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July 21, 2024 36 mins

Margaret reads you a story about what enormous love it will take to rebuild the world and take back what's ours from the powerful.

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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Cool Zone Media book Club book Club book Club. It's
the Cool Zone Media book Club. That's our new intro.
I'm totally gonna get it exactly the same from now on.
I'm very good at consistently making up ditties. Welcome to

(00:21):
the Cool Zone Media book Club. I'm your host, Marta
at Kiljoy and every Sunday I read you a story.
It's like a book club, only you don't have to
do the reading because I do it for you. And
we read fiction and sometimes we read stories that are
like the perfect story for Cool Zone Media book Club.
Sometimes we read stories like the one today Today is

(00:44):
an example of one of the perfect stories in case
that didn't come across. Because today I'm going to read
you a story called The Orchard of Tomorrow by Kelseyu.
Who's Kelseu? Well, i'll read you her bio Kelsey You.
He is a Taiwanese Chinese American writer who is eternally
enthusiastic about sharks and appreciates a good ghost story. Over

(01:06):
a dozen of her short stories and essays appear in
Clark's World, Apex, Nightmare, Fantasy, Pseudopod, and elsewhere. Her debut
novella Bound Feet was a Shirley Jackson Award nominee, and
her next novella, Demon Song, will be published by Titan
Books in twenty twenty five. Kelsey's first novel, It's Only
a Game, is published by Bloomsbury. Find her on Instagram

(01:28):
and Twitter at a novel Escape, or visit her website
kelseu dot com. Her name is spelled k E l
sa yu dot com. Kelsey lives in the Pacific Northwest
with her husband, children and a pile of art supplies.
And as one Shirley Jackson Award nominee to another, did

(01:53):
you get the rock? One of the coolest things about
the Shirley Jackson Award is that if you're nominated, they
give you a rock that's engraved with you know, Shirley
Jackson Award nominee, like whatever year. And it makes me
really happy because it's a clever joke about the story
of the lottery. Ooh, I wonder if I can read
that to you all one day. I don't know to

(02:14):
figure it out, but this story that I'm about to
read to you, The Orchard of Tomorrow, originally appeared in
Clark's World magazine in July twenty twenty three, and I
just want to shout out. Neil Clark is the editor
of Clark's World. Neil keeps winning well deserved awards for
his work. He's one of the best editors in speculative fiction,

(02:35):
and honestly, like, if this is the only place you
get your stories, that's great. I love the stories that
I read to you. But there are a bunch of
really good speculative fiction magazines out there right now. Like
we are actually living in a golden era of short fiction,
which is interesting. We are not in a golden era
of short fiction readership. We are in a golden era

(02:58):
of short fiction authorship and published ship. We're also not
in a golden era of Margaret making up words. We're
in a pretty mediocre era of that. But I highly
recommend Clark's World, Strange Horizons. I don't know, it's just
the magazines that are out right now full of good stuff.

(03:19):
You should read them if you like stories, which you
probably do, or you wouldn't be listening to this The
Orchard of Tomorrow by Kelsey U in the rich even
tide glow, I wait for her in the place where
the peaches once grew, mouth watering, little golden dusts to
signal the arrival of summer. Hefty o Henry's skin, dark

(03:42):
as rust honey, yellow flesh bursting with flavor, Dainty summer ladies,
impossible to eat without juice dripping down your chin, and
reliably sapid fair times to close out the season. As
our elders tell it, this orchard was once bursting with
variety of the fuzzy skinned fruit. I kneel down, dig

(04:04):
my fingers into the soil, and scoop up a handful.
It's dry, too dry, and it crumbles in my hand.
I close my fist, sweat from my palm, soaking the
dirt as I try to imagine a time when the
ground was rich with nutrients, when the landscape was filled
with ripening peach trees, silhouettes full and dark against the

(04:25):
twilight sky, When my grandparents' backs and arms ached something
fierce after a full day of picking fruit. All I had,
all Laine and I ever had, were stories to show
us what the world had been like. The sun dips
below the horizon, and my hope sinks with it. So

(04:45):
much has changed in all the time that's passed, but
her haunts remain the same. I would rather have sat
outside her place, the one that was once upon a
time my home too, and awaited her return. But I
knew I should give her the choice to see me
or not. After eight years apart and everything I said
to her when we last spoke, it's the least I

(05:07):
owe her, So I shoved a note under her door.
Meet me at the orchard at sunset. It was the
right thing to do. Yet here I am, now, in
the gloaming, all alone. I unclenched my fist and a
dead beetle tumbles out with the clumped dirt. It lies
belly up on the ground that once teemed with its kind.

