HELLO EVERYONE,

CAN YOU HEAR IT?
CAN YOU SEE IT?
CAN YOU TASTE IT?
CAN YOU FEEL IT?
CAN YOU SMELL IT?

A STORM IS COMING TO PSYCHIC HIGH.

GROTTO G.S.M. INC. HAS RECENTLY ACQUIRED AN ARCHIVE OF TRANSMISSIONS, INCLUDING SOME FROM THE FUTURE.

IN AN EFFORT TO BOLSTER EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS EFFORTS, WE WILL RELEASE SELECT TRANSMISSIONS.

START TRANSMISSION ONE

Her khaki trench coat has turned deep brown under the downpour. Skinny, pale worms crawl across the wet sidewalk. She regards each worm the same she would any other person-with a measured and careful regard. She can’t say she has ever understood why the worms leave their safe soil homes for the open exposed concrete, but she still respects them for it. So, her feet dance around each worm. Her body an obedient but unwilling dance partner.

She forgot an umbrella, of course.
And a hat, of course.
And a scarf, of course.

She didn’t think she remembered worms looking like this. That is, in her mind, worms were these fat, pink wriggling things with a beating pulse and an unknowable ambition. Like the ones plucked from summers shade on a hot day, and cut in half by the neighbor boys. “Look it makes two!” The boy would squeal, surrounded by little ones both excited and repulsed. She remembers how she would cower ,paces away, behind whoever or whatever was willing to be a makeshift shield.

Stretching across the concrete now, the worms before her look pale and starved. “Maybe climate change,” she thinks.

She’s late, of course.
And she’s got no way to call, of course.
So, she rushes, of course.

And as her two-sizes-too-big shoes tangle with the fate of sweet wet ground, she falls, of course.

The hands of her gloves and knees of her trousers are soaked. She crouches on all fours, trying to catch her breath. She feels the familiar sting of a scraped hands and knees. She remembers a reluctant game of tag over rough asphalt that ended in the same stinging. A girl with straw blond pigtails called after her, “You’ll never catch me!” And she was right. Before anyone was close to being caught, she was wailing with a bloody knee and snotty nose on the playground floor.

No tears this time.

And what a gift. Uncluttered by sobs, her eyes widen as she spots it.

On the sidewalk before her is a massive, juicy, bright pink wriggling, motivated worm. The kind of worm who knows exactly what they wriggle for & knows exactly where they are wriggling to.

Nose to nose with such a worm, she smiles, “Of course.”

END OF TRANSMISSION ONE

BEWARE THE WRIGGLING WORMS, PSYCHIC HIGH.

SINCERELY,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU ™

HELLO EVERYONE,

WE REALLY APPRECIATE THE KIND RESPONSE TO OUR EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS TRANSMISSIONS. OUR UNDISCLOSED SECURITY FORCES CAN BARELY FIELD ALL THE FAN MAIL.

WE HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO ANSWER SOME FAQS THAT CAME UP IN THE LETTERS SENT BY READERS LIKE YOU:

Q: “What does GROTTO G.S.M. INC. stand for?”
A: FOR THE UNINTIATED, G.S.M. STANDS FOR GHOST SERVER MANAGEMENT. WHILE WE STARTED IN THE GHOST SERVER BUSINESS, WE HAVE EXPANDED OVER THE YEARS TO MEET THE NEEDS OF OUR CUSTOMERS, (INCLUDING SECURITY & WARFARE TECHNOLOGIES, HR MANAGEMENT SOFTWARE, ACADEMIC AUDITING & MANAGEMENT, CLASS & EVENT SPONSORSHIPS, DATA MINING, REGULAR MINING, DRILLING, TEMP STAFF AGENCY, FRACKING, DIPLOMACY, CONFLICT COMMUNICATIONS, PHILANTHROPY, CORPORATE PROXIES, & MORE). IF YOU CAN HEAR, SEE, TASTE, FEEL, AND/OR SMELL IT, GROTTO G.S.M. INC. MAY HAVE HAD A HAND IN THE PROCESS!

Q:”Where has GROTTO G.S.M. been?”
A: WE ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU :)

Q: “How can I get prepared for the big storm that is approaching Psychic High???!!”
A: THANK YOU FOR ASKING SUCH A WONDERFUL QUESTION. YOU CAN PREPARE BY LISTENING FOR THUNDER, LOOKING FOR FLASHES OF LIGHTNING, TASTING THE METALLIC AIR, FEELING THE ELECTRICITY HUM, AND SMELLING THE INCOMING RAIN CLOUDS.

YOU CAN ALSO GAIN HELPFUL INSIGHTS THROUGH GROTTO G.S.M. INC.’S EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS TRANSMISSIONS.

Q: “Was there ever a time I wasn’t afraid? Have I always been buried in this deep dark cavern? Will I always be pulled by strings just outside of my eye-line?“
A: NO, YES, & YES. AND FRANKLY, SORT OF A DISRESPECTFUL ASK. PLEASE GIVE US SPACE DURING THIS DIFFICULT TIME.

Q: “What if I don’t understand how the transmissions will help me during the storm?”
A: WHILE OUR EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS TRANSMISSIONS ARE SELECTED WITH EASE OF ACCESS IN MIND, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT WITH ANY PERTINENT QUESTIONS.

Q: “No, but really? Do you love me?”
A: WE REALLY DO LOVE YOU :) WE MEAN IT.

SINCERELY,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU ™

HELLO EVERYONE,

WE HOPE YOU ALL ARE TAKING OUR EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS TRANSMISSIONS SERIOUSLY.

YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO FIND YOURSELF CAUGHT IN THE UPCOMING STORM UNPREPARED.

STRAIGHT FROM OUR NEWLY ACQUIRED ARCIVE, A TRANSMISSION FROM THE FUTURE:

START OF TRANSMISSION ONE
Soft drizzly skies dot the headstone with moisture. It reads, “Wren Martin: Filmmaker, Teacher, Friend. Always on the hunt for True Art.”

Larissa smells the moonflower in her hand. It’s sweet like jasmine. She brings it to her lips, kissing its soft petals, before crouching to place it on Wren’s well decorated grave.

Even after all this time, their grave is never scarce of fresh cut flowers, offerings of lemongrass candies, trinkets, and of course, photos of Zac Efron.

“I saw a nature documentary the other week. All about fruit bats that live in caves,” She says, digging into her trench coat pocket for her book of Fate Strikes cigarettes.

“You would have hated it. They didn’t get the spirit of the bats down,” Cigarette dangling from her mouth, she fiddles with her lighter. She cups her hand around it, as if the mere suggestion of shelter will allow the cigarette to catch. “Not like you would’ve captured it, anyway.”

The wicked crack of thunder rumbles through the air. The soft drizzle begins to dance into quicker, bigger drops.

She remains undeterred, cupping her hands closer with each flick of the lighter. Until her hand gets a little too close and the little flame licks her hand.

“God damn it,” she instinctively opens her mouth to suck on the burn, the Fate Strike dropping into the muddy grass. She groans and leans to fish out the soggy cigarette. “It would be nice to have another pair of hands right about now, Wren,” she says sternly.

Another clap of threatening thunder breaks up the air.

Her stern expression melts until a half smile. She flicks the limp cigarette away. She stuffs her hands back into her pockets and turns from the grave.
Fate will have to wait for another day.

END OF TRANSMISSION TWO

BEWARE A WET CIGARETTE.

SINCERELY,
GROTTO G.S.M. INC.
WE ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU ™

cant we jst predict if a storm is going to happen?