{"id":60,"date":"2026-02-04T00:11:17","date_gmt":"2026-02-04T00:11:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/?page_id=60"},"modified":"2026-02-04T23:02:00","modified_gmt":"2026-02-04T23:02:00","slug":"wet-socks","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wet-socks\/","title":{"rendered":"Wet Socks"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<style>\n.bodyLeft {\n  float: left;\n  margin: 0 32px 80px 0;\n  max-width: 520px;\n  width: 100%;\n}\n.marginBottom {\n  margin-bottom: 48px;\n}\n.seperator {\n  font-weight: 700;\n  margin: 32px 0;\n  text-align: center;\n  text-indent: 0px;\n}\nh1, h2, h3 {\n  margin-block-end: .5em;\n  margin-block-start: .5em;\n  text-align: center;\n}\np {\n  text-indent: 32px;\n}\n@media (max-width: 640px) {\n  h4.hideMobile {\n     display: none;\n  }\n}\n<\/style>\n<div class=\"container\">\n\t<div class=\"content\">\n\t\t<section class=\"backNext\">\n\t\t\t<h4><a href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/\">Back to Journals<br> Home<\/a><\/h4>\n\t\t\t<h4 class=\"hideMobile\">Featured Story For Autumn 2025<\/h4>\n\t\t\t<h4><a href=\"\/rw\/2025-autumn\/ahabs-seafood-galley\/\">On to the<br> Wonderous Stories<\/a><\/h4>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t<main>\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"bodyLeft\" src=\"\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/wetSocks.jpg\"\/>\n\t\t\t<h1>Wet Socks Drying in the Tide<\/h1>\n\n\t\t\t<h2>by Renan Bernardo<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<h3>(Originally appeared in Solarpunk Magazine #17 in September 2024.)<\/h3>\n\t\t\t<h3 class=\"marginBottom\">Illustrated by Thana  Meejinda<\/h3>\n\n\t\t\t<p>The glint of sunlight over the flooded streets. That\u2019s what C\u00e1ssio picks while he wades toward the mecha garden, water up to his ankles. M\u00e3e says everyone should have a favorite thing in Santa Virg\u00ednia, something beautiful, perhaps enticing or unique, something that makes you call that scorching, bland town home. It\u2019s how you grow roots, she says. Not that there\u2019s a way not to grow roots. Santa Virg\u00ednia dos Beija-Flores is the only town for many kilometers, surrounded by a vastness of nothingness, caatinga, and long-dead towns. A pimple in the middle of nowhere.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio stops before the mecha garden. It\u2019s a wide swath of mud jumbled with the algal juice of the river tide. Its flowers, the thirteen functioning mechas of Santa Virg\u00ednia, are all as ugly as C\u00e1ssio: bulky, rusty, five-meter tall giants used as a means of transportation between the town and the school.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Tia Neide and the other students are already kick-starting their allocated mechas when C\u00e1ssio enters his, a dismal giant with hints of forgotten purple and meaningless logograms. C\u00e1ssio climbs it and accommodates himself on the ruptured cushion, absorbing years of sweat\u2014from others, from unknown soldiers, his own. Stale hydraulic fluid lingers in the air, a remainder from before the time the mechas were powered by light, as if all good things must come with a price. The worst is the rustiness, though, ingraining the mecha and himself. Feels like he always has his teeth clenched around an iron bar.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>No. His favorite thing can\u2019t be the sunlight over the streets flooded with muddy water, always too shallow and marshy for boats, too deep for feet. It reminds him of how his sneakers and socks are always stinky, his toes always wet and wrinkly, his sweat a permanent coat clinging to his skin. Roots don\u2019t grow well in soggy soil.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider comes from C\u00e1ssio\u2019s left.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The boy rides an adapted bicycle with motorcycle tires, picking a craggy road that\u2019s luckily above the waterline today. C\u00e1ssio has seen a man break his knees there once. A shriek and a fall and the man vanished forever in a riptide. Not that C\u00e1ssio cares about the outsider. The outsider steals food. No one needs to steal food in Santa Virg\u00ednia. The olericulture compound provides for everyone.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cA boy on the left,\u201d Iracema says, opening a private channel with C\u00e1ssio. She\u2019s in the discolored mecha in front of him. Most of their mechas are inactive, except for their basic comms, the levers that control their mechanical parts, and the air conditioning system that keeps the conductors from toasting. \u201cCan we help?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Technically, yes. At least warn the boy that crossing that way is a crazy thing to do. But he won\u2019t.