(05:31):
I brush my hands off and reach into the pocket
of my thin coat, checking to make sure it's still there.
The surprise I've saved for Lane, the one that might
be my saving grace if she gives me the chance
to show her. I turn, making my way toward the
tree at the edge of the field, the lone survivor.

(05:52):
It's bare and a fruit now, but it's still standing,
leaning back against its trunk. I close my eyes, thinking
of when Lay and I spent all our days whispering
secret dreams for a hopeful future. So what you're back
Now I open my eyes to see a hollow, cheeked
version of Lane, wraith like and disconnected from the version

(06:13):
of her that lives in my memory. Her sloppily patched
shirt is too large, hanging strangely on her bony shoulders.
Eight long years, filled with who knows how many hungry days,
hungry nights, have whittled her away to this. Guilt twists
in my gut, leaving me momentarily speechless. If she's shocked

(06:35):
by how different I am, it shows only in the
slight narrowing of her eyes, the same warm brown as
I remember, but ringed with dark circles. Now Lane was
always closed off to anyone outside her tight circle, and
I'm no longer snugly on the inside. I suck in
a breath, sharp with the pain of distance between us.

(06:56):
This is a waste of time. She turns to leave.
The movement is so like her, so very lame, that
it reminds me of how things used to be, of
why I'm here when I made her angry too many
times near the end, she did this. She was usually
the one to run from our fights first, but she

(07:18):
always came back, unlike me. I reach out to grab
her sleeve. Lane. Wait, She crosses her arms. What do
you want to go back to the way things were?
I bite back the words. I miss you. Want to
share a tale with you? It's a dirty trick. The

(07:41):
Terrible Winter. After Lane's parents died in a flash flood,
she moved in with me and mom. On cold nights,
when Lane's grief threatened to swallow her hole, Mom would
wrap us up in blankets and tell us stories of
Swan Wukong, the monkey King. I see longing cross Lane's face.
Then she straightens, her veil of indifference falls back into place.

(08:02):
She pulls away, forcing me to let go of her sleeve.
I don't want to hear it. Please, I say, Andrea, Please.
She sighs, and I still know her well enough to
know it's a victory. However, small, somewhere inside the prickly
creature standing before me, the ghost of my former best

(08:22):
friend lives on. In the celestial gardens of Shi Wong Mu,
the Queen Mother of the West, three types of peaches
of immortality grew. The first bloomed but once every three
thousand years, granting an extension of life equal to its
growth time to anyone who consumed one. The second grew
for six thousand years, offering immortality and strength of body.

(08:47):
The third ripened every nine thousand years, and its gifts
were the most precious of them all. For the consumer
of the rarest peach would become as eternal as the
sky above and the earth below, and live as long
as the fiery Sun and the frigid moon. To celebrate
the ripening of the peaches, Shi Wong Mu and her
husband Yu Wong, the Jade Emperor, would invite all the

(09:10):
deities to their Azure banquet hall on Mount Kunlan for
a magnificent gathering. There they would present the peaches of
immortality for all to partake, thereby ensuring the deity's continual
immutable existence. In the brief space of my tail, Lane's
eyes have grown wide and attentive. Her arms are still crossed,

(09:32):
but her posture has loosened. I can't help myself. I
shift toward her. The movement so slight, I hope she
won't notice. Instantly she's on guard. Lane steps backward as
if I'm a creature bearing fangs. Her shoulders stiffened, and
she presses her arms tightly together again, narrows her eyes
as if to remind herself to stay wary. When she speaks,

(09:56):
her voice is pure ice. Let me guess you learned
that story from one of the dragons. She spits, the
diminutive that we and most other common porn folk used
to refer to the world's wealthy elite. I WinCE, No,
it's not like that. Did you enjoy it there? Waking

