Episode 2,000,000,001: Earth Has Been Denounced.

Earth had probably lost his mind—if such a human thing could ever happen to a planet.

He had long since lost track of how many times he’d fiddled with the bulky ear coverings Venus insisted were the closest thing to human earbuds available. Those were but blatant copies, as was everything else planets created, and humans did so much better. 

Earth shifted in his seat for the hundredth time, but the unbearable discomfort of being there did not fade. Though he was only watched by the faint shimmer of the constellations surrounding them, the astral plane had never felt so small in the arranged room Venus had put together to accommodate both their orbits. 

She did not have the habit of having guests, and he did not have the habit of sharing his personal life either.

A broken Soviet radio antenna, now fused with a shard of obsidian shaped into a cylinder, lay at the center of the table. Earth suspected it was an attempt at a transmitter or a microphone, but he did not dare touch Venus’s creation to learn more about it. The antenna’s rusted scent, mingled with the obsidian’s mineral odor, made him want to stay away, though it was undeniably a tribute meant for him. 

No image was being transmitted. Still, Earth ran his hand through his hair, as if he were being watched. The dark strands returned to their natural messiness, regardless. He still wondered what he was doing there and whether it was too late to go back.

Agreeing to be a guest on a cosmic podcast sounded even more insane now that his sister began connecting cosmic strings to the antenna’s remnants. 

If his human vessel, now walking his world, hadn’t already lost his mind, his world’s core was surely collapsing—wasn’t it? By now, his mantle was likely folding inward as each tectonic plate fractured along its oldest seam, and his planetary body was unraveling from within. Yet his body orbited as it always had. He checked. It was his soul, it seemed, that had lost any dignity by sitting there.

Earth shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, slumping carelessly in his seat, his gaze fixed on Venus as if he had been waiting there for over thirty rotations, though less than one had actually passed.

“Don’t give me that look. If anything, I am doing you a favor,” Venus said, settling into her chair and pulling her ear coverings tight. The volcanic stone of the earbuds left a slight residue on her rose-gold hair. 

She spent what felt like a full rotation re-adjusting the messy strands.

A loud sigh escaped Earth.

“Okay, fine,” Venus grumbled, lifting her hands to the table and manipulating matter to complete the fusion of the broken antenna and obsidian into a microphone. 

The host sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Oh, well, hello, Milky Way Galaxy. Welcome to The Sulfuring Hours. This is your host, Venus, the hottest and brightest planet in the Solar System, now shaded by the sun in the right spots. At this rotation, I’m bringing you our one and only walking chaos of the Solar System… A warm welcome to you, Earth! Care to say a few words to our listeners?”

Earth shut his eyes, searching for the right words. For someone who wished to share nothing, it was a hard task. He approached the black, obsidian, antenna-morphed failed attempt at a microphone and stayed silent, trying to budge it. 

Venus shooed him away before he could ruin her creation any further. 

“You said I’d be here to answer questions,” Earth complained, whispering. The microphone recorded his hushed remark. He shook his head and cleared his throat, and his deep, low voice was finally audible. “Good… orbiting to… all.”

If anything, that experience would make him look ridiculous, but ‌Interstellar Media wouldn’t be broadcasting news about him being denounced, right? Not when Andromeda was facing a rebellion by its own rulers, not when everybody wanted to know what Sirius, the brightest star in the Solar System, was doing. Not when Venus herself was a step away from misrepresentation for her toxicity. Right?

Venus quietly clapped to herself as the audience count increased on the broken Soviet display.

“For those of you who live in the dark, have no access to the cosmic word, or have no stars to gossip with: our dear brother Mars denounced Earth…” she said with a dramatic pout. “Earth, how are you feeling?” she asked, her hand on her chest for dramatic flair. 

Shit. The question landed harder than it should have. 

That was supposed to be payback, or at least a way to diminish Mars in front of the galaxy, as he had done to Earth. Insulting his humans, their ambition, their nature, and denouncing him to extinguish them simply because they’re curious enough to reach him was enough to stir Earth’s ancient volcanic pride, dormant until pierced. This time by the red planet.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” Earth finally mumbled.

Venus unplugged a cosmic string and then whispered to him in a scolding tone. “Give me more than that,” she demanded before reconnecting.

“It’s not easy to watch betrayal from those closest to you,” was the best he could say, his voice almost failing him.

Venus pressed the old Soviet machinery. It still stored fragments of human-recorded messages, and somehow she edited the recordings enough to make a pitiful sound effect from a single word.

“Ohhhh,” the voice cooed with a Russian accent. The original word was ‘orbit,’ but now it was but a pathetic sound effect on an insane planet’s broadcast.

“Oh, poor Earth,” Venus sighed. “Now, we have some questions from our audience. What does the Milky Way wonder about you, Earth? Let’s hear the first one.”

