Captain’s Log: El siguiente relato fue escrito originalmente en inglés. Revisión y corrección por Sofía Rómoli @sofientrelibros 🪶

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Once again, I woke up early, grabbed my backpack, and rode my bike to work. The path was always the same. First, typical city chaos: cars flooding the streets, people walking unnecessarily quickly, frantic noises gradually becoming the city’s soundscape. Then, for a few blocks before getting to the office, peace. That neighborhood was a dream come true: the smell of freshly baked bread from the bakeries, cozy houses painted in pastel colors, warm people always smiling, and the tranquility of a sunny day after a big storm. The sun was always there, watching like a lonely god bored of her existence.

It felt like an oasis within the bustling urban landscape. Having that district on my way to work was a breath of fresh air. The thought of the lush green trees, in contrast with the glow of my computer screen, gave me a reason to leave my house. Every time I passed by the entrance of the neighbourhood, an old lady was sitting on the street. She seemed to be contemplating existence while petting her dog and observing passersby, like a silent guardian of the area. I often fantasize about becoming her when I retire or leave the IT world for good. The rest of my days were fairly routine: going to work, coming back home, occasionally going for a run or to the gym, and spending weekends with friends and family. When I was younger, I thought becoming an application programmer could lead me to succeed as a tech guru or a philanthropist. Today, as a project manager, I observe that the main goal of younger developers is only to fill their pockets with loads of money.

That day, I reached home at the usual hour, feeling as tired as always and still thinking of that woman and a simpler life. Without worrying about changing my clothes or doing last night’s dishes, I threw myself on the bed and closed my eyes. After a while, I started doing the chores and turned on the radio just to hear some music. Life became boring, nonsensical, I thought. 

The radio was merely background noise when I finished my chores. The music section had ended, and now an interview was taking place. After hearing some of it, I was completely drawn to the radio. The mayor Kinhav was talking about his new economic plan for the year:

“…yes, exactly. We’re working with some significant investors to bring the city a new, fully renewed economic model to make every area profitable for our society. Our main focus is the lazy areas, those neighborhoods that have fallen out of the economic production chain. First, we intend to…” 

The interviewer asked what he meant by “making every area profitable for our society.” Her voice sounded angry and helpless. His explanation was that “a global fast-food chain is coming to town”. I didn’t want to continue listening. Although I told myself I preferred to stay ignorant, to keep living my silly little life in my silly little bubble, I couldn’t sleep a wink all night. What did he mean by lazy areas? Only thinking about the old lady made me sad, imagining a “TastyBite” in front of her house came across as the worst idea possible.

A few days later, riding my bike, on my way to work, near the old lady’s house, I felt something strange that neither reason nor words could explain. 

I was on the neighborhood’s last street, about to plunge back into the city chaos, when I found myself next to the old lady’s house again. What just happened? I kept pedaling while reflecting on the possibility of having gone mad… when it happened again. Then, once more. Finally, I lost count. 

I was definitely going crazy. If not, the old lady would have seen me. I decided to talk to her the next time it happened, but she wasn’t there anymore. Instead, I found Bruno. He introduced himself as the owner of a natural shop in the district, a kind-hearted man with a soft voice who seemed to move in slow motion. He was taking his morning walk, a common habit among the community members, when I approached him. He didn’t flinch even though I appeared all of a sudden next to him. I felt nervous, about to faint, but being in his presence made me feel calm.

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed after my outburst. “Something strange happened a few minutes ago. I’m not sure how to handle it. Since you’re the only one here, I was wondering if you’ve ever experienced anything like it before.” 

Bruno smiled, he was gently trying to hide his surprise. “It is normal to experience things once in a while. Above all, we live in a complex, mean world, right? But here you are safe.” And I did feel safe, like being wrapped in a blanket I didn’t know I needed. It was inexplicable.

“Thank you”, I replied sincerely and left straight for my house, shocked at what I had experienced. Thoughts came and went; I wasn’t thinking straight, I just rode. Once at my place, I checked my phone and found almost ten messages from my boss. I had missed work, but that was the least of my problems. Things were transpiring at the moment.

The next day, I reported myself sick at work. I spent the night in forums and social media investigating people who experience similar events: UFO abduction, ghosts, black magic, quantum fluctuations, time travel… Nothing seemed to make sense, and neither do the people who commented on those cases. Maybe it was a simple burnout; that time of the year was full of deadlines, meetings, and deployments. Perhaps I just needed to grab a beer with someone.

