you were born with everything. I came from the other side of things. Bowing, scraping, fighting, training, studying, killing myself just to edge out the competition.
Here I am, again, protecting soft people like you from the dark side of life.
Can’t keep thinking about you. I have a job to do.
I think I lost my mind for a second. I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare just as I’m stepping into another. The truck is parked outside a large gate with a side door. It looks like a bulkhead on a spaceship. There’s no sign of the people. I’m opening the door.
Who’s there?
FBI! Hands in the air!
You can’t be here!
[Gunshots.]
She’s down. She’s…dead. God. She’s so young. What’s wrong with this place? What’s wrong with me? I’m going deeper.
You bastard, you wanted me to leave! You wanted me to die out here! You…
Oh, my head. I don’t know where I am. I just, sort of, woke up inside the solarium. It’s an entire forest in a greenhouse structure that must be forty feet underground. It’s warm. There’s a lot of light. Too much foliage. It’s overgrown. I hear footsteps running toward the entrance. I’m hiding, I…
You’re all under arrest! You’re all criminals and traitors to this country! I pass judgment, here and now! Death!
[Gunshots.]
Lev…
What’s happening?
Followed their footprints deeper into the Solarium. Have to keep going. Have to get away from myself. But you can never get away from yourself or anyone or your mistakes.
I hear singing, now. It’s quite beautiful. It’s soothing to the screaming in my ears. It used to be just ringing but now it’s screaming, Lev. Tell my husband the tinnitus was better than the screaming.
There’re stacks of rotting cherry and oak trees piled up everywhere. They must’ve felled a hundred to make room for apple trees. New plantings, sprouts, saplings. Are these the trees that grow the cult fruit? What did they call them? Apples of Grace. The singing is closer. It’s haunting. It’s beautiful. It’s a hymn of some sort. There’s a lot of voices. They’re humming, too.
…in the harvests we are sharing,
God's will is done.
For the harvests of the Spirit,
thanks be to God;
for the good we all inherit,
thanks be to God;
for the wonders that astound us,
for the truths that still confound us,
most of all that the New Adam found us,
thanks be to God.
I can see them: about fifty people standing in concentric circles around a tree. They’re all raising their hands. Wait…now they’re collapsing. En masse. In ecstasy? From drugs? I can see one man in the middle. The reverend. He’s holding branch trimmers. The humming is still going.
He’s walking toward the nearest person…he’s…cutting their throat. Oh my God. He’s placing an apple there. I need to stop him, I need…
[Low groaning.]
Jesus! What? The tree just…oh my God. There’s a human face in the wood. It’s…it’s humming the melody of the hymn. It’s got no eyes in its sockets. It’s not a person. The apples…turn the people into trees? Somehow that’s not very terrifying. It’s kind of hilarious. I could make so many puns—
You always wanted me to set down roots. You always wanted me to branch out. You told me I was rotten to the core. You hated me you hated me you hated me you—
Get a grip, Jordan. The pastor’s killing people here.
Hey! FBI!
Daughter! Welcome. Welcome. You’re taking to the Grace well. I can see the bark growing. Do you feel God revealing truth to you? Is he speaking?
I’m going stark mad here, you prick. Your little fruit is destroying me. Don’t you know I have a life? People who care about me?
Put the gun down. You’ve prematurely sent too many of the flock to God. He grants them greater mercies for their suffering…but you, he will judge with a finer eye. He is judging you now. Are you not in pain? Are your mortal memories slipping away?
Yes they are. But that’s beside the point. Put those cutters down. Tell me who you are and what this is about.
Is it not obvious? I exist to guide the Sons and Daughters of Adam into paradise.
How long have you been at this, hm? How long have you been destroying people?
There is no destruction here, only resurrection. I’ve been serving the New Adam for a decade. Long has it taken to get here. I have you to thank, of course, for advancing our work. We would not have had so many converts if you had not arrived. I had foretold of a wolf among the flock for some time.
Doesn’t take a prophet to predict the FBI showing up after a mass…What is that?
Ah! The New Adam has decided to bless you with a visitation.
I don’t know what that means. What I’m seeing is a body breaking itself out of that tree behind you. Is that…is he?
The first Son who ate of the tree. Long ago, there were two trees. Man ate of one and knew death. Now, we eat of another and know life.
You stay right there! Both of you! I—
[Gunshots.]
No! How could you! How dare you! I’ll kill you myself!
[Gunshots.]
They’re down. The pastor. The thing from the tree. I’m walking through the field of bodies.
You…
You’re alive, reverend? Lucky. You are a lucky man. Let’s see this New Adam…
There’s a hollow in the tree where it came from. The thing itself is not human. Not anymore. It’s got arms and legs, but its skin is all bark. I shot it in the head and chest. There’s fluid leaking, like blood, but not the right color. It’s brown. Its head is all jagged bark and empty eye sockets. It’s still humming. Why is it humming?
He will call them by their name and awaken them…
What’d you say?
Please, give me an apple. Let me join them!
Shut up! God! That humming!
Why are the trees humming? I—
[Gunshots.]
Get away!
[Gun clicks.]
Shit! Get away!
I’m not going to…they’re chasing…I…
End of transcript.
