https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/4890b87216f64438b42385093de0bd03.jpg d950cbf027603bf299c4d4288b8a4c36 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource After The Rise ... Description An account of the resource Using elevations and water level projected on EyesOnTheRise.com, these speculative fictions explore the world that was Miami after sea levels rise 6 or more feet. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Administrator Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. In a kind world, there would be no fear of passing eyes traveling by on the ocean's surface on a humid summer night. There would be no reason to think any further on the pairs of roughed and starving stares examining your every weakness. Measuring the weight of your own soul as they knife through the entry points of your ship. In a kind world, there would be laws that not only bind one to the expectations of civil society, but also to the personal ideal of humanity. Yes, in a kind world we think of means to stave away our coquettish shadows should they ever try to absorb us into their darkness. Though as the unrelenting heat, the stench of filthy, death-ridden ocean, the thrashing conspiring waves--gifted to us by the poison blooded visionaries of an age that gazed suicidally from the precipice of its progress--stirs the animalism of those glinting rings of gloam, one realizes this is not a kind world. And struggles upon their death to think it ever was one. On the southern end of the former state of Florida, New Vesuvius, the remnants of a bygone era lay peacefully drowned under 8 feet of the world’s finest ocean. Underwater life diminished in the now two hundred years past the one that was warned would be the last the world would bear us. The vestiges of civilization vie for power and resources with any armament they put faith in. What is yours may be taken, and what can be taken is yours. In a way, that was one of the only parts of life that did not need so much adjusting to. Nestled in the Market Convoy, itself snugly placed in the former Downtown Miami area, was the young, thrill seeking Reno. A confusing looking thing. Not for ugliness, but just the opposite in all their androgynous glory. Hair like a sunflower that has been spent of its energy, wilted with a deepened yellow hue. They have sun kissed skin. They were just lithe enough to deceive one of the strength hiding under their colorful rags. And they have a beautiful face adorned with sunspots across the ridge of their sharp nose. Completed by a set of honey colored eyes, this is our Reno. They made their living selling homemade emergency equipment. Rags repurposed as bandages, flares made from red phosphorus refined from white phosphorus, itself refined from charcoal and urine. These were not to signal other ships of an emergency of course, as that would inform pirates of one’s vulnerability. Reno was keen as a chef knife on every selling point for their wares. They could rearrange a man’s imagination for what is useful so thoroughly, they once sold a tourniquet as a painter. Granted, that customer never been seen or heard from again but that could be for a number of reasons. The Market Convoy offered not just a means of making money independently but also safety in numbers. Pirates and other bandits were not inclined to cause chaos in a well armed cul de sac of small vessels. So it was mostly here in this circle that Reno set up shop. Until today. A mega yacht loomed just overhead of the MC. Commandeered by possibly the luckiest pirates this side of the Capitol. Glistening white with windows tinted so deep there could be vampires hiding behind them. Built with a massive deck so big it could stage a concert with no issue at all. HOOOOOOONG. HOOOOONG. A fearsome and commanding voice came from the vessel’s megaphones. “GUNS DOWN! DO NOT CAUSE TROUBLE! WE WILL KILL YOU!” Reno was only impressed by the beauty of the ship. The brute yelling away up above was of no importance. As he had no vision, no imagination to be rearranged for the usefulness of what he had been blessed with. “What a waste!” they shouted. “You have all of that! All of that possibility and you waste it on holding up a bunch of vendors?! Dumb bastard!” Reno untethered their speedboat from their assigned pole. Catching the eyes of the vendors next to them, Saul and Sen. “What the hell are you doing,” Saul yelled incredulously. Reno answered back, “When do pirates ever make threats instead of just killing everyone on sight? Either they don’t have enough weapons, men, or both. So I’m gonna take that ship. You’re welcome to join me or keep that sad little dinghy of yours!” Saul saw the cunning in such a strategy