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe tide cuts the road up ahead,\u201d C\u00e1ssio says after pressing the button to open a channel with Iracema. \u201cHe will have to come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p> Santa Virg\u00ednia dos Beija-Flores is the tide. It stays high for most of the year. The town itself gets the best of it, with most streets inundated only by shallow waters and its houses having their first floors empty as if they\u2019re tributes to the tide. But all the lands around the town spawn kilometers of quagmires, swamps, and marshy terrain, punished by riptides, strong currents, whirlpools, and the rocky and wooden remains of the old, drowned parts of Santa Virg\u00ednia. It\u2019s impossible to travel them without the use of mechas. In the times of M\u00e3e\u2019s granny, there were green woods between the town and the school, thickets of trees where people met for a walk or to have a picnic on a warm day. There were wooden houses back then, M\u00e3e says, not only the brick ones, pockmarking the town like chickenpox, and the windows didn\u2019t have clotheslines filled with pants, socks, shoes, and boots. Now all that\u2019s left is the river&#8217;s desire to grow wider and taller.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cShould we tell him?\u201d Iracema\u2019s voice is crackly over the obsolete speakers. The outsider is stubborn. He keeps pedaling across the broken road.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cHe won\u2019t hear us from here,\u201d C\u00e1ssio says, pinching his lips, trying to ward off the memories of his mother, all sweat and paleness, arriving at home after a hard day in the brickworks. \u201cAnd\u2026 Iracema\u2026 We shouldn\u2019t deviate our mechas from the predefined paths. You know that.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Iracema closes the comm.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider passes him by, faster than the sturdy mechas. For an instant, C\u00e1ssio sees him flicker, as if a trick of the heat. He wears a mantilla around his head to protect him from the inclement sun. If it wasn\u2019t an outsider\u2014that outsider\u2014C\u00e1ssio would veer from the mechas\u2019 submerged, reinforced path to help. Tia Neide says helping is the core of Santa Virg\u00ednia dos Beija-Flores. If not for a sense of community, Santa Virg\u00ednia would be long dead at the mercies of the river. But the outsider isn\u2019t part of this community. He wasn\u2019t born here. He steals food. He\u2019s like a treacherous rock pinning the leg of a mecha.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Days before, M\u00e3e had told him her packed lunch had been stolen and her blood pressure dropped. C\u00e1ssio knew exactly who had done that. The boy who came from another town as if Santa Virg\u00ednia had anything to offer besides heat on the head and water on the feet. C\u00e1ssio had seen the boy with M\u00e3e\u2019s lunch bag earlier that same day and thought it was just a similar one. At night, he fed his mother a leftover stew from the compound. She threw up after a coughing fit and went to bed early.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio clenches his teeth in a grunt of anger, pummeling the lever to move the mecha\u2019s left leg and free it from a quagmire.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>There\u2019s one thing C\u00e1ssio almost likes about Santa Virg\u00ednia: the other mechas sloshing in front of him while they plod to school, their matte greens and purples and blues dissolving in the dullness of ancient machinery. C\u00e1ssio likes to see their sturdy legs splashing on the tidal flood, making it ripple around them with each pull. Tia Neide leads the party, a procession of students between thirteen and sixteen years old, thinking there\u2019s a future on the other side. Sometimes, he stops briefly in the middle of the road, where both the town and the school are out of sight. It\u2019s the only moment when he deceives himself, half-believing there\u2019s a place where he can think of favorites.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Fireworks mottle the sky in blue and red. Tia Neide sets them off every day as the kids arrive in Colinalta. A colorful message of relief to the people in town to reassure that everyone arrived safely.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Colinalta is on a plateau. It\u2019s the safest place from the violence of the tidal waters, which had been a secondary reason to turn the ancient mecha factory into a school years ago. It\u2019s a wide compound full of hangars, plazas, and pads, most of them still encrusted with the metal skeletons of the mechas just waiting for the final touch of time. It\u2019s the grown-ups\u2019 favorite place. They say it\u2019s a temple for hope, decadent and broken, but still a place for them to believe there\u2019s a path to better times. For C\u00e1ssio, the only thing interesting about Colinalta is that his feet get to dry off.