beginning at the ends
by Antje Jacobs
Perspective: English Ivy at Arts West
Get directions: 37°47’51.2″S 144°57’34.7″E
A human rests beneath my branches. She has been here for over two hours, reading, occasionally lifting her gaze to observe the world before returning to the pages. My branches quiver, restless, drawn to her. I consider sending a connection request, but I hesitate. I haven’t shared memory in years, not since the accident.
I miss sharing. I haven’t felt that moment of merging—where self dissolves into something plural, where you get to know other beings through time and space, through memory.
So many beings pass by each day—humans hurrying into the building, magpies perching on nearby trees, ants climbing my branches, raindrops clinging on my leaves. Always near, yet I haven’t shared with any of them, out of uncertainty. I don’t know if I can trust them.
Lately, more and more reports have surfaced—incidents where unknown beings reach too deeply, hacking memories, inserting new, never happened ones, or stealing what matters most. It messes with your memory, with your identity. One wrong interaction and you’re rewritten.
I never thought it would happen to me, until they reached too deep, attempting to erase me, stripping away my memories, my identity. I barely survived. Forced below the Earth’s surface, I lingered for years, but I have sprouted again recently. The sunlight is a comfort, but it doesn’t erase the loneliness. I cannot share. It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk losing myself again.
This human, though—she lingers near me, and I can almost sense a connection, a thread of familiarity. I want to understand her; what brings her here, what worlds she explores in her books, her memory. I shield her from the sun on hot summer days, shelter her from the rain. Sometimes she’s alone, other times she brings other humans. But she always comes back. I wonder whether she senses it too. Perhaps we share memory.
Summoning all my courage, I reach out. I send out a request.
Her hand lights up. She turns, eyes wide, her gaze finding me without hesitation. Is she accepting?
Standing up now, she steps closer, fingers reaching for my branches.
The connection locks in, the sharing takes off, in flashes, fractured pieces, fragments.
I inherit her thoughts, her sensations, her griefs and joys as if they were my own. I share mine. Instant connection, instant understanding, empathy.
Fancy responding to the English Ivy?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Antje Jacobs is a joint-PhD candidate at KU Leuven and the University of Melbourne, in the departments of sociology and education. She has a background in Art Studies, as well as Science and Technology studies. Her scholarly work bridges the arts and the sciences, exploring the complexity of knowledge creation which involves creative approaches and participant engagement. In this context, her research explores climate change through creativity, focusing on speculative and multispecies worldbuilding.
Words from antje
This story presents (part of) a multispecies cli-fi story in which multispecies interaction is presented as a performative act of care and trust. Through sharing memory, beings are able to build an intimate connection with one another. However, this form of connection is constrained: not everyone possesses the authority to share memory, doing so may be risky. Accordingly, the story does not present an uncritical ideal of multispecies interaction, rather, it juxtaposes these hopeful imaginings with social limitation.
It is inspired by the research I am doing in PhD on multispecies art and climate change.
Your comment will be reviewed before it will be posted here. Our team of editors will also curate a selection of responses for publication in our anthology.