immediately. Of course! Why would they have concern for human life now? Saul quickly untethered as he was questioned by Sen, “You’re really following them based on a quick observation like that?” “What’s wrong? You don’t like a good gamble? They’re gonna need someone to help drive that thing!” Saul and Sen, 30 and 31 respectively, were instant food vendors. While prices were high and having a distributor’s supply of food wasn’t bad, that meant only being able to sell just above wholesale to turn a profit. Since that was no way to live anymore, the chance had to be taken. The yacht was big enough to make one a force in the world. Carving out a name for yourself as a terror or a legend. If there really wasn’t as much danger as was threatened, it would only take the slightest courage to work up the violence necessary for change. They sped to the starboard side of the yacht, climbed the poorly guarded ladder, and threw overboard what little emaciated and unarmed pirates that stood in their way. This was an easy task for the burly Saul and solid bodied Sen. Before long, the three had made it to the cockpit. A scared and cornered pirate leader waved them back with a bat. Reno stepped forward. “There’s no need for that. Tell us. How did you get this marvel of a ship? Are you someone important? Can I sell your underwear? People go crazy for famous people’s unmentionables!” “Get back,” the captain yelled while swinging his bat. “Who do you think you are?! This is MY ship!” Reno replied, “No no no no no! You misunderstand! You don’t drag yourself up to the most peaceful convoy outside the purview of the Capitol to rob its vendors blind without knowing there’s some kind of risk! Especially with such a paltry crew! Right Saul?” Reno gestured to Saul, standing 6’1, with glistening dark olive skin, loud and proud, his well fed body a testament to the fact that nothing material has ever been taken from him. He contributed, “Might as well have put a big red bow on her! Sen?” He tilted his head down to Sen, standing 5’9, with skin bronzed from carefully measured sun exposure. She sighed. Taking a mental note of the ridiculous theatrics of the moment, but choosing to play along anyway she added, “We really do appreciate it.” The trio closed in on the now frantic old captain who was swinging his bat wildly. However, even if he were to land a blow on one of his assailants, the other two could just sweep and disarm him. And so they did. With Sen catching a swing with both hands and ripping the bat away from the man. Saul picked him up over his shoulders. And Reno quickly fastened his hands with rope and flicked his forehead. “Because we’re not complete bastards like you, we’re leaving you with our vessels and a quarter of our supply. That should keep you alive long enough to decide what kind of men you and your sorry group should become.” With that, the dawn of a new age was crawling towards New Vesuvius. Our trio embarked on a journey to find a crew of odd talented misfits, as Reno’s vision for the ship came into focus. It would be a good omen. A legend of the sea that signaled relief from the vulgarity and suffering of the world. There would be laughter, insight, inspiration, and most treasured of all: spectacle. With time came a great troupe of musicians, actors, storytellers, daredevils, and fools. Under the banner of the Cirque du Monde, they traveled to all sections of society. Starting with the segregated convoys in former South Dade. The SC’s were the product of minorities facing down the demons of climate barbarism. As civil society broke down due to mass scarcity, and majorly reduced land, a veritable free for all affected the people’s understanding of the other. A metaphorical, and oftentimes literal gun to the head forced various groups to find what simplest terms of trust they could within each other. In a way, minority groups were freed from the half measured, white supremacist tinged multiculturalism of the past, and could defend themselves from discrimination on more symmetrical terms. SC’s were not wholly based on bigotry moreso distrust of other groups’ ability to trust those that did not seem like them. HOOOONG. HOOOONG. The ship horned, its megaphones blaring a strange question. “YOU GUYS WANNA SEE A CONCERT?” Standing portside were the three representatives of the Cirque: Reno, Saul, and Sen. Brandishing no weapons but a DJ set, a microphone, and a bass guitar respectively. There were many treasures in the yacht. Whoever owned it last certainly loved to entertain. Another uncanny blessing too perfect to think about for too long. A woman from the convoy shouted “Who the hell are you?” which prompted this response from Reno: “WE ARE THE CIRQUE DU MONDE. ELEVATING