The static sound of the obsidian rearranging itself, scraping against the rusted metal, and the toxic sulfur scent from her creation made Earth frown. 

The earphones crackled with a loud, fragmented voice. Earth removed them and set them on the table.

“Sulfuring Hours Fans, this is Betelgeuse. Thanks for choosing me, Ven. It’s an honor,” the star stated, his tone shifting from admiration to raspiness. “Earth, why don’t you put a leash on them or something?”

“Ouch,” Venus mouthed.

Earth approached the table, arms folded. “They have free will. I will not—”

The hiss of static grew to a deafening roar, interrupting him. Both planets pushed away from the table. Questions flooded in, one after another.

Venus frantically tried to fix her device. As it appears, the catered human object was no proper way to behold the cosmic word of millions of celestial beings.

The static behind the voices finally ceased, and so did the questions, until she adjusted the frequency to a single one.

“Is it true that some of them believe our bodies are flat?” asked another listener. 

Earth let out a loud sigh, his brow furrowing as his gaze dropped to the floor. “Can you filter those questions? What does that have to do with Mars denouncing me?” his eyes drifted towards Venus.

She shook her head, but before she could utter another word, Earth rose to his feet.

“Well, my little sulfurs,” Venus murmured near the microphone. “It seems recounting this tragic tale is too much for Earth,” she paused as Earth reached the doorway. “Earth…” she called again, her pleading eyes gleaming like her bronze-toned skin, begging for more as the numbers on the display continued to climb. “One last question, or perhaps a message for our listeners? Or to Mars?”

The red planet’s name echoed in his thoughts, prompting him to consider every possibility and stirring something deep within him—perhaps hatred or anger, a primal, unsettled emotion. 

Earth clenched his fist and approached the table once more, almost throwing himself into the seat. He gave Venus a final nod, signaling for one last question.

His sister planet smiled, a smile too faint to convey real meaning. “Mars hurt you badly by denouncing you. Do you have anything to say to him? What will you do about the plea? Are we to expect war?” she asked, her gaze finding his after she had been too lost in her own reflection on the metals before her. “How do you plan to respond to that?”

That was not a single question, yet Earth pondered a war.

 He had frequently before, because humanity’s nature was but a reflection of his own. The thought of attacking the red planet, to demand respect, to defend his creation, and to mark his place as the only planet in his system to create life—intelligent, beautiful, flawed life—seemed to speak louder at that moment.

Still, declaring war would not help him while facing an indictment.

Why couldn’t humanity explore the cosmos? They were merely small organisms. What harm could there be in Mars, a planet, a god, a superior being, welcoming a probe or two? Earth’s moon had, and so did Venus. Why couldn’t Mars accept the fragile, curious beings’ exploration of his own physical body without demanding their extinction?

Though his planetary shape was his body, exploration of it wasn’t serious enough to warrant a petition to end humanity. Not to Earth.

“Earth?” Venus called. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Mars?” 

With a final, dry rasp, Earth cleared his throat.  “Fuc—” he wanted to curse him, but his sister’s high-pitched voice cut off his swearing instead. 

“And… that’s it for this rotation. Our very own moody Earth. I’ll catch you again after another turn around the fire,” Venus said in a rush, waving away the atoms to disconnect her cosmic transmitter.

The scolding look on her face was more powerful than words. They stared at each other in silence, but Earth broke the gaze first with a daring grimace.

“Don’t you dare use your human curses on my podcast again,” she warned, pointing a finger at him, her brows knitted.

Earth turned, ignoring whatever else she was muttering. He put on his earphones—real, human, perfectly crafted wired earphones—and turned on his MP3 player, listening to his own chaos and the most suitable moody songs for that moment. 

He did not turn to catch her expression, though the most toxic planet in the Solar System was not his concern now. Venus was not the one who denounced him. 

Mars should not concern Earth’s cursed mind either. Not when the billions of human lives who lived within Earth’s world, his body, his planetary self, were threatened with ceasing to exist because he could no longer control his own thoughts. 

Saving his creation should remain a priority. Creation that he was about to fight for and plead to stop being targeted by the cosmos for being shaped after planet’s souls. He had not created them to see them fail, perish, and reflect his worst side. 

Humanity was born to dare the Universe, to defy order, to be free, to live, and to feel what planets, by their nature, could never.

Earth would defend that creation until his very last moment, even if it meant exiling himself alongside them.

This short story is set before the events of my novel CROSSRINGED and is independent of its plot. It’s a way to share a bit of the universe I created while you wait for the novel’s publication.

I’d like to welcome you to a universe where planets are sentient beings.

To learn more about CROSSRINGED, click here.

THE SULFURIRNG HOURS – A CROSSRINGED SHORT STORY BY ANNA TYLER | JUNE 2026