THE NEXT MORNING, NO EARTH by Karen Walker

Overnight on April 22, forty-one pink plastic flamingos appear on Earth's front lawn.

Who on Earth did it?

Ryan did.. Ryan counts the riches of mankind in a cubicle next to Earth's at the downtown office of Profit, Profit, and Profit Accounting Corp.

Air, Earth's flighty buddy from high school, was also there, but did much less. Because Air never carries a credit or debit card, Ryan paid to rent the flamingos from the all-night party supply store. Air pushed one bird into the grass before stopping and lighting a cig.

"Whew, out of breath."   

Who had nothing to do with the surprise, although she likes pink plastic and has lots of it? Brianna, Earth's fiancée.

In three weeks, Earth and Brianna are to wed in a lavish ceremony at a golf club. The saturated, pesticide green of the venue is her vision of nature. She's planned a midnight buffet of endangered seafood, a live jazz band, and a complicated dance sequence for their grand entrance at the reception. 

Earth has invited Ryan and Air to the wedding. Brianna's guest list tops 120. 

She's told her family and friends various creation myths to explain Earth. 

The truth is, she was in line behind the planet at a food truck on Corporate Street. Hmm, an expensive suit, she observed. Tapping the big ellipsoid-shaped back, she asked if Earth had tried Volcano's Tex-Mex before. 

"Yes," was the answer. 

"What would you recommend from the menu?"

"Everything except the refried beans. Gassiness can lead to global warming."

Brianna laughed. She tossed her curls and feigned interest as Earth went on about rescuing black bears displaced by urban sprawl.  

But why the flamingos? To celebrate Earth's birthday, born forty-one years ago to the late Sunny and a father seen only on equinoxes. 

By Ryan's accounting, Earth's eyes are watery 70.8% of the time. 

Ryan often asks if everything is okay. 

In a deep voice, Earth blames pollution and the office's air conditioning for the teariness.

Ryan isn't convinced. Recently, he said to Air, "Looks like the weight of the world on those shoulders."

A denier of everything, Air doubts anything is wrong.

Ryan believes Earth and Brianna are having trouble.

They are. 

Brianna has secretly decided she cannot marry Earth. With just weeks to go, with everything confirmed and the dance routine as polished as it'll ever be, she can't. Just can't. 

Because Earth has two left feet.

Because Earth is too much to get her little human arms around and isn't the hugger she is. The sex is infrequent, boring.  

Earth is passionate about recycling, but, to Brianna, it's all just garbage. "Throw it out and forget it. God, no one cares."

That led to long polar vortexes and the house becoming very frosty indeed with Earth sleeping in the basement.  

Brianna hasn't decided when she'll leave Earth, although it won't be on his birthday. That'd be heartless.

Still, no damn way she's doing a birthday party. "Do what you want with Earth," she texted Ryan, "but don't include me."  

Longing to party with Brianna—beautifully bronzed by the thinning atmosphere—Air was bummed. 

"We'll take Earth to Miami for a wild guy weekend sometime soon," Ryan told her, "But for now, we're coming over with plastic birds. A fun Florida teaser."    

The day after Earth Day, Brianna moves out with her pedigreed cat, with her shoes and throw cushions, and one flamingo.  

Returning only forty birds to the store, Ryan then loses his security deposit.  

The Miami bro trip finally happens. As Ryan and Earth wait for Air at the airport, Ryan's phone rings and he learns Air isn't coming at all. Has blown them off for Brianna and a heart-shaped hot tub in Niagara Falls. Ryan carefully breaks the news to Earth, who rotates slower and slower.  

They find Miami flooded. Sigh. Its pulsing nightlife are now mere bubbles, its bright Art Deco architecture a muddy grey.

They wade to their hotel. Ryan hangs his pants to dry in the bathroom and, yawning, climbs into bed. He promises Earth a better tomorrow.

"Cheer up. We'll check out soggy South Beach and what remains of Little Havana," Ryan says."Nighty-night." 

The next morning, no Earth. Ryan awakens to find the big bed next to his empty. A server in the hotel bar remembers a sad planet there until 3 a.m.

Ryan texts Brianna. "Heard from Earth? Do U care?" 

Brianna gets back. "Obv. I do. Gotta go." 

Then, ping. It's Air with breezy advice: "Stop worrying, man. You're always worrying. Go get laid."

Ryan swims the streets in search of his friend.  

At the police station, an officer asks routine misper questions including "What was Earth wearing when last seen? What was Earth's emotional state when last seen? Any recent events—personal, professional, financial, climatic—to explain the disappearance? Where might Earth go if in distress? What might Earth do?" 

Ryan cries. The officer gives him a damp tissue. 

Earth can't end like this.

Karen Walker (she/her) writes short stories in a low basement in Ontario, Canada. Her most recent work is in New Flash Fiction Review, Centaur, Exist Otherwise, Switch, Misery Tourism, Does it Have Pockets? and EGG+FROG.