So I did. I went for a drink with my next-door neighbor afterward. He was a laid-back man, but not particularly engaging. However, it worked for me, I could use him as a distraction. He was telling me something about his accountant job when I recognized a voice behind me. A woman and two men were whispering about the investors and the mayor’s economic plan. She was certainly the journalist enraged because of the lazy area’s usurpation. Now she sounded calm or, at least, her voice did. The two suited men made their exit, prompting me to take advantage and approach. My date kept talking about his boring stuff until he realized I was sitting at the other table. He shot me a glance that was both offensive and disappointed, but I didn’t care; I was right where I should be. 

“You’re the journalist”, I said. She gave me a look of obviousness and didn’t allow me to continue. 

“Very observant of you. I’m Samanta”, was her response. “I noticed you were listening to our conversation. It’s my job, I can tell when someone is snooping. What do you want?”

I couldn’t stop hesitating, and she could sense it. She was, in fact, an astounding journalist. Over the last couple of days, amidst my research, I took the time to investigate her. She wasn’t just involved in the media; through conducting interviews and writing incredibly impressive articles, she was also passionately engaged as an environmental activist. She even had her own NGO called “Urbzen Community”, which focused on providing citizens with a more sustainable life through recycling and waste management programs, environmental awareness campaigns, educational events on renewable energy, promotion of an eco-friendlier lifestyle, and various outreach initiatives. 

Finally, I found the courage to tell her my story. She listened carefully but, to my surprise, she laughed loudly and replied: “Are you pulling my leg? If so, thank you! I’ve had an exhausting day, and this is just what I needed.” I couldn’t help but feel disappointed; she seemed like the type who would easily grasp the situation. She recognized my discouraged face and added: “Oh, I didn’t mean to come off as mean. I understand how it feels when nobody believes you.”

“No worries”, I responded curtly, then started to regret the whole thing.

Unexpectedly, she took my phone and wrote down her number. “Here’s the plan: if you have new information or evidence suggesting something potentially dangerous is happening in that district, give me a call. In the meantime, please, take care.”

“I’ll do”, I exclaimed. She gave me a pat on the back as she left.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep at all again. I could feel that something was coming. Although I didn’t have an excuse to go to the neighborhood, I had the urge to go and protect it at all costs. Consequently, I grabbed my bike and went right away. 

The quarter felt like a different world after working hours. I was alone, able to sense the wind stroking the trees and the smell of incense coming from a distant house. The lights decorated the streets, casting a subtle bluish-gray tone and creating a high contrast of every element present, making it feel like an enchanted realm. Now and then, little birds flew from the streetlight to the trees looking for their nests. From the windows, the picture of serenity was reflected; families cooking together, kids playing with toys, friends engaged in board games, and people reading, all with tranquil expressions, embodying complete human beings experiencing the full potential of joy and existence. I wiped a tear from my cheek, realizing that I was truly a part of it and didn’t need anything else.

Following on from my realization, I examined the area looking for something out of place. I walked slowly and mindfully around every corner, trying to find any clue. I only found a reason to be alive. Nothing exceptional happened, just the realization that I didn’t need all the things I always thought I needed to be fulfilled. Yet as soon as I left, all those intense existential feelings disappeared.

In the morning, already tired of dealing with this alone, I texted Samantha and suggested we go together to the neighbourhood so she could assess the situation herself. Maybe she agreed just to stop me from bothering her. I wished she could experience the same joy of being alive—but more than that, I wished she would share it with me.

We met at Bruno’s shop later. The kind-hearted man appeared exhausted. We were waiting in front of the shop, about to go in, when he slapped the door and started yelling at us. As we approached, he responded with inexplicable anger. “Stop this! I refuse to be interviewed again. Do you think you can manipulate us? This is our neighbourhood, our home. You’re not welcome here,” he expressed in response to whether anything peculiar was happening in the vicinity.

“That was unexpected,” Samantha remarked. I didn’t answer; I wanted her to see it with her own eyes. Bruno’s behavior was totally out of place. I’ve known him for over three years, and he’s never acted so erratically.

Subsequently, we got out of there. The peaceful place that had brought me joy the night before was now a living hell. The day was sunny, hot, and tense. People were shouting at each other in the streets, sweating, walking fast, and even the pets looked anxious. Samantha gave me a look as if I might have an answer. I shrugged. She was as confused as I was, but the whole situation gave me a strong feeling, so I asked her to follow me.

