Red was Dr. Ozmand’s center of existence, and his visit to Arnelo City only reinforced it. There he saw the towering multifactories of the industrial megalopolis, thrice-modified because of new regulations, but still spitting the towers of steam and smoke that reflected along with the purple sky in his quadfocals. Seeing enough during his two hour tour, he lifted off, vitriol already brewing in his guts.

He didn’t understand why people couldn’t grasp the simple logic that this simply had to be doing damage to the towering, crimson-colored plants in the surrounding woods. He’d seen the plants shrinking back, and the harvesters had already reported lower yields. Yes, there was the matter of the drought, but it was a symptom, rather than a causality. It was as simple as that. He believed it, everyone else needed to believe it, and it simply must be so.

He landed his craft at the complex of Miren, there to speak with his compatriots, there to report more grim news to the leadership council. The need to protect the red forests had taken a life of its own, had bled like ink from the council chambers out into the minds of the people themselves. He admired those that embraced the red movement, that appreciated the need to center their lives in service of the planet, as stewards walking in its groves.

A short time later, he stood in Miren’s stone hall. He saw the projected visage of Priest Aumen, the Lord Governor’s close friend and trusted advisor, attending even though his body lay in a life support chamber two continents away.

Arumen was just another buffon mystic, but he was the Lord Governor’s close friend, his trusted confidant. This was not going to be an easy speech.

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Flash attacks are one-draft tales less than 500 words that will appear regularly on this blog, so keep checking back to see more. All tales copyright Jonathan C. Gillespie