“Hima da,” Keisho complained in Japanese, collapsing dramatically into a heap on the floor.
Katarite tucked the silk of her kimono behind her knees and sank gracefully to the carefully manicured lawn. “Today we speak English,” she admonished the girl, any potential rebellion cut off by the barest arch of her eyebrow. “French tomorrow, followed by German. Japanese comes after Hindi, then Mandarin and Spanish, before starting again with Arabic.”
“Why do I need to learn all these silly languages? Can’t you just choose one?” the girl complained. “I can never remember all the different words.”
“Language is not just about words, grammar and syntax. Really knowing a language gives you an incredible insight into the people’s psyche. Each language has its own poetry and beauty that can be impossible to translate. Sadly, the subtleties are so often lost.”
“I don’t understand.”
“German is wonderfully brisk and efficient; exactly like the people. French is the language of food. And of love. And, as anyone that has ever tried to learn it will know, full of exceptions. Even the exceptions have exceptions.” Katarite laughed. “Each and every syllable is given the same reverence and respect in Japanese, as the Japanese give to everything they do. It can sound flat and monotonous to foreigners, yet it has a profound depth and charm that are unmistakable to native speakers. Like the British Empire, English is the conqueror. It takes what it needs or wants from the languages around it when it doesn’t have the words of its own. It’s like a magpie, stealing all the brightest jewels.”
The girl at Katarite’s feet pulled a sour expression.
“And besides, you need to be ready to greet everyone properly when they arrive.”
“When will they finally get here?” Keisho asked, but didn’t wait for a reply. “I hate it here. There’s nothing to do. Only rake the sand again and again. I’m bored,” she moaned from her supine position, repeating her earlier complaint, this time in the proper language.
“What a melancholy thing to say,” Katarite sighed, her eyes glistening with uncried tears. “Such ennui is a luxury that was denied so many of our people. It saddens me that you are blind to the splendour of the gifts you’ve been given.” Katarite waved her hand through the air, highlighting the almost artificial beauty of the Zen garden around them.
“Does the bonsai mope in its pot and complain that it is not like the other trees in the forest? No, it simply creates a different kind of life within its confines.”
“But they’re so ugly and stunted,” Keisho huffed.
“Nonsense. Bonsai are quite remarkable and extraordinarily beautiful. It takes a lifetime to fully master the art of bending nature to one’s will. Did you know that if they escape their bindings, they grow back into a normal tree?” Katarite rose to her feet and resumed the endless task of raking the glistening white sand, a contented smile on her lips. “And you, my precious little Bonsai, will be the most extraordinary that ever lived,” she whispered to herself.
Keisho joined Katarite in the pool of sand and began dragging her rake half-heartedly behind her, leaving a myriad of rough, jagged lines in its wake, unlike Katarite’s perfectly straight rows.
“Where did we get up to in our history lesson?” Katarite asked after a few moments of silence.
“You were telling me about the fall of the empire.”
“It started slowly, as such things always do. Hatred and intolerance, followed by ripples of apathy and despair, flowed through society so gently that we didn’t even notice until it was too late. Greed, corruption and ambition outweighed everything else, until one day, we ran out of resources. The cracks were there for all to see, but we had become blind to them. In the end, there were more cracks than anything else and eventually the pieces simply couldn’t remain together any longer. And when that happened: the world imploded.”
Keisho gasped at the revelation, “What happened to everyone?”
“They perished.“
“Everyone?”
Keisho’s teacher nodded, her silence spoke more than a thousand words ever could.
“But you just said that the others were on their way.” Keisho’s words died on her lips as the enormity of Katarite’s admission that they were truly alone sunk in.
“Countless people sacrificed themselves to afford everything on planet Earth one last, fragile chance at survival,” Katarite continued.
“But what about us? How did we survive?”
Katarite paused for a moment as if deciding on which version of the truth to tell, the weight of the secret suddenly too great to bear a moment longer. Keisho was no longer a child; it was finally time for her to know her destiny.
“We created a bonsai universe.”
She picked up a handful of sand and let it run gently through her fingers. The pulsating plasma lights overhead, illuminating the minute specks as they fell onto the perfectly raked lines. “Each grain contains the DNA of a thousand animals.” She pointed to the carefully tended garden around them. “Each blade of grass and leaf is genetically engineered to store the seeds of different plants. Each brick in the pagoda: an encyclopaedia of humanity’s collected knowledge.”
Keisho’s mouth dropped open in wonder as she looked at her surroundings with newfound awe.
“And you, my precious, little Bonsai, will be the mother of nations.”
“What do you mean?” the girl asked, the look of wonder replaced by one of worried trepidation.
“Keisho means inheritance. You, my dear Bonsai, are mankind’s legacy. Every cell in your body contains enough genetic code to repopulate a thousand worlds.”
Katarite stared through the shimmering glass-like dome at the galaxy of stars speeding past them. She knew that somewhere, out there, in the immense vastness of space was a new garden waiting for the legacy of the bonsai tree to finally be released.
Cliff Hannan’s career has taken a quirky and somewhat circuitous route from catering to working as a croupier in top London casinos, before transitioning to roles in the British government and education sectors. When not writing, you’ll find him cooking, crafting his signature James Bond–inspired “Shaken, not Stirred” vodka martini, or exploring hiking trails in the Swiss Alps. Symbolism and human vulnerability are recurring elements in stories that effortlessly transcend emotion, perception and imagination. His debut novel, The Hive Codex, will be published by Quills & Cosmos Press in autumn 2026.
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