“Come on,” I said, running to get out of there.

We reached the last corner of the area, the one I needed to pass through to get to work. The noon sun was hitting hard, and our bodies were tired from running. We caught our breath for a couple of minutes. And then we laughed, we couldn’t stop. Nobody was there, just the two of us on an empty street, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

At that moment, I realized she had faith in me and truly believed in my seemingly lost cause. That’s what made her an excellent activist: she would involve herself wholeheartedly in anything that made the world a better place. We held hands instinctively while I prayed for some event that would prove I wasn’t insane. And we crossed the street.

All of a sudden, we were in front of the old lady’s house. Samantha was in shock and stopped laughing—she was very serious now, just like the day she interviewed the mayor. And I wasn’t crazy. We were getting close.

The old lady was there, petting her dog, possibly contemplating existence or whatever was happening there. She greeted us with a wave and a smile.

“Hi,” Samantha politely replied, but the old lady just ignored us.

We ran straight to the corner again. And again, we found ourselves in front of the old lady’s house. We repeated this action countless times, and every single one ended the same way. The old lady didn’t seem to notice anything strange: every time we passed, she waved at us.

Both of us were stunned and incredulous. Besides, if we experienced that, it was only a matter of time before other people did too, if they didn’t already. 

“Let’s go to a quiet place,” Samantha suggested. “I’ll drive.”

Once in her car, we sat in silence for a moment. The air inside felt heavy, dense with everything we had just experienced. Samanta reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and her eyes scanned the screen. Without saying a word, she turned the phone toward me and showed me the latest headline in her feed:

“Paranormal activity discovered in the lazy areas” 

Underneath that alarming title, somewhere in the article, it stated:

“Multiple individuals claim to have experienced encounters with what they describe as ‘a magical portal’ in the peaceful neighborhoods of the city. The districts are now under special investigation led by the mayor himself. ‘This could potentially be an act of sabotage orchestrated by the residents to resist the impending industrialization of their neighborhoods. However, these dissenters must understand that economic progress, and by extension, the city’s advancement, is crucial for the growth of our society. Our top priority now is to resolve this issue promptly so we can finally proceed with our plans. The investors cannot afford any delays.’, the mayor declared.”

The news article veered into unrelated and conspiratorial topics. Unable to continue reading, we sat in the stationary car, enveloped in silence, gazing out the window. A gentle drizzle began, mirroring the softness of our hearts at that moment. I glanced at Samanta—she was deep in thought, already contacting people she knew who might help.

It was then that I realized I didn’t just admire her—I couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty. She personified everything I had never dared to be: idealistic and unwavering in her convictions. She was fully focused on reading the article, and without hesitation, I reached for her hand and held it tightly.

It was the first time in a long while that I had acted with such confidence. She met my gaze, and in that fleeting moment, we kissed. It felt as though time had stopped, as if that moment might last an eternity.

My boss was yelling something at me as I got up from the daily meeting. “I’ll email you the resignation letter,” I said, closing the door behind me. Then, as I got on my bike, I texted Samanta: ‘On my way.’

That morning, I had chosen to go back to work. I could hardly remember what I’d been doing the days before. My boss was clearly displeased, while the dev team looked elated, like a puppy greeting its owner after a long day.

During my coffee break, I got an update from Samanta: her NGO was ready to fight back against the mayor’s plans. That very day, they would begin a protest at the portal corner to stop the government physicists from investigating what was going on there. She also asked if I could help her and a few members question the neighbors to gather more information about the phenomenon. And that’s when it hit me, for the first time in my life, I had a purpose. A true, clear reason to stand for something. I was done helping boring companies manufacture false needs just to increase profits. I felt completely out of place. So I left. And I never looked back.

When I reached the portal corner, several things were happening. On one hand, some of the NGO members were attempting to prevent the physicists from getting closer. They formed a circle around the area, holding posters with messages like “Kinhav out”, “Fewer MS, more trees”, and “People aren’t for sale”. On the other hand, at the forefront, the physicists were setting up machinery to study the portal inside a tent with a sign that said “Restricted area”. I stealthily approached a small opening. As I’m not a scientist myself, I couldn’t discern exactly what they were doing, but I recognized the energy source—it resembled something I had seen before, a nuclear fusion reactor, but small-scale. Is that even feasible? Since when has science reached such a level of advancement? I felt like I had been toiling away too much in these recent years and had missed out on a great deal. Next to the reactor, there was a plethora of sophisticated computers engaged in simulating tunnel-like structures. I had witnessed too much; my heart began racing, and my hands grew clammy. An overwhelming urge to leave consumed me, yet I found myself paralyzed. I felt I was vanishing as if my particles were disintegrating in space, giving rise to a new form of matter, when someone touched my shoulder, startling me.