(10:17):
up on a clean, fluffy bed every morning for eight years,
eating your fill each meal, and spending your leisure time
enjoying all the things they stole from us, everything they
hoarded in their precious locked towers so they could continue
to live in comfort while the rest of us died
for scraps. Lane's voice breaks at the end, her choked sobs,

(10:38):
A thing with spikes lodging itself deep inside my heart.
This is so much worse than the way she screamed
at me when I first told her the dragons had
offered me a job in one of their distant preservation greenhouses.
Back then, Lane and I spent most of our days
doing any work we could find in exchange for food
and basic comforts. Her mom, for her, for me. Whenever

(11:01):
we had moments free. My mom would rest at home
while Laine would visit the elders in the community, listening
to their stories as she helped them in any way
she could. I, meanwhile, spent my time applying the knowledge
passed down through my family, trying to work out how
to restore the damaged soil so it would grow things again.

(11:21):
The planter at our tiny shared house had barely begun
to sprout my first successful attempt when a recruiter showed up.
Lane was gone. Knowing the dragons as I do now,
he likely waited until I was alone to approach me.
I took in his clean tailored clothes, his rosy cheeks,
untroubled eyes, and perfectly styled hair, the disdainful look he

(11:43):
directed at the home I shared with the ones I
loved most, and I told him to go to hell. Sure,
he said, with a dismissive little laugh, I'll do that,
but first you'll want to hear this. We can give
you all the resources you need to grow things, real things,
not this child's play. Your grandparents were farmers, right, I

(12:05):
glared at him. They had an orchard back before the
world broke, before assholes like you came and took the
last of their fruiting trees. And exchange for resources that
should be freely shared. Now get the hell out. I
was ready to run inside, grab my Almah's old shovel
and smack him on the head. Consequences be damned. And

(12:25):
then he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I
did enjoy it for a time. I finally admit to
Lane thinking about the day I entered the Dragon's Lair.
I won't lie to her. At first, it was a relief.
Lane stares at me, and I'm afraid I've made things
even worse. But she doesn't say anything, so I go on.

(12:47):
I it's useless to describe what it felt like to
get a full night sleep, to have so much food
available that I gorged myself sick for a week before
learning to take it slow, to know my mom would
stay alive for three more years thanks to the pills
the Dragon's horse for themselves. I can't say any of it.
Laine would only hate me all the more, so I
say the only thing I can say. I missed you, Blaane.

(13:09):
I'm sorry I left. She presses her lips together and
turns away. She's tense, agitated, fingernails digging into her own
arms and she's about to begin pacing. I can't tell
if I'm closer to regaining her trust or losing her forever.
So I begin the next part of the story knowing
it'll be hard for her to resist a tale about
the one character she always loved hearing about the most,

(13:32):
which is these ads. No, it's not part of the story.
I just there's ads and they come here that This
is where the ads go. This is where the first
of the two breaks go. I trust you to find
the four to fifteen second button. I mean, listen to
these wonderful deals that we all believe in. Here they
are and we're back. In the course of his journey

(14:04):
to the West, Swoon Wu Kong angers several gods and
gains heavenly powers, thus attracting the attention of the Jade Emperor.
At first, Hu Wong appoints him Keeper of the Horses,
the lowliest position in heaven, intended as both a slight
and a means to keep him under observation. An outsider
to the deities politics, Swan Wukong does not immediately recognize

(14:26):
the offense. Once he learns of it, he's outraged to
contain the vengeful, destructive monkey, Hu Wong sends a band
of his celestial warriors, but Swong Wukong defeats them all.
In doing so, much to Huong's chagrin, Sun Wukong earns
himself the revered position as guardian of Chi Wang Mu's
private orchards. Swang Wukong is pleased with his new role,

(14:50):
having witnessed a fellow monkey die of old age earlier
in his adventures. He fears death. He will do anything
to avoid it, and his fortune is great for his
appointment coincides with the rare ripening of the precious fruit.
He watches as preparations begin for the banquet, anticipating both
the taste of heavenly fruit and an end to his mortality.