IF THIS FILE IS FOUND OUTSIDE ELYSIUM PREMISES, PLEASE CALL 1-800-359-7486. IF YOU ARE NOT AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE AND ARE FOUND IN POSSESSION OF THIS DOCUMENT, IT IS WITHIN OUR RIGHTS TO DETAIN YOU, FREEZE ALL ONLINE PRESENCE, APPROPRIATE FUNDS, AND MORE, ALL WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION OR NOTIFICATION OF ANY GOVERNMENT BODY.
Thank you for reading Adam’s Apple Part III. This was a really fun series to work on. Please share if you like this story!
Next month, we’ll be gearing up for a very special serialization: an entire novel. Yes. Realms is graduating to a new level of storytelling.
The Art of Human Joinery is one part Frankenstein retelling, one part steampunk, and one part romance that takes place in an alternate version of Portland, Oregon. Here’s the premise:
When her lover, Lilath, is found literally cut to pieces, Virginia's heart dies with her. But in a city where automatons roam and scientists build portals to the afterlife, anything is possible. Lilath will be her Lazarus.
Virginia makes unlikely and fast friends in her pursuit of the tools and miracles she needs to make this miracle happen: an old Japanese woman with a sacred art, a wealthy widow, and even Virginia’s anarchist ex-lover. She knows her illegal experiments put everyone's lives in the crosshairs of the brutal secret police, the PRB, but she's willing to be monstrous in the pursuit of love.
Virginia must navigate these dangerous waters while violent war between the anarchists and the oppressive government threatens to drench Portland in blood, requiring everyone to choose a side or escape. Virginia will weave her own path through the uprising, making herself useful to both sides until she can get what she needs. But when everyone's taken their pound of flesh, what will be left of her?
Virginia hopes there will be something left for whatever happens next, whether Lilath walks on this side of life or is lost to death forever.
Subscribe today to get the first chapter of The Art of Human Joinery in your inbox next month!
Until next time, Realm Walkers, I’m Zach and you’re reading Realms.
March 23, 2024
Severance is the sci-fi full package: Watch it!
Image provided by Apple TV+Hello and Welcome to Realms Reviews!Realms is a fantasy and sci-fi newsletter. My name is Zach, the writer and narrator of this publication. I consume tons of sci-fi and fantasy media that I think everyone should know about. In these two genres, I’ll be reviewing books, video games, podcasts, films, and TV shows.
And here’s what I offer with my reviews:
A short, spoiler-free summary
My take and thoughts
Whether or not it’s worth your time
Notable quotes or moments.
And finally, I’ll give it a rating
Speaking of…I’m stealing my scoring system from fighting video games. From best to worst, it goes: Z, S, A, B, C, D.
Z means whatever I reviewed is the absolute best of its kind and will leave you wishing you had more.
S is for media that is excellent, but not quite earth shattering.
A is for very good. Something that is worth your time.
B is good. Just good.
C is best summed up as “Meh” - it will make no difference in your life and is probably worth skipping.
D is a definite no. Skip it. Avoid it.
That said, this rating system is subjective. Any of my reviews should be taken with a grain of salt and also be the subject of your own consumption and consideration.
Today, we’re reviewing a sci-fi series that is near and dear to my heart: Severance. I’m reviewing it because production on season two started recently and I had the chance to rewatch season one.
yes, ben stiller is the director!Not only is Severance a story about corporate evil and what we sacrifice when we work a 9-5, but it’s also a psychological thriller that touches on themes of love, consciousness, and the dangers of technology.
It’s one of those full package shows that gives you a bit of everything and does it well.
The PremiseA company called Lumin has created a technology that splits your mind into two distinct personalities. One, the “outie” is the original person who gets to go about living their lives as they please. As soon as they enter the workplace, however, they switch to the other personality, their “innie.” Completely separate people inhabiting the same body. The severance procedure operates in such a way where the innie has no access to their outie’s memories, but is a full adult capable of doing work that is “important and mysterious.”
Lumin is at the center of Severance’s narrative. It’s the ugly elephant-octopus in the room, so gargantuan and reaching that it touches everyone’s life in the show, and often for worse.
Our main character, Mark Scout—the outie—and Mark S—the innie, are both played by Parks & Rec’s Adam Scott. He works for Lumon to escape his wife’s death, via severance, while at home he remains an aimless alcoholic. Sidenote: I originally hated that this show had the “dead wife” plot element—it’s so damn common—but it actually works really well with this show.
The wider cast of characters include a number of actors you will probably recognize and some you don’t. There’s Particia Arquette—who I loved in Boyhood, John Turturro—of The Batman, recently, and of course The Big Lebowski, and also Christopher Walken. This cast is fantastic, heightening the weirdness and delivering powerful performances that are really astounding.
My TakeWhile slow, at first, Severance draws you in with some familiar elements and then drops you in the weird. Every episode maintains a delicate balance of solving and introducing new mysteries. It’s like being on a trickle feeder that keeps you watching. The writing is great, with unique dialogue and character beats that stand out when compared to many TV shows on a similar budget and with a comparable caliber of actors.
