We Are Canaries

a short story

Our daily pilgrimage through the Green makes it clear that Mother Earth has not forgiven us. Poppy always prays before we go. I gave up years ago, but Poppy is older than me. She remembers life before. She remembers when we believed in God. She bows her head every time we leave, but her wish is never granted. The Green does not recede.

Temperature rises when there is an infection. When she couldn’t smoke us out, Mother sent beasts. Her air created monsters, and her monsters kill parasites. Parasites meaning, me and Poppy.

There are only three things in this world: creature, nature, and in-between. Very little remains unaltered.

We’re careful when we leave for the surface. Poppy and I wear masks. Mother sees us as canaries. We sneak into her Green day by day, and we do not sing to guide the way. If we are quiet, she allows us. We cannot raise alarm. We cannot reveal our presence. We have to creep so she does not see us as infection.

Poppy treads lightly. Her attention never wavers. She was very young when the beasts were out for blood, but she has not forgotten their rage. She carries the gun. I carry the basket. We are hunter and gatherer. We could exist without each other.

I miss my sister terribly, even as she stalks in front of me. I will never know who she used to be. Who would she have been? I wonder if Poppy ever wishes she didn’t have to look after me. I wonder if in another life she would paint something other than the beasts.

We’ve only seen a few dangerous mutations in our area over the years, but it is better to be safe than sorry. Poppy plays canary twice over. Once for Mother, when she keeps her mouth shut, and once for me. For me, she would cry out. For me, she would fire the gun.

I once saw a devil with horns and eyes oozing from its flank, with teeth too big for its mouth. Poppy said it used to be called a deer. She cried when she had to kill it.

We are silent when we gather food from the Green. We are respectful. We cannot save anyone else from Mother, and we cannot call for help. It has to be like we were never here. We are Mother’s ghosts.

In the bunker we are more free. We play cards or read together. I often work on my book. I am making an encyclopedia of all the life we come across. Poppy says information from the old world doesn’t apply, and we have to learn this new one for ourselves. Apparently, it’s all different since the metamorphosis. Our world now is just Green and teeth, an eye for an eye, except for the fireflies. Poppy says those are still the same. We sit by the porthole at night to watch the flashing lights. Sometimes, if we are late getting back, we get to see them up close.

Our parents left books behind. I have read about coal mines. When I was little, I asked Poppy why they would send in birds in just to see if they choked. I felt sorry for them. She said she doesn’t know why. It was before her time. She said canaries were used to see if the mines were safe for humans. She says we have to pretend this world has choked us out.

Poppy says we are children of God, but I don’t think we belong to anything holy. What is a God who refuses worship? I was born with a songbird’s spirit, but I must be quiet. I cannot, must not, ever sing because Mother is always, always listening.

We cannot let her know her experiment is failing.

Cover Image - William Morris’s (1834-1896) Jasmine famous pattern