(15:11):
For surely, as protector of the peaches, he is guaranteed
a spot at the table. Yet the feast of peaches
approaches and still no invitation arrives. Swoon Hou Koon thinks
of the peaches of immortality laid out on a serving
dish in the azure banquet hall, awaiting the arrival of
Chi Wong Mu's honoured guests. He thinks of the way

(15:34):
that gods slight him at every opportunity. He thinks about
how they never wanted him here, and how now that
he's forced his way in, they still find ways to
exclude him, and he finds a way to sneak inside.
Lane's eyes are a war zone, torn between the hurt
that must have been festering during our time apart and

(15:54):
the legend of the Monkey King. She loves so much,
and this tale is new to her. I discovered a
translated copy of Journey to the West in the Dragon's
library the month after Mom died. Each night, curled up
alone in on my warm, cozy bed, I read. If
I held the book at just the right angle, kept

(16:15):
him only my bedside lamp on, and turned away from
the empty bed on the other side of the room,
I could almost pretend Mom was still there, just out
of sight, softly snoring as I whiled away the evening.
Weeks passed before I read far enough to discover the
tale of Swan Wu Kong and the Peaches of Immortality,
a tale Mom never told me. In Lane, despite the

(16:37):
fruit at the heart of it, Despite my grandparents peach orchard,
this one where my mom and Lane's mom grew up
playing together while their parents picked fruit, Or maybe because
of this orchard. When Lane and I were a ten
and eleven. Lane's mom told us about the scorching hot
summer when a wild fire destroyed most of the peach trees.

(17:00):
The way the sickly scent of charred fruit and thick
miasma of smoke lingered for days, The way volunteers from
town came over to help glean the salvageable fruit and
discard the ruined ones, to call the dead trees and
cut the rotten bits from the ones that could be saved,
To make jokes with my awe Gong, to distract him
from the pain of seeing his precious trees charred to ash,

(17:22):
and bring my Almah discreet tissues to soak up the
tears she pretended she hadn't shed. Lane's mom was the
one to tell us because decades after the fire, it
was still too painful for my mom our grandparents to
speak of. And even though it was my family's history,
my family's tragedy, Lane, as much as I soaked up

(17:42):
every word, it was Laine who wanted to write what
she saw was a terrible wrong. It was Laine who
wanted to bring the orchards back to life, to restore
the land to what it had once been. It was
Laine who first suggested it would be worth trying to
restore the soil, revitalized the land, to pick up the
work my mom had begun before she had me, The

(18:03):
work Mom would have continued once I was grown, had
she not become ill. It's Lane who stands before me,
now surrounded by the ghosts of my family's peach trees
in the orchard that my grandparents had once thought would
sustain my family forever. Why are you telling me this tale,
she asks, voice wavering between confusion and anger. Did she

(18:27):
did your mom? Is this one of her stories? Mom
died five years ago. My voice is even. I've learned
to mask the ache that accompanies those words. Lane worries.
Her lip bites back a tear. I'm sorry, Andrea, I nod,
but I'm frustrated with myself. I would do almost anything
to repair Lane's in my friendship, but I won't use

(18:49):
Mom's death. I won't use Lane's compassion, her grief, her
sympathy to my advantage. She didn't tell me about the
peaches of immortality. I learned about them later. Lane stiffens,
her voice grows hard again. The dragons they had a library,
and Lane kicks the base of the tree hard enough

(19:10):
to make me flinch. A fucking course, a private little
library they keep for themselves and their sick offense. How
did it feel to work for them, to help them
preserve the fruits they plundered from us, from farmers like
your grandparents, to keep safe in their walled off greenhouses.
How did it feel to read the stories they made
sure to save, to collect for themselves under the claim

(19:31):
of preserving knowledge for the good of humanity? Why are
you really here? Did they finally let you off your
leash for one evening? Or are you on some mission
for them? You know what, Andrea, it doesn't matter. I
don't need you anymore. I'm done. Lane turns and strides off. Lane.
I left, I left my work there. I'm done with them.

(19:53):
She stops for a second, but doesn't turn around. I
see her take a deep breath. Then she shakes her
head as if to remind herself she's done with me,
and starts off again. I hurry to catch up. I
didn't just leave, I call out after her. I also
stole something precious from them. This time she does turn around.