What really grounds the world, though, is the amount of detailed storytelling that goes on outside the scenes and dialogue. The camera work is lovely, consistent, and efficient. There’s no shaky-cam for no reason. There are a lot of unique angles and intelligent cuts between them. The set and world design only enhance the immersion in the show. Everything is symmetrical and strange, from the Lumon main office building to the Lumon-provided housing the characters live in. The town of Kier, where our characters live and puzzle out their existences, features muted colors and a world that seems locked in an eternal winter. In contrast, the severance wing, where the “innies” work, is full of bright colors that look straight out of the 70s as a sort of weird mid-century modern nightmare.
This show is the full package, from writing to casting to design; all of it serves the story and the show.
My RatingI rarely review things not worth anyone’s time (looking at you live-action Avatar the Last Airbender). So it shouldn’t be a surprise that I give Severance a score of “S”.
It truly is the best of its kind and anyone who’s a fan of sci-fi should watch Severance right now. It’s only on Apple TV+, though, so if you don’t have it, use a free trial to binge it.
Thank you for reading my Severance review!
Share, like, or subscribe if you like this review. You’ll get another one next month.
Next week, look out for the final entry in the cult thriller story, Adam’s Apple.
Until next time, Realm Walkers, I’m Zach and you’re reading realms.
February 23, 2024
Adam's Apple Part II
Hello and welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter. I’m Zach, the writer and narrator of this Substack. Subscribe today to escape to new worlds every month, right in your inbox.
Today’s story is special. It’s part II of III of my first serialized story. You can find part I here:
It’s also the first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by The Chronicler.
Explore this dark, brooding, and creepy universe to enjoy its many branching paths.
Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.
Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.
Adam’s Apple Part III’ve been up all night. How can I sleep? It’s too cold, and I think the bedbugs got to me because my head is itching like crazy. I guess I’m waiting to keel over or feel something in my chest and watch it explode or something gross like that. I’ve called in the SOS. Won’t know if anyone’s coming to my rescue for at least an hour. I’m betting not. At least the server sats are working. I’m uploading everything to the servers now, in case something happens. In case something happens…Ok please don’t delete this next part, Lev, this is for my husband.
Please don’t hold it against me that we had a fight and I got an assignment and I didn’t stay. Please know I want to work it out. I will work it out. When I get out of here, alive and well. Yes, I’m being delusional as always. Yes, I have your favorite mortar and pestle and all the good spices. No, I’m not sorry about that. But everything else…? Consider this: I’m a BFI (big fucking idiot). But I’m your BFI. No one else’s. Forever yours.
[Breathes, sobs.]
Back to the job.
Okay I’m going in like Lois Lane here. Recorder is gonna be on the whole time, with that and the uplink on the WarHorse, my batteries are gonna drain fast.
First, I’m getting answers. I know two bikers that would love to talk to me. I’m going to be doing very illegal things on here, from now on. So, Lev, make sure you make it sound like I’m telling them jokes or tickling them instead of…what I’m actually going to do. I need to do it. I don’t think I have time for the long game. Here I go. Taser at the ready.
[Boots walking on pavement. Knocking on a door.]
Hi there, I’m having trouble with my bike. Can one of you guys help me?
[A door creaks open. There’s a grunt.]
Sorry, it must be the dynamo-spectrometer.
That’s not a real—
[Electrocution noises, a gasp, a crumpling sound.]
One down…
Hey!
[Electrocution noises, a gasp, a crumpling sound.]
And the other.
Wow. For big, scary cultists, or whatever they are, they went down easy. Let’s get them talking.
[Groaning.]
Where’s Gil?
He’s in the bathroom, enjoying a college-party-style view of the toilet. It’s the only place I could zip-tie him.
[Muffled shouting.]
He’s fine.
The fuck do you think you’re doing? This isn’t your town. These aren’t your problems. Just leave.
One, I’m FBI. Two, this is my entire life. You think sane people do this job? I love solving murder cases, white-collar crimes, counterfeit organ schemes, crypto fraud, etc. Human nature provides endless job security. And a serious case of depressive nihilism, if you think about it too much. I just like solving the puzzles.
This isn’t a puzzle. This is a trap. And you’re caught in it, little bear.
That’s almost a compliment! At least I’m not a deer or something.
[Muffled yelling.]
Shut up, Gil! Your turn is coming up. First, a snack. How about…an apple?
[A knife flicks out, there’s a crisp cutting of a fruit.]
No. I won’t. Ah!
[Muffled groaning and screaming. Then, a gasp.]
Hush. It’s good, isn’t it? Now we’re in this together. Apples to apples. Tell me, why are you two watching me? I’m going to double-check the answers, by the way.
[Muffled yelling] Don’t say nothing, Ned!
Gil! If you talk again, I’m going to hurt your buddy here.
I’ll take any pain for Adam and the Tree.
Ok, Ned. So you’re part of this cute little club I’ve been hearing about.
It’s very cute. I’ll be one of the ascended soon enough if that’s truly one of the Apples of Grace. Is it from the church?
Yes. Is that how you infect newcomers? Keep them quiet?
Ha! Only the nosy ones. If you’re looking for compliments, you already figured out more than any agent, cop, or private investigator who came before. They din’t have your resources, though.
So where did I cross the line? Digging up government records?