“Everything is alright. These days have been a roller coaster of emotions,” said Samanta, trying to calm me down with her sensible character. “I don’t have much time, yet I managed to gather some information. Kinhav’s team is attempting to persuade neighbors to sell their houses, asserting that this area is a danger zone.”

I was speechless. Despite her genuine concern, she continued: “I know it is a lot to ask, but I need even more of your help”,  hesitating as she peeked at my face before adding, “We need to uncover the issue before they do. Some neighbors are spreading rumors that there is a physicist hiding among them. Do you think you can find this guy?”. A feeling of pride washed over me; she was truly placing her trust in me.

“Of course. This cause means a lot to me. I’m not sure why, but I feel connected with this place”,  I confessed, expecting her to laugh at my sentimentality, but she didn’t. 

“You’re correct. This place has something, that’s why we need to understand.”, she replied with total rationality, stroking my hair. After thanking me, she returned with the NGO, and I began my journey to discover this mysterious physicist.

After leaving the corner, the area started to acquire its usual nostalgic calmness. One block away, nothing related to the confrontations was heard; only the soft wind, which created a dance of autumn leaves falling from the sky. The happiness that the neighborhood bestowed upon me was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I could have even passed away at that moment, and my life would have been perfect. Nonetheless, that was peculiar; a moment of logical thinking crept in and reminded me that I had completely forgotten about searching for the physicist.

Concentration was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. I wandered through the entire district, forgetting my purpose every two minutes, my mind consumed by the beauty of the world around me. The smooth smells coming from the houses, the playful antics of tiny kittens in the street, and the vast expanse of the blue sky above enveloped me completely. Why did I need to find this man? At that moment, we were exactly where we were meant to be, and I couldn’t bear the thought of squandering the present with a senseless and violent confrontation. We should have embraced the moment for all its splendor.

Nearly intoxicated by my delusion, I stumbled upon Bruno in front of the old lady’s house, knocking on her door. I approached him with a smile and inquired about the situation. “She disappeared. This conflict has taken its toll on her. An understandable behavior given the circumstances”, he responded, his voice tinged with concern. Somehow, Bruno seemed different from the calm and composed man I had met before; now, he appeared more resolute and cerebral.

“I was looking for you”, I said instinctively. A moment of clarity dawned on me. He appeared bewildered, so I added, “You’re the physicist, aren’t you?”.

Instantly, he grabbed my arm and dragged me into a quiet corner. He proceeded to tell me the most marvelous story I’ve ever heard, one that left me without a shred of doubt in his words. 

“This may sound like something out of science fiction, but it’s honestly the culmination of my life’s work. I’ve been collaborating with a group of theoretical physicists, with the support of various public and private organizations, in this research. Each of us is assigned a neighborhood around the world to spend a lifetime studying it. The only requirement is to be discreet about the project and our identity because it’s all based on pure theory and assumptions,” he concluded.

“Samanta and the NGO need to know this, Bruno. I understand this may not be your immediate concern, but you have the power to make a difference here,” I implored. “We can find a way to maintain this secret.”  

“Alright, let me make some phone calls. I might have friends who can help,” he gave in. 

I wasted no time: while Bruno was dialing, I was already calling Samanta so she could meet us urgently. As soon as she arrived, I asked Bruno to tell her everything he shared with me. He began to explain what he referred to as his own research, ‘The Greenhouses’. “So these areas are all around the world…” 

The Greenhouses were environmental events caused by nature’s need for adaptation and survival, he explained. Industrialization has progressively encroached upon an expanding portion of the planet, leading to the reduction of flora and fauna. This poses a threat to the existence of nature.

As we know, evolution is the process by which species change over time through the gradual accumulation of small genetic variations. Individuals with advantageous traits are more likely to survive and reproduce. These traits allow organisms to adapt to their environments, increasing the diversity of life we see today. Since nature is a living organism, it needs to create a way to prevent the human hand from exterminating it. 

