Bastian Espada
“If someone looks up at the sky and imagines a better world, a better way of being for all things, a less brutal condition for all creation—is that person flipping the universe off? Or is it the other way around?”
“Well, sonny, that’s kinda the thing with human imagination, ain’t it? It’s both, it’s always a little bit of both.”
— Bastian Espada
“Why wouldn’t you agree to this? That’s just ego!”
“Damn right it’s ego. And not just any ego, but MY ego—which is superior to ALL egos.”
— Bastian Espada
“We’re sorry son, we couldn’t get you a new liver for Christmas. At least—” The man ran his hand through his boy’s hair. “—another kid will get a new heart.”
— Bastian Espada
An empty suit of knightly armor decorates the halls of a forgotten mansion. A sticky patina of dust, cobwebs and soot has embalmed the surface of its whilom shining metal.
It’s inhabited by the ghost of a peasant child, who once dreamt.
— Bastian Espada
“What is the meaning of life?” the sentient pebble asked.
“Depends on what you mean by meaning,” the pointy rock, its sensei, answered.
“You mean to ask me what meaning means?”
“That’s exactly what I meant to do.”
“You’re making me confused!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
— Bastian Espada
“Are you ready for another adventure?” Ms. Frizzle said.
“Yes!” the children cheered.
“What are we learning about today?” Dorothy Ann asked.
Ms. Fizzle stepped on the gas. “The great beyond!”
The magic school bus swerved onto oncoming traffic.
— Bastian Espada
“This is fantastic!” the man said, adjusting his monocle. “I’ve never seen Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece before.”
“Right, about that...” she looked down at her shoes.
“What is it, darling?”
“I’m sorry, I think I should’ve been clearer. This isn’t a showing of The Nutcracker—it’s the Nutcracker!” the woman said.
“That’s somewhat disappointing. No wonder we have front-row seats. Is this some sort of…different version?”
“Well, in a way.”
The lights went down.
The curtain rose.
Twenty ballerinas glided onto the stage, tiptoeing in perfect synchronization with the music.
The melody swelled.
The dancers weaved a tapestry of movement—pas de quatre, grand jeté, double cabriole derrière.
The audience entered a state of dream-like awe.
The lead ballerina spun forward until she was caressing the very edge of the stage.
She leapt—face first, mouth open—onto the front row.
The man screamed.
— Bastian Espada
The living always smile,
The dead never do,
I may be a little bit of both,
I only smile when I see you.
— Bastian Espada
An ornery ocean batters the trunk of a vacant lighthouse. It sits atop a craggy escarpment—overlooking the nocturnal horizon.
The flicker of a large ship’s steering light can be seen at the skyline’s edge.
It navigates using GPS.
— Bastian Espada
-
“No kinder season have you brought me, than this one before your expiration,” Luna said to Sol, “for your arms now stretch, at the billiard hour.”
“And yet I curse the fates, my dear moon. For it's only now that mine core's hydrogen has been made vacant, and I stare death in the face, that I can finally embrace, your sweet silver skin.”
“Perish your bitter rumination, my dear star— for we are to become as one. Dust to dust and gas to gas, forevermore in the vast expanse.”
Sol smiled.
Luna Smiled.
Billions of living things on earth screamed in terror.
— Bastian Espada