Turning the Sheriff against us.
To quote my favorite Jedi, ‘You’ve done that yourself.’ Getting the Sheriff’s lover to kill herself was probably not the best way to keep him in the shade of your cult. That’s what it is, right? You have an enigmatic leader who espouses arcane, secret knowledge and a way to ‘ascend’ to a higher plane?
You don’t have long. Tell me, has the itching started? I saw you scratch your neck. It begins there in the base of the skull. It spreads to every surface of your skin. It’s the new body growing within you. From there…[sucks in a breath] it’s all pain and madness. That’s why we prefer the sons and daughters of Adam to be…half-baked.
You’re talking about the ritual suicides? The apples? What does cutting their throats do for them?
Symbolic. Even though only men got ‘em, we let the women join in.
Oh my God. Is that the cult version of equality? Ok. You cut out the Adam’s Apple. And then what?
[Laughs.] Imma let you live it. Experience is the best teacher.
If you say more, I hurt you less. Fair trade?
Fair? Only Adam can say what’s fair. He will come for you, little bear caught in the trap.
You know what they call me at the office? Mad Dog Jordan. And you know what else is true? With all the chaos in the country, I’ve been endowed with legal power to mete out justice as I see fit. I’ve never used it before today. Probably means I’m on a power trip… Wait, that’s a good pun. I am on a work trip.
Any suffering I endure will gain me greater righteousness. This is my cross. This is my test!
[Recording deactivated.]
Sorry, Lev, didn’t want y’all to hear that after all. The itching’s definitely not from bed bugs, by the way. [Laughs.] I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to think that my badge, my presence meant something, that it would protect me.
Something’s wrong with this country. With our people. Makes you wonder if our nation was ever any different. Sickos hiding away their secrets. American greed taking over their minds. Not just for land and money. For control. For people. I’m rambling. I wrote a thesis on this, didn’t I? Ages ago. Back when we still had paper to write on.
Ned was less than forthcoming with his information. I hurt him, bad. Worse than I’ve hurt anyone. I just got desperate when the itching started, right where they said it would. Like something light and invisible crawling down my neck. It’s morning now, Lev. I haven’t heard back from my SOS hail. Network must be down. Or something big is going on down East.
I did get something out of Gil. Screaming tends to loosen the tongue. He mentioned a church within the church. A people within themselves. People in the ground, feeding the Tree. Feeding Adam and Eve, who dance in conjunction forever. Kinky. Hard to read between the lines, but these crazed people are mixing their metaphors and reality.
Time to buck up. I’m my own Superman-Lois Lane combo. Time to fight and find the truth. Not time to wrestle with the moral gray.
I’m so tired, though. My knuckles hurt. My soul hurts.
Once they find Big & Hefty…I won’t be treated lightly anymore. Gun’s loaded, now. Not enough ammo for the whole town, but enough for a whole cult, I hope.
I have time. A little. I need to track down the bodies. They went to the morgue. That’s how they got the toxicology report. And despite all the lies, it’s legit. They have no reason to fake that. And it shows that not the whole town is in the cult’s grip. Some people are still doing their jobs.
My hunch is that the bodies aren’t there anymore. And that I can find out where they were buried. If there’s other dead, at the graveyard, I can connect the dots. Or I’ll end up somewhere else where these “Sons and Daughters of Adam” are ending up. Or I’m making logical leaps and bounds due to mad apple syndrome.
I can’t tell anymore…
Damn. Not two days ago I was here in this pleasant downtown, having the best goddamn pie of my life. Now I’m skulking around like a thief. Are they manufacturing this thick-ass fog? And where the hell is everyone? God, can’t these rural towns just be normal?
The morgue’s a three-for-one combo. Police station, morgue, funeral home. That’s America for you, more bang for your buck. Used to be anyway. Odd. Police station is dark. Doors chained up. Let’s see…the funeral home is open.
[Muffled footsteps on carpet.]
No one’s here, at the desk. Or anywhere. Morgue’s gotta be this way.
[Quiet footsteps on tiles.]
It’s cold in here. Naturally. Two prerequisites for morgues: be too cold, be too creepy. There should be bodies in here, but…
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
No. No body in this tray.
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
Or this one…
[Air hisses, metal squeaks]
Shit! Shit! There’s nothing here. Except…wait. An apple. A single apple. How?
…just as I thought. No bodies. Shit, I’m getting itchy again, but worse, like poison ivy. That steroid I took is wearing off already. Lev, this is a really tight spot. Please, please, send somebody. I can’t keep it together.
Wait, what’s that? Someone’s calling my name. Who…
Cultists! Oh God. Oh God. Okay. Oh God. I’m cornered. Shit. Okay. JORDAN GET A GRIP!
Lev, I’m taking a stand. I’m using my firearm. Authorization ID ZA-93.
[Feet pounding. Jordan’s name screamed.]
They’re coming closer. This was an ambush. A plan. Ok. I’m holding steady. FBI! I am armed and ready to fire!
[Doors burst open.]
Kevin? No. Stay there! I will fire!
[Screaming. Gunshots.]
Man down. Oh, God. Sheriff… I think it’s clear….
Joooordan. Joooooooordan. Adam is waiting for you.