THE MYSTIQUE AND BEAUTY OF THESE DOUR AND DIRE SEAS. BRINGING SPECTACLE TO YOUR EYES AND HEAT TO YOUR LOINS. I’LL ASK YOU AGAIN, DO YOU WANNA SEE A SHOW THAT’LL MAKE YOU DANCE TIL YOU DROP?” This was an interesting offer to the people of the SC. “Alright! But we aren’t going on your ship!” Unsurprisingly, getting various tribalistic peoples to board a massive ship promising wonders they had not seen before was fairly difficult. And so the first shows of the Cirque du Monde were concerts staged from afar. It was after all better to acknowledge, and accommodate bad history than to incessantly convince those that wanted to be left alone in the first place. Luckily, there was not a single group that did not enjoy what the music archives in the yacht’s library called “bangin’ tracks.” Before long, there were people leaving their convoys to come join the Cirque as musicians and storytellers. And with that, a new artistic revival started to emerge. Life was beginning to reclaim its purpose, and the once defensive peoples of the SC’s began to see different sides of the other. After much touring, it was time to take the show to other audiences. Food and supplies were becoming more of a pressing concern as performers joined the Cirque. Security was also becoming an issue as hostile elements of New Vesuvius showed themselves. Bandits, intense weather, flotsam crashing into the ship. The Cirque needed some tough bodies to handle these complications. This informed the decision of the Cirque to travel past the underwater gardens of Vizcaya, to the smuggler’s den that was formerly Dodge Island. The den was perfectly positioned between the dry land of the Bay Area, and the convoy towns in Miami Beach. Smugglers would provide luxury goods from the more affluent land having areas, and facilitate sales of kidnapped people from the convoy towns. Hardly a fair trade, but such was the way of things. Upon docking, the many dubious natured lowlifes of the island eyed both the ship and its gorgeous performers like true predators. Only our trio would exit and task everyone else with keeping their hands on their guns. They entered the local watering hole with a commanding presence. Asking around for the one that “more or less runs things around here”. Who came strutting in with loud black leather boots was a charismatic, 6 foot, Peruvian Adonis in a red bandana. He was dressed in olive drab pants, a weathered tank top, and accessorized with a jet black cumberbunt. The theatrics of this man were not lost on our trio. The scruff on his face could make a person melt to the floor if they weren’t made of stronger stuff. Reno and Sen were like wax, so it was up to Saul to do the talking. He opened with a handshake. “Good to meet you, I’m Saul. The puddles next to me are Reno and Sen. We were told you were the one to talk to about setting up a show at the dock?” The man spoke in his sultry tone, “I’m Vas. Short for Vasco.” Reno and Sen let out a twinned moan, “Fuuuuck," which brought a quick, but gentle backhand to the arms from Saul. “Very sorry. They don’t get out much.” Vas continued, “It’s fine. I get this a lot. So, you want to set up…a show? What kind of show is this?” Sen piped up, “It’s-It’s a circus! So far we have musical acts, storytellers, and comedians but w-we’re looking to expand–” Reno interrupted, “It’s the declaration of man’s pursuit for a higher purpose!” Sen came back, “Yeah, yeah, right we’d really like you to see it! I play the bass. I’m probably the best musician on the ship. I could show you personally maybe?” Reno again, “It’s just the bass. Honestly you’re better off making sounds with your mouth. It's the same thing. I have a DJ set in my quarters. I make the best moods so if you wanted to hang out that’d be–” Vas covered their mouths with his fingers and shushed them. “Look…lady, gentleman…friend. Do you see where you are? Who you’re talking to? I help run a lucrative fencing operation. You know what that means? I’m in the business of very quietly selling stolen goods from dry land to distributors in the convoy towns. The only reason Capitol goons haven’t investigated this island is because we pay them a percentage to pretend nothing’s happening. The last thing I want is heat. We already have plenty of that. Unless you’re willing to pay those thugs in coin or c-hunny,” he emphasized that last C while swiping up Reno’s chin with his finger. “I don’t see your curtains rising here.” Yet another challenge faced the Cirque. Not only one of logistics, but of ethics. Could they really take money from such kinds of people? Those who prey on the vulnerabilities of the desperate and despaired? Decisions have to be made, risks have to be taken, and operations like this