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>In the classroom\u2014a repurposed and gigantic garage\u2014Tia Neide stands on the dais, wearing her glasses at the tip of her nose, the lenses greasy and cracked at the corners, the frame slightly crooked. Her blouse is the same as the day before, yellowed under the armpits and frayed at the borders. Before her, sitting on the floor is the primary reason for turning the mecha factory into a school. Us.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt seems we have a new student today.\u201d Tia Neide picks up a brush and finds a spot to clean on the repurposed mecha chassis in front of her on the dais. Others, older and less preserved, are lined up against the far wall of the classroom like severe spectators. \u201cPlease, boy, state your name.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider remains silent. Somehow, he managed to get to Colinalta only at the expense of the ripped mantilla on his lap. Blotches of mud stain his curly black hair. His bicycle lies in a corner, smudged by stripes of algae but intact. That boy shouldn\u2019t be there. C\u00e1ssio wants to say that. He wants to tell Tia Neide that the boy steals food from the town, that he will be a problem for Santa Virg\u00ednia when he grows up, just like the bandits that stole mechas and fled the town two years before. But the words catch in his throat the same way they seem to be in the new boy\u2019s.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou don\u2019t need to tell me if you don\u2019t want to or can\u2019t, of course,\u201d Tia Neide says, dusting off a schematic and pinning it to the wall. \u201cGet acquainted with your fellow students in the meantime. Today we\u2019re going to study the basics of ratios, or why we shouldn\u2019t build disproportionate mechas.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio pinches his lips when the outsider\u2019s vile eyes meet his. Black pupils underneath a thick unibrow. The boy quickly lowers his head, as if he can hide the blame for stealing M\u00e3e\u2019s food and for being where he doesn\u2019t belong.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p> \u201cC\u00e1ssio, you\u2019ve been quieter than usual lately.\u201d Tia Neide shakes him out of his thoughts. He shudders. It\u2019s his cue. Say it. Tell her the outsider is the enemy. He\u2019d read about bad people in one of the ancient magazines at the back of Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s bakery, the ones he keeps from before the weather cracked. Outsiders come from far away to wreak havoc and steal and turn good into trash. Oilmen, M\u00e3e calls them, big boogeymen in black suits, leaving tracks of filth from the big cities, with their pitchy eyes and fuel-blotted bodies. He can imagine the outsider metamorphosing into one of them as he grows up, his skin peeling off and cracking to exude oil.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYes?\u201d C\u00e1ssio says, clearing his throat.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cShould you use reinforced glass for the main hatch of a mecha?\u201d She pats the chassis in front of her, though most of its materials are cheap replacements. Santa Virg\u00ednia doesn\u2019t have enough of anything\u2014steel, rubber, aluminum, silica, hope\u2014to build even the simplest parts of real mechas.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cOnly if the surrounding beams can prevent it from cracking.\u201d The answer is ready on his lips. He reads the books Tia Neide tells them to read. He goes to the town classes, as Tia Neide calls those that don\u2019t require a commute. In Colinalta, he goes to the hands-on classes, builds mecha prototypes, paints rusty chassis, and repairs junk in the hangars and plazas. He learns it all. He finds it all useless. The grown-ups of Santa Virg\u00ednia dos Beija-Flores believe if the kids can learn how to build and repair the mechas, then one day they will be able to use them in their daily lives. Hope\u2019s a grown-up trait. He\u2019d seen Tia Neide\u2019s sketches. Mechas building houses, planting trees, carrying a dozen people inside gigantic chassis, dredging the river banks to control the tide, and even marching toward the distant towns hundreds of kilometers away from Santa Virg\u00ednia.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>When C\u00e1ssio looks sideways, the outsider is staring at him with a glint in his eye. The paradox of anger: the fact that C\u00e1ssio doesn\u2019t feel angry at the enemy looking at him makes him angry.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Tia Neide says something, but he doesn\u2019t listen. He doesn\u2019t want to. He just wants to go back home and crash on his mattress without even drying his feet. If M\u00e3e asked him about what he despises the most in Santa Virg\u00ednia, it wouldn\u2019t be easy to find an answer. He\u2019d have tons of options.