047. NotQuiteOurEarth

The thing that took our delegation by surprise as they traveled through the portal to NotQuiteOurEarth was how lovely it all was. By no means a Utopia or a Haven. Just a little bit better than our world. 

NotQuiteOurEarth was greener, its summers longer and, due to a small but significant difference in the chemical structure of cocoa butter, NotQuiteOurEarth's chocolate melted a little bit slower. The sky was bluer and more birds sang in their cities. They had forgiving and accommodating religions, thoughtful politicians and a majority that cared for the struck-out few. By some quirk in real estate law property value was exactly the same everywhere. And so the rich, the not-very-rich and the poor of this world parallel to ours were neighbors and the rich found themselves more inclined to give when those in need lived but a few doors down.

Our world improved in its wake. For a little while we managed to shame ourselves into being better. But before long we tumbled back to our old ways. The rich looked away and let the have-not's perish in the ever-widening gap between them. The warmongers warred. Ignorance and narcissism once again lay over our world like a smelly wet towel and we were all left with whatever happiness we could steal from each other.

Our world improved in its wake. For a little while we managed to shame ourselves into being better. But before long we tumbled back to our old ways. The rich looked away and let the have-not's perish in the ever-widening gap between them. The warmongers warred. Ignorance and narcissism once again lay over our world like a smelly wet towel and we were all left with whatever happiness we could steal from each other.

NotQuiteOurEarth had wars and bloodshed but their horrors were a little less horrific and their darkness not as deep. 

When our delegation returned and shared their findings they were met by a pervading sense of confusion. Science fiction and pulp novels often depicted parallel worlds as dark reflections of our own so we were prepared for war. Instead we found that it was our reality that was bent and distorted. A funhouse mirror held up to how things should have been. We were the faulty ones.

The portal to NotQuiteOurEarth stood open for a hundred and eighty-four days. Then it flared, sizzled and for a few seconds held the night as bright as day before it disappeared forever.

For a thin slice of time, a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness, everyone tried to do good by all.

But it's tiring stretching up for something always out of reach.