(20:13):
You did what? Let me finish the tale? Please, then
I'll tell you everything fine, but I'm gonna keep walking,
all right. I walk alongside lane, hoping like hell it
isn't the last time I get the chance. Swan Wou
Kong eyes the centerpiece of the celestial banquet table, a

(20:34):
bowl of eternal peaches, larger than any earthly peach, perfectly
proportioned and plump with juice. His stomach growls something fierce,
and his heart fills with longing for the fruit of
the gods. The key to shedding his mortality lies within reach.
He takes one, waiting for Hu Wong to appear in
a rage, for a band of celestial warriors to attack,

(20:56):
for the guests to arrive and show their outrage in
any number of ways, but no one stops him. Swan
Wu Kong eats the peach of immortality. One is all
he needs, One is all anyone has ever needed. But
he eyes the bowl of precious fruit grown in Si
wang Mu's sacred guarded garden, hidden away and cultivated for

(21:19):
her innermost circle, a guarantee that they'll stay eternal, stay
in power, a gift for those who already have everything.
The peaches are not meant for folk like him, Swan
Wu Kong eats another peach, then another, his heart hardening
with each bite. He's full to bursting, so full that
hunger is not but a distant memory. But he keeps

(21:40):
eating until he's finished every last one. He washes them
down with a vessel of heavenly wine, and just to
spite them further, he seeks out the corner of Lautza,
the father of Taoism, and steals his infamous pills of immortality.
Swan Wu Kong swallows those two before he leaves shi
Wang Mu Palace. He knows that what the hell? Andrea

(22:04):
Lane interrupts, Is this supposed to be some sort of allegory?
Are you supposed to be Swan Who Kong, the heroic
monkey king who stole something precious from the corrupt elite?
Are you going to try to convince me you work
there because you wanted to get close to them, to
do something for good for us commoners. Lane's practically breathing fire.
She's so angry. You know, when I saw your note,

(22:24):
I wondered how you'd play it. Half the reason I'm
here is because I wanted to know what excuse you'd
come up with. Now I know you're going to paint
yourself as some sort of fucking martyr. At least I
win that bet with myself. No, Lane, I don't think
I'm the goddamn monkey king. I know I have no
right to be mad, but her accusations cut away at
my self control. My words tumble out unvarnished. Of course,

(22:46):
I don't fucking think I'm Swan Wokong. And he wasn't
doing it for the common good? Didn't you listen to
the story? He was selfish as fuck. He only wanted
to take because he was pissed that he wasn't invited.
Everything else was a justification, unlike these ads that have
no justification for being here except for the way our
economic system works. Here's ads, and we're back. Then? Why

(23:25):
bother telling me the story? Is it because you think
I sit around all day and daydream about stories, because
I'm a dreamer who doesn't understand what the real world demands.
That sometimes people have to give up childish ideals in
favor of security and shelter and medicine. That things are
more complicated than I'm willing to admit. That some people
grow up and grow out of being dreamers, while others
let themselves get left behind, until all they have are

(23:48):
dreams worth less than poisoned dirt. Her words steal away
my anger, my breath, because they're not her words. They're mine,
thrown at her in anger on that last day before
I left to work for the dragons. She says it
like she's repeated the words in her head a thousand times,

(24:09):
like she replays them in her mind before she goes
to sleep, like every word is a fact, an inarguable truth,
a bludgeon. Her words hit me the same way my
first taste of ripe, juicy peach did four months ago,
the moment that knocked me from my comfortable complacency, that
reminded me of how much I love the woman before me,

(24:31):
who should have been there to taste that wonderful fruit
we once dreamed we'd share some day when we'd regrown
the peach trees. I feel it again, the self loathing
for every fiber of my well rested, well fed being,
not only because I was willing to leave her behind,
but because I was willing to stay long after I
should have left the dragons. I want to crawl into

(24:54):
a dark hole in the ground and wait there until
my body grows still, my flesh cold, and I'm nothing
but meat and bones, feeding the insects. I almost turned
to leave again, but Laine deserves better. Lane always deserved
better than I gave her. I'm sorry. The words are

(25:14):
a drop of water on a forest fire, as pointless
as staying silent. I wish I could take back what
I did. All I can do is tell you that
I was wrong. I was absolutely wrong. I know her
words cleave mine, sudden and vehement. No, she says again,
that's the worst fucking part that you were right when

(25:35):
you left. I had nothing without you. My dreams felt worthless,
all the things I thought we could do to change
the world. She shakes her head. I've gone so many
days without food, seeing so many people suffer and die
because of the greed of people like the dragons, And
as much as I want to say, all it did
was make me more determined, that would be a goddamn lie.

