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Kim finds genuine joy and interest in exploring opportunities around ambiguous topics like the correlation between dreams and quantum physics. Her poetry and short stories often weave together these underlying themes of existentialism and universal exploration.



Imagine freedom:

the ability to be anything, anywhere—

like quantum particles,

whose identity is unestablished,



Until they're measured. 

And then one takes the shape of another,

to prove its existence,

perhaps to prove its value, 

or maybe because its hand is forced.

Now they're entangled—

ensnared in a manufactured world. 

Only behaving differently because of an observer. 

Our embodiment,

our consciousness, 

and our reality

is their sacrifice.




The stillness of the woods, 

away from the bustle of life,

invites me to be calm, expanded and replenished,  

as if it knew I needed a reprieve… 

… a reprieve from news, social banter and commitments. 


A place to be quiet and observe: 

the natural news of fall’s color bursts, warm sun and invigorating chill, 

the social banter of squirrels foraging for acorns or minnows clustering in a creek pool, 

and the commitment of our minds to the peace of nature. 


But is it, in fact, still?

I wonder as I watch. 

There’s a community of its own

that goes beyond mammals and fish, 

and into the minuscule world—

for those of us willing to pause and look down.


But lift your head first.

Do you feel...

I lie in bed, eyes glued wide open, staring at the ceiling. 

I’m blinded by the freight train chugging down the tracks, moving slowly at first but picking up momentum with every second. 

Steam erupts from its chimney.

A loud horn sends sound waves thundering through the silence of midnight. 

I have to decide soon: jump out of its way and watch it disappear… or hop on. 

As it moves closer, I see its bull horns tied to the market jewel and headlamp, bold and beautiful like a stag standing at full attention. They cut through the air like a machete, leading the train to a land of free markets and irreversible defrocking of manipulative institutionalists.    


I jump on. 

It’s instinctual. It’s emotional. It’s dangerous. 

But I’m here now, riding the train. 

I sold some belongings to afford my ticket.

I’m fully aware the risks are high, but the potential rewards are higher. 

The passengers are wild—

some raucous, shouting obscenities; 

some funny, cracking jokes; 

some serious, lending advice.


Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But I can feel it rising in my throat—an unstoppable tsunami triggered by an earth-shattering realization in the pit of my stomach. Like the raging columns of water from the ocean floor to the wave’s crest, every atom in my body leans toward the one thing I feel prepared to do, and that is to scream.


No, I am not prepared to press the button that might eradicate anyone and everyone on Earth, including my daughter, Daniela, in an attempt to save them all. Nor am I prepared to unleash my career-defining creation that was always meant to be more of a fun experiment. But I’ve always struggled with commitment.

My finger trembles over the switch with only moments to spare before I’ll make the single most important decision in the history of humanity—one that belongs in the hands of a greater being than myself. My eyes flicker to the command center data, confirming what I already know and don’t want to believe: our satellite networks are under attack. The enemy is here—one we’ve been watching for years, but only recently classified as an immediate threat. Global communications coverage is quickly disintegrating. In a matter of minutes, we’ll be dark, and I don’t have long to react. I have seconds, if I want to give them an ounce of hope down there, but my solution comes complete with a pound of risk.

Fifty-five seconds.

Chills. I check my shirt. Made from conductive thread coated in ultra lightweight carbon nanoparticles, it’s fully charged.


Chox pushed the long, green grass aside as he cut a path through its blades, rushing to be next to them. He was nearly out of breath and ready to walk when he heard it again.


“Ahhhh!” they cried in the distance. Some wailed in a constant, low-pitched groan, some cried and some screamed in terror. Their pain and agony seeped into his ears and down through his arteries, coming back through his veins as he exhaled heavily, panting and running. They were hurt, and they desperately needed help. He had to get there—fast. He rocketed forward, energized by the innate desire to tend to the wounded, to lend his strength and to challenge the face of evil. 

They were victims of the latest C3 Comet attack, an intelligent alien body who took the form of a comet to break the atmospheric plane of Earth before transforming into its natural state: a slimy, flesh-eating bacteria. Since it had discovered Earth’s bountiful offering of mammals and other biological creatures, it had waged a relentless onslaught against the planet, forcing an eruption of local and international wars as the victims of Earth fought back, sometimes against one another. The militaries were called to the major cities to support the largest populations, leaving the country folk to fend for themselves.

The problem was: no one had prepared for an invasion of this kind on a global scale, and with weak guidance across the planet from appointed leaders unable to (or unwilling to) partner on a united front, each neighborhood was left to its own defenses when attacks occurred—nearly daily.

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