Nature, encompassing all living organisms such as animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, and protists, as well as non-living entities like minerals, air, water, and other chemical elements, has adapted itself in the most urbanized areas to impede human influence from running over it. This was achieved through the creation of very small space-time fluctuations known as wormholes, which caused time dilation in the zone, and accordingly, altered the perception of time within its confines. Within this region, time seemed to pass at a fraction of the rate experienced elsewhere in the world.
 Another improvement was the subtle emission of various gases, such as phytoncides and ozone, which, when present in the environment, interacted with receptors in the respiratory system. These gases triggered physiological responses that promoted relaxation by reducing levels of stress hormones, like cortisol, and enhancing the production of endorphins, neurotransmitters known for their mood-boosting effects. Consequently, these natural emissions elicited a response in the brain that fostered a greater sense of contentment with nature and a simpler way of life, leading individuals to feel less inclined to engage with the modern, overwrought world.

Hence, all the fulfillment felt when passing through those neighborhoods and the mysticism of the people who live there are a consequence of this evolutionary adaptation mechanism. However, as this is a living process, it is subject to constant change to endure. Because of that, wormholes were formed at the limits of some Greenhouses around the globe, exposing all of nature’s efforts to thrive. 

“What the…,” Samanta´s eyes were wide open in awe after knowing the truth.

“Hey, so, a few minutes ago, when I was in there, I felt really weird, like totally out of it… Is that normal? It was kinda like I was high or something, but then when you grabbed me, it was like I snapped back to reality,” I asked, feeling unsure.

Bruno paused for a moment, seemingly searching for words that two non-physicists could understand. “We suspect that the Greenareas work in cycles. Every few years it undergoes some… let’s say adjustments. This means unexpected things could happen. I suspect the issue now, despite the big wormhole in that corner, is that the relaxation-inducing vapors are… encountering some troubles and maybe can make you feel immersed in the moment so you don’t leave, but don’t trust that feeling.”

“This conversation is very pleasant, and nature is truly poetic. But the ultimate problem now is that the wicked physicists are trying to fix this to serve these neighborhoods to the mayor and his investor friends on a silver platter,” asserted Samanta in a pragmatic tone.

Before we could continue chatting, a colleague from the NGO suddenly appeared, shrieking in panic. His speech was garbled, but one thing was clear: we had to go to the corner. The three of us stared at each other with apprehension, yet we didn’t hesitate to run as fast as we could. The obstacle was to overcome the Greenhouse; at this point, fluctuations and gases were in constant change, and we couldn’t predict what effect they would have on our bodies.

We ran together as if nothing strange was happening. Despite the odd circumstances, I felt normal. Running felt like my natural state, my true self: as if the entire universe was my track, and I could conquer it with every step. The neighborhood was just the beginning; the world awaited. It was as beautiful as a gift from the sky. The sun’s rays peeking out from the leaves warmed my face gently, like a caress to the soul; people smiled from inside their houses as we passed, and we felt loved. We were loved. It felt as if the cosmos loved us. All shadows, forms, and colors merged into one, radiating a tender light full of happiness. I closed my eyes and felt free for the first time in my life.

Without any kind of warning, Bruno slapped my face. “Wake up! Don’t let the vapors overwhelm you! Be strong”, he yelled just as I snapped back to reality. 

Samanta was holding my hand. Nothing seemed to disturb her; she was in her right mind, and I absolutely trusted her to take care of me. In fact, she was the only person I honestly relied on recently. My life had gradually become deplorable, but I wasn’t aware until these past weeks when the unexpected took place. The whole neighborhood affair seemed like a dream, but it gave me a reason to be alive. 

We were approaching the corner when the confusion began to fade. Near the large wormhole, the calming gases had little effect. My frenzy moderated as we approached the corner; however, I was struggling to see clearly. I felt Samanta’s sweaty hand holding onto mine. I could also hear Bruno mumbling… something about particle physics and string theory. I gradually recovered my vision. Then, I was able to see what was unfolding in front of me. The mayor, the physicists, and the government press were setting up a location to deliver the latest news. They were putting on quite a spectacle: bright lights, makeup artists, and fast-food posters invading the now-empty corner. The NGO members appeared, dispersed, as the mayor smiled for the cameras and announced, “We’re pleased to announce that we have finally revitalized this district.”