Two assailants. Big & Hefty. How did they…doesn’t matter. Hands up! On your knees! I will shoot.
[Speaking in unison.]
The New Adam cannot die. We cannot die.
Don’t move! Don’t take a single step!
[Shots fired. Screaming.]
They’re down, Lev. They were going to hurt me. Shit. The Sheriff. He’s…dead. And something else… [Heavy sigh.] Can this get any worse?
His eyes are shot through with what looks like worms or a growth. His skin isn’t right. It’s tough. Like leather. I can feel something moving beneath. He must have eaten an apple. Or forced to eat one. Perhaps that’s why his mind was gone.
[Sobbing.]
Is this going to happen to me? Lev? Am I going to lose it all by myself? Here? In [REDACTED]? Oh God, and all for nothing. No answers. Nothing solved.
There’s something here in the Sheriff’s pocket. Paper. Wow. A real Sticky note. Orchard, it says.
A final gift from Sheriff Kevin. Or something else. I do not relish going back to the crime scene.
I’m pulling up the map now. No way. I didn’t see it before, but that church isn’t even one klick away from the crime scene. Fresh apples, eh?
Thinking about what Gil told me…The orchard must be part of their rituals, and there might be a ‘hallowed ground’ where they meet. Probably a place where these special apples come from.
I’m thinking of the history. An orchard over a mass grave. Is that the people…feeding the tree? A people within themselves…are they burying more and more people? These cultists…are they only interested in a twisted version of death?
Wait…
Oh, God…there’s people outside. At least ten of them. Hold on, Lev. Gotta mad dog it.
Jordan Adhikary. You are chosen!
[A group of people chant.] Chosen! Chosen!
[Whispers] Also in the words of my favorite Jedi…Hello there! Might you all back away from the expensive government vehicle? I’m on FBI business.
Tell us, Jordan. How did the Apple of Grace taste?
Top five in the apples of my life, to be honest. Damn good. Mind telling me what you’re doing out here? Having a service, Reverend?
We came to witness Kevin’s transfiguration. He was born again, was he not?
I don’t know what you mean. He attacked me. He was out of his mind. Now, like I said, please back away. I am authorized to use force.
Violence is necessary to pass from this world to the next. The Lord burns away the chaff through his justice! You are His justice!
[Gunshots.] Last time I’ll fire into the air. WarHorse has its own defenses, too. That’s it. Back away. Slowly. Slowly.
Chosen, Jordan. You have been chosen. You ate of the Apple on your own accord.
Yeah, I know.
[Motorcycle whirs. Tires screech.]
And I’m outta here!
Jesus, they’re just watching. Flashlights following. Lev, why hasn’t anyone responded to my SOS? Why? God. Kevin’s dead. Whatever happened to him…no. I can’t believe it. I’m going to make it home. I am…but I have to solve this thing. I have to.
Can’t wait to see that old orchard again.
Thank you for reading Adam’s Apple part II.
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Catch Part III next month, only on Realms!
January 26, 2024
Adam's Apple Part I
Hello and Welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter. I’m Zach, the writer and narrator for today’s story. Subscribe today to escape to new worlds every month.
Today’s story is special. It’s part I of III and my first serialized story. It’s also the first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by . Please enter this dark, brooding, and creepy universe and enjoy its many branching paths.
Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.
Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.
HISTORICAL TRANSCRIPT FBI-Z01, OCT, 2031
ONLY LAB PERSONNEL WITH ZETA CLEARANCE CAN ACCESS THIS TRANSCRIPT.
IF YOU DO NOT HAVE ZETA CLEARANCE, RETURN THIS FILE TO PUBLIC RELATIONS STAFF IMMEDIATELY.
IF THIS FILE IS FOUND OUTSIDE ELYSIUM PREMISES, PLEASE CALL 1-800-359-7486. IF YOU ARE NOT AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE AND ARE FOUND IN POSSESSION OF THIS DOCUMENT, IT IS WITHIN OUR RIGHTS TO DETAIN YOU, FREEZE ALL ONLINE PRESENCE, APPROPRIATE FUNDS, AND MORE, ALL WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION OR NOTIFICATION OF ANY GOVERNMENT BODY.
IF YOU ARE AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE, YOU KNOW WHAT RIGHTS YOU ARE AND ARE NOT AFFORDED WHEN IN POSSESSION OF COMPANY PROPERTY.
PERSONAL NOTE FROM DR. KARASEVDAS: THIS REPORT IS ON FILE FOR MORE THAN SENTIMENTAL REASONS. IT EXISTS BECAUSE WE ALLOW IT. IT EXISTS BECAUSE IT INFORMS US OF THE LENGTHS THE GIANTS WE STAND UPON WENT TO IN PURSUIT OF EVERLASTING LIFE. THIS TRANSCRIPT OF AGENT ADHIKARY’S AUDIO RECORDINGS IS THE ONLY COPY OF THIS REPORT ON HAND. ALL OTHER RECORDS, AS FAR AS WE WERE ABLE, WERE DESTROYED. IF YOU KNOW OF OR HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT ANOTHER RECORD, INFORM YOUR LOCAL SUPERVISOR IMMEDIATELY.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
FBI REPORT - JORDAN ADHIKARY - 2031 - [REDACTED], INDIANA
This first-hand report details the origins of the delivery agents used to transmit [REDACTED] directly into cell DNA via RNA manipulation. For details on the chemistry, please see INTERIOR LAB PUBLICATION 12.A.