(25:57):
Sometimes I wonder why bother or too small to change anything.
We're too insignificant to do anything but do what we
can to survive. She lowers her voice to a whisper,
and she won't look at me. Too many nights I
lay awake, wishing had gone with you. I put my
hands on Lane's shoulders to stop her in her tracks,

(26:18):
because I can't let her go another moment, believing this,
because it breaks me to see her so broken. Lane
doesn't pull away. She's shaking, and when I draw her close,
I realize she's sobbing with her entire body. There's so
little of her left. I hug her, and she cries
on my shoulder, the same way she did half our

(26:38):
lives ago, the day she showed up at my house
newly orphaned, face a wreck of blotchy tears. I listen
now as she tells me how the last few years
have been especially hard, so goddamned heart, I swallow a
reply when she whispers that this doesn't mean that she
forgives me. I wait until her tears run, until she

(27:00):
wipes her face on the hem of her shirt, until
she's spent, Lane, I say, and she looks up. You
weren't wrong. Laane starts to shake her head, but it's
half hearted, like she's too tired to care anymore. I
put more force into my voice. I need her to
know I'm not just saying it. I'm the one who

(27:22):
was wrong. We need dreamers. We need people like you
who can imagine the way things could be. Dragons think
they're the only ones who are truly free because they've
shackled everyone else. They think that access to all the
world's most precious things makes their lives richer, fuller. But
all they've done is create private, little fortresses of fear.
They play petty games with each other because they fear

(27:45):
one another too. They've taken everything, and so they're afraid
to lose anything. I wish I could say that I
regret my choice to leave. I can't not when that
choice gave my mom three more years. Shouldn't have said
the shit I said just to make myself feel better
about what I was doing. I shouldn't have stayed for
five years after she died. I want to say I

(28:08):
did it because I had some grand plan to learn
what I could from them and upend everything. But the
truth is I got comfortable. I told myself the security
was worth it. Leariness has seeped back into Lane's expression,
but she doesn't leave. At least she's listening. People like
me lack imagination. I swallow hard. It's not an admission.

(28:31):
I like to make people like me. Can only see
what's right in front of them. Sometimes you never could
see the orchards the way I could. I look around,
trying to picture the trees the way they were in
Lane's mom's stories. I wished for so long that I could.
I say, Lane's sighs. It's a long, weary sound. What

(28:53):
does it matter anymore, It makes no difference if you
regret it or not. It happened. You left, I stayed.
We're here now, and it's too late. The world has
only gotten worse. There's nothing to come back to. All
my dreams crumbled to dust, just like you knew they would.
You should have stayed where you were. I shake my head.

(29:15):
There are two things I learned there in the dragon's enclave.
First that the fruit of today never tastes quite like
the fruit of yesterday. Thanks to breeding, to natural selection,
to climate change, fruit evolved in taste and texture over time.
There's evidence that peaches were domesticated as far back as
eight thousand years ago in northwest China. But those ancient
Chinese peaches, they're gone forever. She eyes me, okay. And Second,

(29:42):
there is one good thing about the dragons. Lane's lips
turned down. I almost laugh at the skepticism radiating off her.
Oh yeah, what the hell is good about them? They
keep really good records on how to care for their
precious things. I pull something from my pocket and hand
it to her. Lane's eyes narrow, but she accepts the

(30:03):
small journal filled with the notes I memorized and painstakingly
copied from the Dragon's records over the course of the
last four months. Her brows furrow. What's this? I hand
her the other item from my pocket, the thing I've
been saving, hoping it'll be enough, A small cloth wrapped bundle.
She unravels the cloth, and her breath catches. Is that

(30:27):
is it? What I think it is? The wonder in
her voice makes everything that went into this moment worth it.
It is. Lane turns over the ridged, blush pink peach pit,
running her fingers over its smooth grooves. She wipes her
eyes and laughs involuntarily, a little hiccup of a thing,
and then her shoulders slouch again. But it's a waste.

