SF Layzell
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This was it. The most important night of my life. I fidgeted with my pin badge, a bright yellow California poppy, the one personal item I was permitted to wear on my all-grey uniform. The rest of the crew started boarding the train, each wearing flower badges similar to my own. They lined up to receive their duties. I cleared my throat, dry from lack of use, and explained the official schedule.
The Hyperion Express was a driverless sleeper train scheduled to depart at 6pm. After a three-course dinner, served by a human crew (us) for an old-fashioned touch, the passengers would network with their future Martian neighbours. A programme of personalised entertainment awaited them on return to their cabins followed by a light supper and finally, around midnight, a plethora of sleeping aids handed out by the crew before we darkened the cabins.
We began our duties as the station workers finished loading and helping passengers to their seats. I started prepping for dinner. The passengers’ food was mouthwatering, like nothing I had seen in years. For a second I thought about taking my other form and stowing away in one of the expensive suitcases. The thought of seeing Earth from space made my heart swell. I touched my pin and remembered my responsibilities. A different adventure awaited me.
We waited on the passengers patiently, following the schedule until at long last soothing music and snores filled the cabins. I found the rest of the crew and nodded to each of them in turn. Daisy. Sunflower. Lavender. Hyacinth. Dandelion. Rose.
Quickly, we worked together to disconnect the alarm systems, made our way to the end carriage, and decoupled it from the rest of the train. When the train slid to a screeching halt, we unloaded crate after crate of flowers, seeds and water supplies intended to accompany the passengers to Mars.
Dawn came swiftly. We had seen this landscape change beyond recognition during our lives. Our hybrid form allowed us to live longer than the rest of our kind. We had fought and we would go on fighting.
For the next part of our plan we needed to shift. I pressed my pin and shrunk down into a tight fuzzball. I stretched out my wings and my stinger and hovered above ground. The others followed, and soon we were a happy group of buzzing were-bees.
We took to the air in search of the others, and we danced. We soared and spun through dried-up meadows, up and down fire-scarred hills.
Our dance said water. Our dance said flowers. Our dance said seeds. Our dance said life.
As the rest of the Hyperion Express sped on through the night, thousands of fellow bees, many of them weak, but fierce and determined, emerged from rocks and tree-stumps and joined in the dance.
We supped on nectar, spread pollen and seeds for miles around, and drenched the land in water and song. I no longer wanted to see Earth from space. I wanted only to see it close up, seeded and singing with promise.
We took to the air, and we danced.
SF’s prompts were: On a Sleeper Train, a Shapeshifter, Dancing
Originally from the North of England, SF Layzell (Sarah) is a writer and editor with a PhD in children’s literature. Their debut historical children’s novel Cottonopolis was published by Northodox Press and shortlisted for the Little Rebels Children’s Book Award 2025. Sarah is currently working on two children’s novels: one about the historical resistance against ecocide in the English Fens, and one about a girl whose house turns into a boat. Website: https://sflayzell.com/
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