To be clear, this report exists only in Elysium’s archives. Officially, all FBI records during the Ohio Rebellion were destroyed.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
Dates: [REDACTED]
Geotag: [REDACTED]
Agent: Jordan Adhikary
Agent Supervisor: Lev [REDACTED]
Hey Lev, just checking in. I arrived at [REDACTED] around 6 p.m. My hotel is going to give me bedbugs, but that’s to be expected. I can’t imagine there’re more than two people running this place. Cleanliness isn’t a priority anymore. Just happy to be off the roads. St. Louis is a hellhole now, the roads shot to bits. No one got ahold of me, thank God. I’m happy to report that the WarHorse XC is a capable machine. (I’m writing this so you can tell your pals at the DOD. The military should buy a million of these things.)
Nothing good to eat within a ten-mile radius here. Happy I brought hubby’s cooking. Don’t know the next time I’ll get food this good. I know I’m not supposed to include semantic details like this, but they’ll get cut out by the AI anyway. I guess I’m nervous. First solo mission. First mass murder case. Potentially a murder-suicide, based on the details.
Going to get some rest. I’ll be going into town tomorrow to meet the local sheriff, then see the murder site.
Damn, these dumplings are good. I love you, honey.
Shit, not supposed to record that.
I’m at a local diner that’s serving burgers and shakes and pies like it’s eighty years prior. Place looks brand new. Chrome everywhere. Real leather chairs. The black and white checkered tiles polished to an almost offensive shine. God, I hate these tiles. Here comes the sheriff. He’s in a khaki getup, leather belt, hard black revolver. No energy weapons or smart guns. This town hasn’t advanced to the twenty-first century…
Hey, Sheriff! Over here.
Hi there. You can call me Kevin. You didn’t wait long, did ya?
No, no, of course not. I’m always too early for my appointments. Old habit. Anyway, I’m Special Agent Adhikary. And before we begin discussing the case, I have to inform you that our conversation is being recorded. FBI policy. Helps us keep track of everything. I don’t have to inform you, but I want to.
I understand. I ain’t got nothing to hide…but some folk won’t like that at all. And, to tell you the truth, we really didn’t think anyone would take notice of what happened here, specially with the war on…
This sort of case is high on our priority list. Can’t have strange mass deaths like this going on within the United States. At least those states still with us. But enough about that…tell me about yourself.
Well…uh, I been sheriff here for bout twenty years. My daddy was sheriff, too. And, might I say, it’s mighty dangerous for a woman to be out cross-country solo. You come through St. Louis?
You’re sweet for asking. I did go through St. Louis. I did have some trouble. Actually, they had some trouble with me.
I’m sure they did. Your machine there sure looks like hell on two wheels. Well, I don’t want to waste time. This thing we got here is grisly. Worst thing I ever come across in my career. Here, watch the drone footage.
Wow, these are high-res. Police drone?
Yep. We don’t got fancy androids like you do, but we got a top-of-the-line drone.
I believe it. Okay, so what do we have here? An enormous apple grove. Lots of fruit on those trees, still, despite the season. Okay, here’s the crime scene. There you are, Kevin, with your deputies. And now the bodies. A ring of them lying with their feet around a deep excavation, where a tree once stood. They’re naked. Why? I see signs of being dead for some time. Bloating. Tissue decay. The smell must have been atrocious. They’re men and women, all adults, among the deceased. Their throats are cut. Can you zoom in there? Yes, every one of their throats had been hacked open as if with giant scissors, making a diamond shape from their chin to the nape of their neck. Almost like another mouth. Is that the cause of death, Kevin?
Overdose on sleeping pills, all of ‘em.
So the wounds…
Post-mortem.
I see. So these people have been poisoned or poisoned themselves, and had their throats opened up later. They died there, in a circle. This looks planned. Ritualistic. I’m sorry to say, but I gotta see it, Sheriff.
Sure thing, miss. I’ll have my partner take you out there.
Why not yourself?
I…can’t. My neighbor, Sherry, was—
I understand.
I really can’t believe they sent one of you out here. It’s…surprising. It’s really not necessary, I don’t think.
Kevin, can I be honest here? You look a little pale. Will there be a jurisdiction issue?
Not from me. Though…I’d just be careful round here. Small town, you know? Outsiders, Feds or no, ain’t usually welcome.
If it goes well, we’ll have this solved in no time and I’ll be back East.
I’m recording live from the incident site. Sat uploads aren’t working now, so the timestamp will be incorrect. Sheriff’s deputy, Jameson, led me about ten miles out of town. The apple orchard is huge and tucked away, closer to [REDACTED] than [REDACTED]. This part of Indiana has [REDACTED], making it easy to hide anything from orchards to stills. I think they made moonshine around these parts. Probably do, to this day.