One of Samanta’s friends from the NGO came closer to convey updates. She looked more appeased than the guy who looked for us, speaking cautiously. She relayed how the police force abruptly showed up and began to suppress all the protesters in the corner, permitting them to stay only if they remained separated and ten meters apart. “Nobody resisted, although the police used brute force anyway”, she claimed, holding tears. Then, she lowered her voice and informed that apparently, the government physicists succeeded in closing the wormhole and, therefore, fixed the ‘anomaly’ in the area. Samanta began to get edgy and clenched her fist tightly as if resisting hitting someone. Bruno cast a sigh of resignation. Despite his feelings, he was trying to soothe Samantha when something distracted him: he had just spotted his eccentric friends in the crowd. 

Bruno’s friends were a man and a woman in their sixties. Both sported long, white, flowing hair, pale skin, and smelled like cigarettes. She adorned herself with numerous stone accessories, paired with skinny-fit jeans, military boots, and an eco-leather jacket. Isadora was, according to Bruno, the best computational astrophysicist alive. Her contributions to the study of the cosmic microwave background at the Max Planck Institute for Astrophysics, where she spent her career, were so groundbreaking that they deemed her a threat to the scientific community and expelled her.

Percival was more modest; he had the typical professor’s beige-toned appearance but with steampunk-like gadgets. He wore a sophisticated pair of goggles decorated with around ten types of crystals and various possible settings. After completing his degree in quantum mechanics, he never pursued a conventional institutional job. Instead, he chose to isolate himself in a remote location to conduct independent research. They met around forty years ago, quite by chance, just a few blocks from the Max Planck Institute. She was on her way to work when she stumbled upon him investigating some space-time anomalies in the area. She was immediately fascinated, and they have been inseparable ever since.

“That bunch of idiots know nothing,” she presented herself and continued while lighting a cigarette, “That wormhole isn’t closed, it’s just readapting to the circumstances. We know how to handle this; we’ve been doing it for the past twenty years. We only need to wait. Nature is wise; it always wins. In the meantime, let’s grab a drink; planes make my throat dry”.

“Maybe it’s the smoking, Isa,” Bruno joked. He had relied heavily on them; they were like his scientific parents. He first encountered Percival as a private math and physics tutor during high school, and since then, he has discovered his passion. The three of them entertained Samanta and me with their witty and intellectual tales about multiverses, time travel, and dark matter during the hours spent in a seedy bar near the Greenhouse.

“So, now it’s fluctuating. The wormhole is closed because it didn’t work for its intended purpose: to prevent human interference. In a couple of hours, it should reveal its new form,” Percival explained, holding an herbal tea in his hands, making it look easy. He was passionate about the Greenhouses, so much so that he spent almost his entire life exploring them around the globe. The stories were as intriguing as they were terrifying. The first time he stumbled upon one was during a vacation in Budapest. He was a young backpacker wandering around the city when he suddenly felt a rush, and he was really on top of his game when it came to altered states of consciousness. That sensation engrossed him profoundly, and he became obsessed. Since then, he has traveled to more than twenty countries and explored almost a hundred confirmed Greenhouses. After regaling us with all his adventures, he concluded, “It’s time, let’s go.”

Time spent in that bar felt as cozy as being in a Greenhouse, but even better because I knew it was genuine. Those people felt like the family I’ve never had; we could have chatted for hours without getting bored. However, we had to move on, and I felt more convinced than ever that I was on the right path: immersing myself in this cause, leaving my job behind, and reshaping my life entirely. Slowly, we made our way to the corner to see if any new manifestation emerged. Upon stepping into the affected area, I braced myself for a sense of astonishment, yet it appeared that either the gases had dissipated or the fluctuations had shifted. 

“You’re more confident now, that’s why the gases don’t affect you anymore. Nature knows when and how to dispel its tricks,” explained Bruno after he noticed my tranquility. 

“But… doesn’t nature have tricks for the mayor and his team?” I asked innocently.

“It’s not that simple,” Isadora intervened with her rough voice. “Greenhouses have a status quo that lasts a couple of years, maybe six or seven. At the end of each cycle, things start to mess up to readapt the area to the current circumstances. It’s a survival mechanism. The world changes, Greenhouses need to change too. Each time they do it differently depending on geography, society, and, of course, politics. Anyway, until now, the status quo always comes back, you know, the relaxing vapors and the micro wormholes… I think we’re not complex enough for an advanced evolution.”