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider is also a fool. Despite all the red flags, he keeps going to school on his bicycle. And every day, C\u00e1ssio is bothered by it.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>On the sixth day since appearing on the craggy road, the outsider disappears into the water with his bike. Like he was never even there. <\/p>\n\t\t\t <p>C\u00e1ssio\u2019s heart races like he\u2019s the one falling. Before he even realizes he\u2019s thinking about the boy drowning, his arms grip tight against the mecha\u2019s levers to move left. He surmounts a few quagmires, trips, pulls the arm levers to kneel and stand, then keeps plodding. The mecha\u2019s junctions yowl their years. The merciless terrain scratches, bats, strains its legs. The seat jostles, throwing him back and forth, the worn-out seat belts tugging at his chest. He shouldn\u2019t be doing this. Tia Neide\u2019s guidelines for conducting a mecha say they should always communicate to others if\u2014for whatever reason\u2014they need to deviate from the predefined paths. But he\u2019d never admit he\u2019s about to help an outsider.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>This is how kids die, Tia Neide scowls in his mind. The waterline is at the mecha\u2019s knees, which means it\u2019s about his height. He presses a button to anchor the mecha onto the ground below, unsure if that feature still works, and opens the cockpit hatch. Heat and the invasive pang of algae bloom hit him. Hot and smelly. Maybe it\u2019s how death feels after all. According to Tia Neide, most of the children and teenagers\u2019 deaths in Santa Virg\u00ednia happen at the crossing between the town and the school.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio climbs down the mecha, gripping the girders on its belly tight. He leaps onto a stretch of land above the water, ignoring that it might only be a loosened patch of dirt floating about. It\u2019s not. He kneels and catches the wheel of the bike, which got stuck in a rock. The part of the road where the outsider fell is no longer visible, so he must\u2019ve fallen after an upsurge of water inundated it.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIdiot!\u201d C\u00e1ssio screams, unsure if to the outsider or to himself. He pulls hard, and the bike comes up with the floundering outsider still tied to its pedals by his threadbare trousers. He flails around on the ground, and C\u00e1ssio pulls him up by the shoulders.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The boy is a lumpy creature of mud and algae. The first thing C\u00e1ssio does is punch him in the face. It&#8217;s almost as if the punch is just a sigh, a mere release of the tension held in his chest.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThat\u2019s for stealing my mom\u2019s lunch.\u201d C\u00e1ssio is barely able to murmur the words. Both of them are crying, he realizes.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider is moaning, his lips sticking with mud, blood, and regret. He looks like a person rescued in the burst of a dam. C\u00e1ssio had seen them in Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s magazines: spirits with relief and despair stirred in swampy eyes.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cGet up and climb!\u201d C\u00e1ssio pushes the outsider toward the mecha.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>This is how kids die.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>M\u00e3e\u2019s dark skin is covered in a film of fiery red. When C\u00e1ssio approaches her in the brickworks\u2019 entrance, he catches the glimpse of a smile on her lips. She climbs down the stairs that lead inside, wipes the sweat on her brow with a kerchief, and sits on the bench in front of him, crossing her legs to avoid the wet road that leads to town. The click-clacking of conveyor belts inside is as comforting as everything that muffles the pervasive shuffle of the tide.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy do people come from other towns to Santa Virg\u00ednia?\u201d C\u00e1ssio asks, gently grabbing the kerchief from her hand and pressing it against her left nostril, where a bead of blood is starting to froth up.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cSometimes just to eat,\u201d M\u00e3e says, holding the kerchief in place but without letting go of his hand.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cAnd to study\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThat too.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cMechas?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cAnything there is to study.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe only study mechas out here.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt\u2019s the most useful thing we have\u2026 to solve a lot of things, including\u2026 this.\u201d M\u00e3e shrugs at the building behind her, her chest wheezing softly. The noisy world of bricks inside agrees with her.