It’s quiet here. Something’s spooked the birds and critters. I’m noting this because I’m slightly freaked out. I don’t know why I was sent here without a partner agent. I get that a rebellion and budget discrepancies are more important than my life, that’s government jobs for you. It’s just…I’m a few shades darker than most folk around here, and that’s more than enough for people in these parts to get up to no good.
I digress. We’re approaching the site the Sheriff showed me in the drone footage. The bodies are gone, which is something he left out. The deputy doesn’t seem surprised. He seems aloof. There’s the hole where the tree was dug out. Inspecting it, the tree was removed professionally. Recently. The earth is still wet. I’m seeing something shocking: bones, a skull, human remains. They look like they’ve been here awhile.
Deputy! Can you explain this?
Sure. This orchard’s planted over a mass grave from ye olden times. Settlers and the like. Don’t know which one, but these are the bodies of a once-local tribe.
How lovely. So, we’ve got a mass suicide. A mass grave. A missing tree. A sacred tree, of sorts. All signs point to organized and possibly religious behavior. I’ll have to dig up more history later. Thanks, Deputy.
I think we got ourselves a C-word. Wish you were here for it, Lev. You always had the stomach for the grisly shit. My hubby’s not going to like this one when I can tell him about it.
Okay. Finally got sat reception. Wish I hadn’t checked the news. Rebels took Detroit today. They’re getting support from Canadians, of all people.
A couple new people are staying at the motel. A couple of old gas Harley’s sitting in the parking lot. Do people still ride to Sturgis? Don’t know. Makes me curious. Possibly paranoid. Gotta trust that feeling, like you always say, Lev.
Digging into this area, I’m finding out a lot of interesting things. One, there was a huge [REDACTED] plant, making [REDACTED], and it went under in the late Eighties. Our beloved federal government saved it and transferred production to make [REDACTED]. That plant was shut down when the groundwater was coming up highly radioactive. It was all hushed up, though. That orchard’s not one mile from the old plant. Maybe everyone here’s a bit loose in the head from it. Even from our records, no cancer cases were reported. Means it was way worse than anyone could have predicted.
No records of extremist activity around here, religious or otherwise. Not even the KKK has a presence, which O-K-K-K with me. Ha! Sorry.
I’m not seeing reports of any other suicides or murders. A clean county, by all accounts. Some reports of drunkenness, and yes, moonshine. But nothing else. It’s going to be tough to crack this town open. I’m a fed to them. I need some sort of connection. Something that…huh. I got it.
But first, I gotta find the spices hubby sent with me. They’ll make this totally real cheese hot pocket taste like something. I’m feeling a little homesick.
At least there’s Shrimp Crisps™ EXTRA SHRIMPY in the vending machine.
I went to church.
Yes, actual white Jesus church.
I got a lot out of it. For one, I got to hear how Adam and Eve represent the perfect relationship. Still not sure how the pastor got there, but whatever. Second, I got a huge bag of apples. A sort of welcome packet from the pastor himself. Third, I got a lot of strange looks and gringo pleasantries. Surprisingly, no one asked where I’m really from. Maybe this place is better than its reputation?
I learned several important things that concern me. Most concerning is that the bikers at the motel are definitely there to watch me. Not sure who they’re affiliated with. We did not exchange “biker formalities” in the parking lot, as expected. They were cold to me. Then, the pair of them, whom I’m calling Big and Hefty, proceeded to stare at me the entire service. It wasn’t until I slipped away to the bathroom and found a way to get a good look at them that I saw what was on their jackets.
A huge patch of a tree with skulls hanging from it instead of, I’m guessing, apples. Its roots are in the shape of a human body lying face up, its back arched. Strange, right? I asked Sheriff Kevin about them. He said they’re out-of-towners. I pointed out the apple patch. He paled, Lev, literally paled and suggested that maybe they’re fans of apples. It’s not the first time he’s paled in my presence.
The next important and concerning thing is that many next of kin of the deceased were at the church service. The pastor listed all ten names and those close to them stood to receive a prayer. I’d say about half of the congregation stood. Plenty of people to interview, yes?
No. No one would speak to me except the Sheriff. I followed up with him about his dead neighbor and he started crying. Maybe I came on too strong about it, as you tell me I tend to do. There I was, with a bag of apples, the town sheriff—a pillar of the community—bawling his eyes out, everyone staring at me including Big and Hefty. I don’t know when I’d felt so unwelcome before like I was some foreign host injected into a body. In this case, the body of Christ.
Sorry, couldn’t help it.
I changed tactics. I lingered until most people mosey’d on to Sunday brunch or whatever. I spoke with the pastor. He was cordial and warm, but not forthcoming. I got the feeling he was protecting his people, but from what threat? My hubby warned me something like this could happen in a place like this.
I changed tactics again, though I knew it was liable to get me in trouble. I walked around town until I found the local park. I did the routine, pretending to look for my lost ten-dollar bill. Got a couple kids to speak with me. They told me two things:
1. Don’t eat the apples.
2. Get out.
How’s that for progress?
Thank you for reading (and listening to) Adam’s Apple Pt. I. Part II coming next month! Subscribe to get it in your inbox as soon as it’s available.
Leave a comment on what you think will happen next!🍎 What do the apples mean?
🍎 What kind of cult is Jordan dealing with?
🍎 Is she really in danger or is she paranoid?