(30:51):
You should have smuggled out food in medicine. That's what
we need most. I did that too, She shakes her head,
still staring at the peach pit. Then why bother with
this one tree won't change the world. Besides, it's not
just that the dragons stole the last fertile peach trees.
It's that this soil won't grow them anymore. Your grandparents
orchard will never go back to what it used to be. No,

(31:15):
it won't, I say, surprise alights Lane's face. It probably won't,
I amend. Maybe someday the peaches will return here. But
there are pockets of the world that it will still
be able to grow them, or places that will be
able to grow them for the first time. This isn't
the only peach pit or the only fruit we want
to bring back to the world. Outside the dragon's protective

(31:37):
little bubbles, there are many of us, so many more
than I ever could have imagined, smuggling out the things
they hoard, the plants, the animals, the stories, the technology.
Others are fighting in small ways, setting up a future
where we take back what is ours. But this is
part of it. People wrote stories about fruit trees, built

(31:59):
legends around them because they mattered. You were right to dream. Lane.
Hope flares in her eyes, and it's the most beautiful thing.
We'll travel find a spot for this pit. I have
a few places we can start. I gesture towards the notebook,
and Lane hands it back to me absently. And if

(32:19):
those ones don't work, we'll find another and try again.
We'll test them, we'll grow them, We'll keep trying. We'll
do anything we can. Our world is never going back
to what it used to be. Peaches aren't what they
used to be. But with a lot of effort and
a little luck, maybe you and I will be the
first to taste the peaches from the orchard of tomorrow.

(32:41):
I reach out my hand, throat tight with hope. I
don't deserve a second chance, but Lane was always a
better person than I. Laane looks at me a gaze
that pierces me through. Then she looks beyond me. She
takes several deep breaths, and I brace myself for her refusal,
for the pain I know I deserve. This time, she'll
be the one to walk away. She wraps the precious

(33:04):
pit back up in the cloth and tucks it away,
and she places her hand in mine, and though her
skin is cold, warmth floods me, lighting up my entire body.
She glances my way, and her expression is still wary,
still uncertain, but she doesn't loosen her grip or let go.
You are going to tell me the end of that,

(33:24):
swan mu kong taale right. I smile at her, blinking
back the tears that fill my eyes. I'll tell you
on the way. I'll tell you every tale I read.
She squeezes her hand in mine, and together we take
our first steps towards the place where the peaches will
grow once more. And that's the story. I hope you

(33:45):
all liked it half as much as I did, because
then you still liked it a lot.

Speaker 2 (33:50):
I don't know.

Speaker 1 (33:51):
It's funny, like you know, I usually have so much
to say about these stories. And one thing I like
about this writing is that it's just clear right. There's allegories,
there's like thoughts and concepts in it and stuff, and
they're just written in a way where you don't need
to like really dig in to be like I wonder
what this one little thing here means or whatever you

(34:15):
just know. And it's also not heavy handed, like I think,
this is an amazingly well read, well written story. I
must said, well read story, and you know well that too.
I don't know, I have no idea if I did well,
but whatever So if you enjoyed this story, if you
go to Kelseyu's website, which is k E L s

(34:36):
e a yu dot com, all of her publications are
listed and linked there, so you can read so much
more of her work. And when I asked her what
she wanted to tell you all, like what's a plug here?
At the end, she said, the story's most likely to
fit a similar audience as the Orchard of Tomorrow are

(34:58):
in memories, We Drown from Clerk's wor World, a scarcity
of sharks in Reckoning, and Harvest of the Deep in fantasy.
I have two books out Bound Feet, which is a
horror novella and It's Only a Game, which is a
young adult thriller that just came out last Tuesday. And
I have another horror novella coming out next fall with

(35:19):
Titan that's called Demon Song. It also ties in Swan
Wu Kong and Chinese folklore, so anyone interested in that
story element might enjoy it. And I'm looking forward to
finding those books. They seem really good. All right. Well,
if you listen to this on Cool People Did Cool Stuff,
you should also check out it could happen here. And

(35:41):
if you listen to this on It Could Happen Here.
You should also check out cool People Who Did Cool Stuff.
I'm Margaret Kildoy and I will talk to you all
next week with another episode of cool Zone Media book
club Club glubul.

Speaker 2 (35:55):
It Could Happen Here as a production of cool Zone Media.
For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visitorsite cool zonemedia
dot com or check us out on the iHeartRadio app,
Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can
find sources for It could Happen Here, updated monthly at
coolzonemedia dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening

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