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Tia Neide says if their mecha dreams become reality, then the work of making bricks and using them to construct buildings could be performed easier and faster. The town could grow, expand, though C\u00e1ssio doesn\u2019t know why they\u2019d want Santa Virg\u00ednia to grow.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cTia Neide is the only person qualified to teach anything in the country,\u201d M\u00e3e says.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He knows that when M\u00e3e says \u201ccountry,\u201d it doesn\u2019t have the same meaning as the country of Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s magazines.<\/p> Today\u2019s country is a series of towns, all far from each other, all poor, all unsure of each other\u2019s business. The magazines\u2019 country means something they don\u2019t have anymore, with tall buildings, pretty boys with combed hair, forced smiles, and men who look like boogey oilmen. There was a war a long time ago, M\u00e3e says. Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s magazines also hint at it. That\u2019s why the ancient factory is out there in the hill, and that\u2019s why there are mechas in Santa Virg\u00ednia. No one knows the reasons behind the war. When war happens, Tia Neide says, it\u2019s because it\u2019s too late to understand why it started. Seu M\u00e1rio believes it has to do with the weather and oilmen and cities with tall buildings. But it\u2019s a guess. All they know is that the war left the mechas behind in Santa Virg\u00ednia. Like an offering.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cSo some people come from other towns to study even if they don\u2019t have an allocated mecha to reach Colinalta? Isn\u2019t it dangerous?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cA life without a future sometimes seems darker than no life at all. And\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>M\u00e3e\u2019s chest heaves. The kerchief drops and gets soaked on the boggy road. She coughs. It was never the lack of food that made her blood pressure drop when the outsider stole her lunch. M\u00e3e is ill. C\u00e1ssio has known that for a while but only needs to deal with the reality of it when he\u2019s face to face with M\u00e3e. Something he\u2019s been avoiding lately.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy don\u2019t we have doctors here?\u201d C\u00e1ssio says, thinking of all the white, shiny buildings with red crosses he\u2019d seen in Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s magazines. There\u2019s more than enough space in the school for a place like that. They should be learning how to repair people, not junk.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBad luck, I guess,\u201d M\u00e3e says, recomposing herself. The feeble traces of a smile on her face have faded. \u201cWe had one years ago, but she drowned.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It\u2019s something in her lungs. C\u00e1ssio knows by the wheezing that joins the whistles of the wind at night.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The outsider has a name.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio knocks at his door to demand something for M\u00e3e\u2019s lunch, the rescue, and the mecha ride to school and back two days before. They\u2019re a community. They exchange. It can\u2019t be only one way.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A toothless old man comes to the brick hut\u2019s door, a black mustache falling over his upper lip like a curtain. The man\u2019s wearing a stained white jacket, as shabby as the place, which was probably put up in a matter of hours by the outsider family.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cJuninho is at the compound.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho. It\u2019s almost as if the outsider belongs. In the few days at school, the outsider has been a silent spectator, nodding at Tia Neide with an effusiveness that doesn\u2019t marry well with Santa Virg\u00ednia.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio wades to the olericulture compound and finds the outsider eating a mix of vegetables in front of the compound\u2019s main gate. His threadbare shoes and three pairs of socks hang on a clothesline nearby, but there\u2019s a solitary wet sneaker on the steps. Other kids lie around too, some of whom C\u00e1ssio recognizes from school, none of whom he cares about. At the west side gate, a line of citizens starts to form to get their food allotment, shoes and slippers in hand.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou learned how to eat,\u201d C\u00e1ssio says, frowning at the bowl in the outsider\u2019s hands. The boy startles, his shoulders stiffen, but he relaxes when he sees C\u00e1ssio. The boy offers him a sickly smile and a nod. \u201cYou don\u2019t need to worry about food.