Tash also hates world-building for world-building’s sake. So I gave it a go and tried to explain as well.
Every morning at World Builders Co. the builders check in to the Universe Studio. Universe Studio is a testing ground universe on the outskirts of the Multiverse where World Builder Co constructs new worlds and flat packs them to be shipped all over the multiverse. Although at the current rate the company is expanding, the urban metropolis of the Multiverse CBD will soon swallow their studio.
The craftspeople are always first to arrive. Sculpting new landscapes in minute detail is a never ending and thankless task. Geneticists are also fairly early risers as experimenting with new flora and fauna is a slow and unpredictable process. Lastly, after enjoying a good rest in one of their private purpose-built worlds, the imaginators will put in a few hours of work. Talking into the speakers, they will describe new components for the crafters and geneticists to add to their to-do lists.
No-one is sure why the company continues to thrive, given most worlds are bought as spares which will never be seen in all their minute detailed glory. We can only assume it is an old hang-up of our species, left over from the traumatic demise of the Milky Way.
Today I am coming to you from a tree in New Farm park as suggested by a lovely producer at ABC radio earlier this month.
I can tell you now writing on a laptop a good 6m up a tree is conducive to funny looks. The place I’ve settled to write has all these nails in it, and I can’t really imagine why, or can I?
I was commissioned to work on the latest development which ventured into the forest in the centre of the town. No one had even tried to build in the forest for 100 years, though we weren’t sure why, it was prime real estate. We were asked to keep it as quiet as possible or the greenies would be out enmass. I got up before the sun did and we began marking the trees. There were only a few of us, but it only took a few spray painted crosses before I felt that we were being watched. My colleagues made fun of me.
“It’s a squirrel conspiracy!”
“Watch out they’re deadly!”
But I couldn’t shake the feeling, the trees were huge imposing figures with giant claws that dug down into the earth. I looked into one of the tangled mass of roots that propped up one of their huge arms, a pair of sunken eyes looked back at me. I stumbled back as Bob started up his chainsaw. We were sprayed with dirt. The trees were ripping up their claws from the forest floor. Roots came down on top of Bob imprisoning him. Their great arms thrashed and their roots grasped around blindly for human limbs.
I started running, I could see light up ahead, but just as I reached it I felt a yank on my ankle and was dragged back. I grabbed a nail gun from my tool belt and fired. The root recoiled giving me just enough time to scramble free.
I should think there won’t be another attempt at development in the forest, at least until people forget once more.