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Sunshine

Last century a cartoon appeared on lab doors: “Save the world. Teach your dog to photosynthesize.” It wasn’t a joke now. No dogs though, because fur interfered with solar absorption. Alexander popped a marshmallow into his mouth, his sweet tooth not satisfied by the sugars he made himself. Scientists had experimented on themselves for centuries, sidestepping permission and derision alike. How else to know if the models, the naked mice, the years of work had succeeded?

His deep green skin provided all the carbohydrates he needed, though he still craved proteins and minerals. No more would starve because corn fed machines instead of people. He put up the latest microscope images with clothespins: chloroplasts embedded in his epidermis. He lifted one of his chlorophyllaceous mice from its sunlamp and stroked it.

The airborne spores would solve all the world’s energy problems. He just needed enough land for 9 billion people to sunbathe.

One Comment

  1. Eric says:

    I’m afraid Alexander is about to discover an awful truth: it’s not easy being green.

    (Sorry. Couldn’t help meself.)

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