cost a lot of money. After a huddle, the trio decided to take the risk. Pay the authorities what little coin they had left, and host the wildest show they had yet. As they left back to the ship to prepare, Sen had a question. “Reno. I really hope we got something that’s gonna warrant the prices we’re asking for.” Reno assured her, “Oh yeah! I’ve been working on a little something since we started sailing up here.” Upon arriving at the deck, it was revealed what that something was. A full pyrotechnics system put together by the performers! “WHAT?!” Saul and Sen exclaimed. “YUP,” barked a wildly excited Reno. “This is the start of a new era for us, bois. From now on, we operate at night, and only pull in serious coin.” With worries of the direction of the Cirque in the back of their minds, Saul and Sen affirmed this promise from Reno. The new and improved concerts were grand spectacles indeed. There were comedians that elevated their sets into fully acted out skits. Captivating storytellers reciting their tales accompanied by an ensemble. And several incredibly talented musical groups performed with flames at their sides. These new shows would revive a sense of wonder not seen across the waters or even the land beyond them in a long time. Even the quiet-loving, heat-averting Vas came onstage to showcase his fire breathing skills. Now equipped with the funds and crew they needed, the ship could find new audiences up in the Floating Cities. The Floating Cities were the four remnants of Liberty City, Miami Shores, North Miami Beach, and Hollywood. These were the domains of the warlords. The warlords essentially functioned as hunting dogs for Jotun, the boss of New Vesuvius. Gathering hordes of ill-gotten wealth, the warlords profited from most if not all the piracy and banditry across the land and water. Performing in their territory would need a reputation to precede the Cirque du Monde. Gratifyingly enough, the troupe had that reputation. The subjects of the Floating Cities were a mix of regular civilians working all kinds of logistics and accounting for the gains of the warlords, and the dirt handed pirates that do all the terrifying work that so many in the troupe’s travels have feared for years. This would not be pleasant, but the mission of the Cirque had to be fulfilled. Much of the troupe voiced their concerns about performing for the architects of their suffering. Indeed, how could the incredible energy of previous shows be produced with such painful memories blunting any and all exuberance to be had? Reno had to step up and address this: “My friends. I know the discomfort that you’re feeling now thinking of who might be in the audience. It could be someone that robbed you, ruined your life, traumatized you. But most of the people out in the Cities are not them. They are regular folks like you and I. They also live in fear. They also harbor resentment for their captors and oppressors. But this ship, this troupe, this circus has no fear. It is a symbol above all things. A legend of the waters that brought and continues to bring wonder, insight, and inspiration. That is what we can give to the Cities. However, I have love for every single one of you. You’ve always done right by me. So, if this is the stop that we skip, it’s your say.” An uncomfortable silence filled the room. How could anyone respond? “Ugh! Fine! We’ll do it!” A chuckle, then laughter, then lighthearted ridicule. “Enough with the gooey stuff!” “Yeah, spare us the goo!” Reno was now the one who had to be consoled. It was nearing showtime. The troupe had been working on a trampoline setup for acrobatics. And Reno on sleight of hand routines for their new invention: the confetti gun. The big boss himself was coming tonight. With his young ward in tow no less. No person could give as much nerves as him. He was the embodiment of all the violence known to everyone on that ship. What kind of opportunity was this? The show was the most insane and over the top it had ever been. Acrobats flew through the air as dancers moved gracefully to masterfully played music. Flames ignited in sync with heart pounding dance mixes. Dramas unfolded, laughter exploded. And there was Reno up in the air. The main act, a dance that symbolized the violence perpetrated across New Vesuvius and the people’s grief! They flew into the air, confetti gun appearing in hand as if by magic! They pointed it into the crowd, almost targeting Jotun. And looking into his eyes, they thought, “We’re coming for you.” BANG Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Adventures of Three Artistic Terrorists Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Ezra Corvo Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 04/20/2022