Venusian: a short story

Written by Morgan Host | Graphic by Juana Garcia

Surface pressure from atmosphere: 90 bars

Thick and toxic clouds trap everything on the planet, including our knowledge of “out there.” If we have a satellite, we cannot see it. Just as we cannot view the sphere of fire and gas around which we move, or the other burning orbs in the invisible galaxy. How do we know these things exist? We do not. They are simply legends, the origin of which we do not remember. We often wonder if the dark rotating sulfuric fluff piles up to infinity and there is nothing beyond. It is a sad thought. The pile is heavy, and we cannot go out into the open after being in the caves without feeling the weight on our limbs. This is good for when we need a reminder that we exist. But it can also be dangerous staying out too long. Because every cloud is shadowy, every cloud’s belly is full, the storms come without warning.

Precipitation: Sulfuric acid droplets

The legend that the planet’s rain is poisonous and deadly has been proven false. When we get trapped in storms, the smell the acid brings into our space, kept close to the surface by the clouds, is enough to make all five of our stomach sacks fill with bile and our three nostrils leak, but there is no pain, corrosion, or burning taking place on our bumpy flesh as we blindly move towards shelter in the mountains. We must, however, prevent the droplets from touching the taste buds on our neck, for they are bitter and permit further bile production. The rain is never tame. The plump clouds cry in unforgiving acidic sheets. Sometimes the dense atmosphere is distraught for four heartbeats. Other occasions we must hide in the mountains’ mouths for ten super rotations.