‘Constricted Skies’ by Ed Cazzy

soft cartel may 2018

He hugged and kissed his wife and children before boarding.

The rocket rumbled and lurched into the sky. The astronaut settled uncomfortably in his seat, sweating profusely – one tended to be nervous when everything depended on you. As minutes passed the sky quickly gave way to space and the stars: much closer than he remembered before the beams, debris of satellites and rockets passed his window.

Hopefully the shield works, he thought. A lurch and the boosters detached, falling back to Earth, the rocket stalled, starting to fall back to Earth, he felt his adrenaline rise before the backup system kicked on and resumed the jerky movements out of the atmosphere. Just a few more minutes and he’d be in orbit. The massive yellow energy beams quivered and he flinched every time before the beams would send a streak of lighting-like energy to smash the rockets. So far he was lucky, but he wouldn’t say so. The ship entered orbit and he moved to a compartment where he drew out a paper: a pre-written letter from the governments for anyone who may be beyond Earth, any life, anything. He read over it to pass the time.


Greetings from Earth,

The world’s governments see you, wherever you are and say do not make our mistakes. Do not repeat the horrors of wars and bloodshed. We regret to inform you we will not survive, but you may. We hope you will learn to see love and compassion as we wish we did and abide by natural justice, freedom, peace and above all love. We wish you the best and hope for your survival.




Hours passed. He sighed and pulled a pen and paper from a compartment, he began to recollect the years preceding the beams in a letter that would join many documents and things about Earth and its inhabitants.