[Issue 2025.73]

‘The Cassandra Effect’, M. Frost

Art © 2020 Chourabitaher (CC-BY-SA 3.0)

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I told you, Cassandra said, her tone
indignant. How many times?

I shout too, but my voice is hushed by algorithms.
Older. Likely female. Never orders mascara.
Ads tout sales of cat food, men’s pants, pasteurized milk.

Don’t touch that box, that one in the liquid nitrogen.
Cassandra points. I thought Pandora explained.

I’m screaming her message into the abyss.
Other times, it’s just my pillow.
People barely trust science these days.

Cassandra stalks away, muttering.
At least it’s not a horse this time.

Behind her is the box with the biohazard sign.
I take it back, she calls over her shoulder.

Go ahead.
Open it.

© 2025 M. Frost

[Issue 2025.73]

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