It was almost 2 AM when we reached the corner. It was empty and desolate; everyone had already left, their confidence in their solution evident as they had even taken back their machinery. And at first, I thought they were right and that we had lost. Then, I saw it. We all approached at the same time, amazed and scared by what we were witnessing.
Hovering ethereally in the air, a diminutive portal, scarcely 20cm in diameter. Within this mystic aperture, a tapestry of apocalyptic visions unfurls—a symphony of chaos and catastrophe. Scenes of natural disasters, storms, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis unfold within, offering glimpses of a potential alternate future, where society and civilization as we know them were destroyed. These images served as stark reminders of the fragility of our existence, depicting a world marred by the consequences of our actions.

As we stood before this portal, we were confronted with the weight of the choices made by those in power. That cataclysmic picture was a threat from the Greenhouse to prevent the mayor from continuing his economic plan and ruining that particular nature’s breathing point. We didn’t know if it was true or just a mind game. Perhaps it was just the fear of the unknown. We ended up leaving without making any comments. 

Samanta invited me to her house, and we spent the night crying, laughing, and wondering if everything was just a dream. She lived in a tiny – clean yet messy – studio apartment and claimed she didn’t need more space because she was never home. The flat featured a huge sofa bed, with a small table on wheels positioned near the bed, filled with chocolates and two cups of hot coffee. We got drunk on sugar and fell asleep, hugging each other as if the world wasn’t ending. 

Still half-dreaming, I woke up early to the smell of banana pancakes. Samanta was singing as she cooked while a gentle sunbeam streamed through the one huge window in the apartment. My gut told me it was going to be a good day. Happily, I went up to her and hugged her from behind. “Good morning,” I whispered in her ear, and she turned around excitedly.

“Check your phone. I sent you a few links,” she replied with more eagerness. Rapidly, I grabbed my phone, which was still on the bed. The first link was a news article about the withdrawal of the investors:

“Kinhav’s jokes send investors packing

…the renowned fast-food brand, which had previously pledged support for the city’s economic plan, has now withdrawn its backing. According to reports, the company’s decision follows concerns raised by investors after the Mayor’s claims of encountering a portal displaying apocalyptic images in a potential commercial neighborhood. The sudden withdrawal has left many investors incensed and angry. “We’ve waited too long. This was supposed to be a practical proposal, but all we got was fantasy tales and superstitious quackery,” asserted the director of the board.”

Although I needed to see the next link, I already felt delighted. “It gets better,” claimed Samanta from the kitchen. And she was right. The other link was a YouTube video where the mayor talked in an interview about the portal encounter. His previously pristine appearance had vanished; now he looked disheveled and sleep-deprived. The interviewer chuckled while speaking, and people began to mock him on social media. After this episode, he began to lose popularity and support from a significant portion of society.

“Samanta… all of this… does it mean that…” I paused, feeling a little confused. “Does it mean that the portal is actually closed? Is it possible that some people see it while others can’t? Are we sane?” My hands started shaking. Handling these kinds of situations was a whole new world for me.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath,” but I couldn’t. As everything started to feel like it was coming to an end, it began to feel surreal, as if it never happened. My job, my life, my mental health, all were compromised while I was playing savior.

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in right now. I’ve been there, I know how it is. Trust me, I’m here for you, and we’ll figure this out together. But for now, you have to get dressed and put on your best face because we’re going to meet Bruno and his… scientific parents in the Greenhouse.” Her words were a gentle embrace, carrying me onward.

We all gathered in the corner. It was a peaceful Sunday morning; the neighborhood appeared tranquil. People strolled leisurely with their pets, children played happily in the street, and families enjoyed the warmth of their homes. Everyone greeted us warmly. Yet, we felt like five static ghosts, silently observing the empty street.

“We have a theory,” Percival began before anyone else could speak. “When the mayor spoke to the press about the apocalyptic portal, investors thought it was just a ploy to delay property sales, so they withdrew. Simultaneously, people began to lose faith in the mayor, rendering their plans unfeasible. At least for now…”

“That’s why the portal is closed now; the Greenhouse is no longer in danger, and the status quo has been restored,” concluded Isadora.

Physics wasn’t my first language, but I began to understand. “That is, as the present changes, the future images we saw no longer exist?” I asked. 

“We may never find out,” Bruno declared in a mystic tone. 

“I’ve said it before; nature is wise,” Isadora remarked while lighting another cigarette. 

Once again, I woke up.