What if bears were made of marshmallow?
Would they melt in the summer heat?
What if policemen had to sing every interaction?
Would they give more tickets, or would stage fright keep them at bay? Would the number of arrests go down?
What if America adopted a four-day work week?
Would productivity go up? Would job satisfaction? Would hiring?
What if I had a clear channel to my story world and all its characters?
How much time would I spend there each day? Would I disappear into it, forgetting to eat, go to the bathroom or shower? Would they follow me back through, pestering me to help them through their problems, weeping and whining about the obstacles in their path? Would I ever be able to write “the end” and leave them there? Perhaps I’d need to be rescued—have someone from this side stage an intervention or a shamanic soul retrieval. Close the portal. Let me edit and publish and move on. I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. I’d like to be enmeshed in a story, writing furiously and thinking about the characters when I’m not.
What if gravity let up, just a tenth of a tenth of a unit of however they measure gravity?
Would it revolutionize shoe design? What about transportation? Would cars lose their grip on the road? Would we create higher doorways and steeper stairways? What would happen to hair stylists’ jobs? Or plastic surgeons’? Would the demand for boob jobs decline?
What if more people got on board with the practice of telepathy?
Would we be less celebrity obsessed and perhaps living with fewer bad habits? I imagine we’d all start living in integrity, just because it’s less work than trying to lie to the self and everyone else.
But now I’m back to marshmallow bears. Would coyotes eat them? Would they develop diabetes?
Marshmallow, Kate Ter Haar
Singing police, Elvert Barnes
Sky-high beehive, Francine