The Arcanomen

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Digital drawing. A machine. Large central disc at center resembling an astrolabe, but without any markings around the rim, and only one pointer. The disc is supported by one small leg at left of viewer and a larger apparatus at right with a large hand crack attached and a small spinning lever below the crank. All other parts are behind the central disc. At left are arrayed three smaller discs with hands of various shapes and lengths. Left top, a polyhedron with knobs and circular openings. Above center, three pointers. Right top, a ring facing forward orbited by three rings at vertical and symmetrical angles.

Who built it, none can now say.  The ancestors of our ancestor’s ancestors might have known.  But that knowledge—that name—was lost.  It faded from memory.  It even faded from myth.  How it was built, none can now say.  When and where it was built, none can now say. 

But what the machine was and why it was is a story that still remains in the collective memory of the people who are descended from those who lived in the Age of the Arcanomen.

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Note From A Triceratops

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Digital drawing. The fossil of a triceratops, seen head on from a three-quarters profile, facing left, is either etched in a sandy stone slab, or is standing in front of the slab. The slab is etched with scratches and fern leaf stems.

You think you know our story.  The asteroid.  The extinction.  The line of descendants who succeeded in taking to the air in ways we never did, never could.

I stopped writing and dropped my pen.  I glanced up at the monitor that displayed a magnified image.  And shifted my gaze over to the already withering leaf mounted on the simple light microscope. 

It was my imagination.  It had to be.

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