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The boy nods again and props his bowl on the steps of the compound. He raises one hand to his forehead and the other to his chin, then pulls them out.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Thank you.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>M\u00e3e taught C\u00e1ssio sign language years ago. He raises his hand with his thumb and little finger up, only to realize it means \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d not \u201cYou\u2019re welcome\u201d as he\u2019d intended. He doesn\u2019t correct himself. The boy nods. A scab draws in the left corner of his mouth, a mark left either by the tide\u2019s rage or by C\u00e1ssio\u2019s punch. Without the tide all over his body and the fear in his eyes, Juninho is a pretty boy. Not magazine pretty, but in a fiercer, almost aggressive way. His skin is brown like C\u00e1ssio\u2019s, but peeled and slightly burnt at the forehead\u2014meaning he\u2019s been outside a lot.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho moves his hands. What\u2019s yours called?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio frowns at him. \u201cMy what?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho imitates a muscly creature trampling along the compound\u2019s steps, his arms moving like pendulums. For the first time in a long while, C\u00e1ssio muffles a laugh. Then he bites his lip and straightens his back. He can\u2019t forget he doesn\u2019t like this boy.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI don\u2019t give it a name. It\u2019s not a person.\u201d Other folks do. He finds it silly. \u201cDon\u2019t you have an allocation?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho shakes his head.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Getting an allocation isn\u2019t easy. It never was, but in the last few years it has been a lot harder because they have only thirteen functioning mechas in the garden. Anyone who doesn\u2019t get the best grades during the Colinalta Entrance Exam isn\u2019t exactly prohibited from going to school, only strongly discouraged. It\u2019s dangerous to cross the tides with a mecha\u2014without one, it\u2019s madness. The grown-ups say this is going to change one day, drawing those words from their weird hope. They say they\u2019ll find ways to build safe roads across the tides. Most of all, they\u2019ll find ways to build more and more mechas.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy don\u2019t you hang that one too?\u201d C\u00e1ssio points at the wet sneaker lying on the compound steps.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho makes a series of gestures. C\u00e1ssio stares intently at his hands. If a shoe is heavy enough to snap a clothesline, then every piece drying on it gets wet.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio bites his lips, feeling the weight of the boy\u2019s gaze on him. Helping is at the core of Santa Virg\u00ednia. He despises the boy but should at least warn him about the dangers of crossing the tide. He nods at Juninho\u2019s shoes and socks, softly swishing on the clothesline.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhen the mecha\u2019s cells heat up its back motor, it gets hot enough to dry your things in less than twenty minutes. Come, bring them.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio is unsure why he didn\u2019t tell Juninho about the pair of socks he forgot when he went home the day before. He\u2019d seen the flimsy, grey socks hanging on the unnamed mecha\u2019s back, hardened and muddied but dry. He could\u2019ve yelled for Juninho. Instead, he picked up the socks and folded them in his pocket while Juninho padded away through the boggy garden.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio is also unsure why he didn\u2019t tell Juninho about the dangers of the tide. Nor did he demand anything for having helped the boy. But there would be other opportunities. After knocking on Juninho\u2019s door to give back his socks, C\u00e1ssio invites him to go to school in the mecha. He sets up a cushion behind his seat, in a vacant spot where the payload of some side weapon used to be installed ages ago. The boy needs to lower his head at all times and keep his legs crossed. He doesn\u2019t complain.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cDo you like Tia Neide\u2019s class?\u201d They march through the tide, always the last in line. C\u00e1ssio has stuck a mirror near the right-hand lever so he can see Juninho\u2019s gestures.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She\u2019s the best. I want to be an engineer.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The mecha quivers. C\u00e1ssio grips the proper levers tight and propels it forward in an out-of-step hobble. It takes a while to adjust. With the extra weight, the battery seems to deplete quicker, and the mecha lingers a bit more in quagmires. But it\u2019s manageable. C\u00e1ssio has seen mechas in worse shape functioning for months before becoming scrap for Tia Neide\u2019s workshops.