Until next time, Realm Walkers, you’re reading Realms.
January 12, 2024
Realms Reviews The Narrow Road Between Desires
Hello and Welcome to Realms Reviews!
Realms is a fantasy and sci-fi newsletter. I’m Zach, the writer and narrator of this publication. I consume tons of sci-fi and fantasy media that I think everyone should know about. In these two genres, I’ll be reviewing books, video games, podcasts, films, and TV shows.
And just like Realms’ short stories, you’ll get reviews once a month. Never on the same week as a short story.
And here’s what I offer with my reviews:
A short, spoiler-free summary
My take and thoughts
Whether or not it’s worth your time
Notable quotes or moments.
And finally, I’ll give it a score
Speaking of…I’m stealing my scoring system from fighting video games. From best to worst, it goes: Z, S, A, B, C, D.
That said, this rating system is subjective. Any of my reviews should be taken with a grain of salt and also be the subject of your own consumption and consideration.
Recent Reviews Include:
Wake-ing Up; Creating Deeper Player Experiences in Alan Wake 2
Celeritas: An out-of-this-world sci-fi audio drama
Today, we’re reviewing the newest piece of writing from Patrick Rothfuss, The Narrow Road Between Desires.
By Patrick Rothfuss, illustration by Nate TaylorSummaryThis novella is the newest entry in Rothfuss’ well-loved Kingkiller Chronicle universe. If you talk to any of us who have read his work, you will hear two things: The Name of the Wind, his first novel, is one of the best modern fantasies you can read, and also, that we are forever waiting on the next book in the series.
The Narrow Road Between Desires is not part of the core series. It’s a novella based on a short story Rothfuss wrote awhile ago. It focuses on one of the most beloved characters, a fae named Bast, as he goes on a few adventures in and around the town of Newarre. He is a bit of a troublemaker, and he loves treasures and secrets. This novella comprises his efforts to aid and trade with the local youths.
My TakeThe Narrow Road Between Desires is a fun, quick read. For longtime fans, it brings you back into a beautifully-realized world that feels nuanced and real in a way many fantasy novels do not match. Rothfuss has a knack for turn of phrase and an ease of accessibility when it comes to understanding the world he’s created.
Compare this to the Lord of the Rings for example, where the sheer volume of names, poetry, songs, etc are daunting and can serve to dissuade readers from engaging with the world. The intricacies of these details, too, are difficult to absorb. Rothfuss makes it easy for you to dive in. He communicates crucial information clearly, from the basics like what his a character wants and what they’re like to higher concepts such as how different kinds of magic operate and how the world’s history matters to the characters at the current time of the story. Here’s a couple quotes from his main novels that explain some things:
How Sympathy, the human version of magic, operates: “The law of sympathy is one of the most basic parts of magic. It states that the more similar two objects are, the greater the sympathetic link. The greater the link, the more easily they influence each other.”
One of the gods in the novel explaining how he works: “To ash all things return, so too this flesh will burn. But I am Tehlu. Son of myself. Father of myself. I was before, and I will be after. If I am a sacrifice then it is to myself alone. And if I am needed and called in the proper ways then I will come again to judge and punish.”
That’s not to say there’s no depth of mystery in this novella. Bast is a fascinating and complex character who is easy to join with in his misadventures. He will say something that leaves your mind whirling as to what it means. Rothfuss clearly knows how to put himself in the reader’s shoes and inspire a sense of enticing mystery. The Narrow Road Between Desires is also his best writing to-date. A lot of care went into every line of this novella, requiring me to highlight a lot of text and go green with envy at his, what appears to be, effortless way with words.
If you haven’t read his first novel in this series, The Name of the Wind, I would still recommend digging in to The Narrow Road Between Desires. It’s highly accessible to new readers. If you go from there to read the other books, you will find even more joy. It might be slightly better to start with the core books, however.
I’ve read them multiple times, and listened to them on audiobook (the reader is excellent and does voices!), and they’re immersive and captivating. You can’t go wrong in diving in to Rothfuss’ world.
Plus, the more readers there are, the more pressure he has to finish the series. Not that he needs more pressure, as I get the feeling he cares so much about the quality of his writing, that any more pressure will make him stop working.
So, when you join the legions of us loyal, faithful readers, think about how good the writing is and how long it takes to realize a world as wonderful as these novels present.
Notable quotes:
“It was baffling. These creatures, fraught and frayed in their desire. A snake would never poison itself, but these folk made an art of it. They wrapped themselves in fears and wept at being blind. It was infuriating. It was enough to break a heart.”
“He had never been in conflict with his own desire before this place. It used to be so easy. Want and have. See and take. Run and chase. Thirst and slake. Now everything was complicated. So much of what he longed for he could not pursue, and every day he felt more turned from his own true…”
My Rating:S - Very worth your time and a great entry point to the other novels. It won’t disappoint. You can buy the novella or the first novel in the series with these buttons:
Buy The Narrow Road Between Desires
Let me know in the comments if you read The Narrow Road Between Desires. Tell me what you think about it!
Thank you for listening to this Realms Review! Remember to like, comment, and share so this publication can grow.
Until next time, Realm Walkers
You’re reading Realms.
