Letter From The Editor - Issue 69 - June 2019

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Issue 49
Into Dust
by Sofie Bird
Souls Are Like Livers
by Aurelia Flaming
...Or Be Forever Fallen
by A. Merc Rustad
Going Green
by Jennifer Noelle Welch
The Soul Mate Requirement
by Kelly Sandoval
IGMS Audio
InterGalactic Medicine Show Interviews
At the Picture Show: Extended Cut
Accept the mystery
by Chris Bellamy
Vintage Fiction
Yesterday's Taste
by Lawrence M. Schoen
Bonus Material
Barsk: The Elephants' Graveyard
A Novel by Lawrence M. Schoen

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Going Green
    by Jennifer Noelle Welch

Going Green
Artwork by Anna Repp

Nature's Mill blog, June 15, 2015, 9:20 am:

Dear Ed,

Because you won't let up on these environmental one-upmanships (yeah, I saw the passive-aggressive note you left on my bag of cheese doodles), I'm issuing you a challenge. Something bigger than the two-sheet rule you made about the office toilet paper last week. Anyone who's looked up Nature's Mill knows we're not just a green company. We're the only two-person, twenty-something distributors of Earth-friendly products on the East coast.

You said, when I hired you, "Graham, we've got to start a blog to publicize our products and emphasize accountability." Fine. You want accountability? Let's keep a running blog as we see which of us can make the smallest environmental impact. One month of competitive green living, to show the interweb peeps how global stewardship is done.

(To all you lurkers reading this on the website, I already took the liberty of filling in my half of the "About Us" page, so read my bio and become a fan).

Ed? You are doomed, brutha. I lived out of a backpack for three years after college. There's a lot I can do without.

Graham hit 'return' and pushed back from his office desk in satisfaction. Boss though he was, no one could accuse him of running a boring workplace. Out of all the other business and environmental science double majors he knew, none of them were doing anything as awesome as operating a company out of a reclaimed industrial building in the middle of State forest. He spun a few times in his Aeron chair and came to rest facing the windows overlooking the river. Recent rain had swollen the rapids, and the air outside pulsed with the sound of tumbling water.

His parents would have been thrilled that he spent their bequest on the mill. They went the way they would have wanted, in a bus accident on the way to an environmental protest. Still, he wished they could have stood alongside him when he'd seen it for the first time. The three-story building, tucked snugly between the slopes of the Delaware Water Gap, offered all the space his business would need: a ground level housing the mill's old machinery, a second-floor office space, and a sprawling third-floor warehouse. When he'd stood on the building's flat roof, the view of the gorge and surrounding forest had sold him on the spot.

The mill's freight elevator clunked open downstairs. Graham straightened up in anticipation as it groaned upwards. When the doors rolled back, Ed sauntered in, shaking the remnants of a bag of granola into his mouth. His bike helmet dangled from one arm.

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