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The Crisis of Life on Earth: Our Legacy from the Second Millennium

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Tim Radford

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“Sometimes things don't work out the way we hoped, despite our best intentions. And when they go pear-shaped, you have to let them. You can't keep holding on, trying to redo the past and stop the bad things from happening. They happened, and you can't change that. You can't keep holding on to the vision of the future you imagined you'd have, the way you thought things would turn out. You have to let the present be what it is---broken, flawed, painful, but real.”

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“Spring 1930 The wind whipped the little white flowers from the pear tree outside Eliza's window overlooking the garden. The flowers would not bloom again this spring. The racket those branches made was too much to sleep through, so Eliza slipped her wrap around her silken chemise and wandered over toward the window. The garden outside was dark. The garden, once so full of hope and promise, would look different in the morning, after the storm finished ravaging what was left of the February blooms. But she had already, of course, fallen in love with a different season after her mother and grandmother died in the summer. She had already adopted February over June. So she would simply have to do that again: to tell her heart to see the beauty in March or April or May. The problem, of course, occurred when the wind roared and the rains flooded everything. Nothing about this was the way she'd planned. There was nothing wrong with Robert. There was just nothing right about him either. But why would she pine for the man who'd left her behind? Why, in such uncertain times, should she cease to keep living... so preoccupied by a dream? Maybe she could find a new dream. And she always had her love for painting, so that was something, at least. When the nectar fell from the trees, she would paint it by memory.”

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“The morning sunlight seeped into Alma's bedroom, the rays reflecting off the ocean waves outside her window, but she wasn't ready to face the day yet, so instead, she snuggled under her fluffy rose-tinted comforter with her fawn-colored pug, Tequila. Her pup's name always made her chuckle; she had rescued her at a time when she had just become obsessed with the spirit. And oh, what a journey it had been. But the sad truth was that Alma had just replaced her previous obsession with Jaime with a newfound passion for tequila--- the dog and the liquor.”

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“But my father..." Belle began again. "What about him?" "He needs me...." "He raised you by himself, didn't he? Seems like he's done a more than all right job. He'll be fine for a few days on his own," the Beast pointed out. Belle glared at him. Her father couldn't... he didn't... ...make their meals, tend their garden, earn coin for comestibles they couldn't grow or forage themselves, spend days inventing- all things he did before she was old enough to help him... when he was taking care of her.... Her lip quivered. Of course he was fine. Wait... "You think he did a more than all right job?" she couldn't help asking. The Beast shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. She found herself smiling. Was he- was he almost smiling back? In his eyes, at least?”

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“This is nice," Beast said with a sigh. "Like... one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is reading to the gods and goddesses." "And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated beast," Belle said teasingly. "I am a prince," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated. "Plus, nymphs are pretty," he added. Belle laughed. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left hers. And Belle found she could look back. And not blush. And not have to look away.”

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“We're prisoners here." "What would Jack do, Belle?" When did he become the insightful one? She mock pouted. "I suppose he would figure out some super clever way around it." The Beast looked at her with wry amusement. "Since you're the clever one here and haven't come up with a cunning plan, I was going to suggest brute force. Like we're a castle under siege, fighting them off. That's what I know." "That's a fair point," she ceded, smiling. "We should... round up everything sharp and cutting," he said. "And hammers and mallets to smash the panes between them." "Yes, sir, prince general, sir," Belle said, saluting him with a sparkle in her eye.”

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“She waved, hoping the little creatures sealed inside the glass and bone chrysalis could see her, and tried not to cry. The Beast saw her. "I'll come back. Whatever happens," he promised. "I'm... king now. I need to share the fate of my people." Somehow that only made Belle want to cry more. "You aren't out of danger yourself," the Beast reminded her gravely. "You're in the middle of the woods with a beast as the curse grows stronger. I won't be able to control it forever." Belle had a sudden vision of her body, and blood-stained snow, like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong. She shook her head. "No. You would never hurt me." The Beast gave a wan smile.... and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "I would kill myself first," he whispered.”

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