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>We shouldn\u2019t be doing that.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio doesn\u2019t reply.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I\u2019m sorry.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Your mom\u2019s lunch.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio nods slowly. He tries to suppress his anger, only to realize he feels a bit curious.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy did you do that? We have the compound for food.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>That is how I ate. A pause. Before.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIn the place where you lived?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho nods.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat was it like?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho gestures with his two hands toward his belly like blades penetrating through his skin. Hunger. But it\u2019s his eyes that give C\u00e1ssio a chill.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cDid your parents come with you?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Uncle.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio wants to ask about his other relatives, but it\u2019s not the time. In the mirror, Juninho\u2019s eyes become blank like they did when C\u00e1ssio rescued him from the tide. A spirit, surprised to have found his way out of somewhere. Surprised to be just here.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cJuninho\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The boy seems to be shaken out of a torpor.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s your favorite thing about Santa Virg\u00ednia?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cM\u00e3e is going to die.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>When the mecha\u2019s left arm fails completely, C\u00e1ssio judges it\u2019s a good time to tell Juninho about his mother\u2019s condition. \u201cI don\u2019t know why or when, but I know she will.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>What does she have?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It\u2019s been sixteen days since they started going to school together. Tia Neide and the other students have certainly found out about it, but they keep their mouths shut.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI think it\u2019s the bricks.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Uncle says we should recycle the big cities.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBut they don\u2019t exist anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>They do. Far away from here. Not many live in them after the wars, but there are a lot of things there. We wouldn\u2019t need to use bricks all the time. Here, we have only mud.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio stares at the boy through the mirror. He\u2019s been doing that a lot, not only to watch when he speaks. Now Juninho sounds like a grown-up, thinking there\u2019s a way out of the tide. C\u00e1ssio takes a deep breath and tries to think like Juninho. He can\u2019t. Maybe one day he\u2019ll trick himself to seek something beyond the tide of Santa Virg\u00ednia dos Beija-Flores, perhaps the hummingbird part of the town\u2019s name. For now, hope is like hanging your socks to dry despite knowing they\u2019re going to get wet again soon.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The mecha\u2019s legs sink in a muddy whirlpool. It stops. Each day, they leave the line of mechas further behind, to the point of arriving late at school and delaying the fireworks. Each day, C\u00e1ssio suctions out the excess water from some of the mecha\u2019s inner workings. He doesn\u2019t know how long he\u2019ll be able to keep doing that.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Do you want me to get out?<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>I\u2019m too much extra weight for the mecha.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>To prove his point, C\u00e1ssio twiddles with the levers and manages to get it out of the whirlpool and back onto the predefined path. The air conditioning system whizzes, trying to compensate for the drafts of hot air that find their way through unseen cracks.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Tell your mother to visit Uncle.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He studied medicine.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Something unfurls within C\u00e1ssio\u2019s belly. The mecha halts for a moment before he can steady his quivering hands around the levers. He thinks of Tia Neide drawing pictures of mechas planting trees underneath cloudless, unmarred skies. The quiver converts into a smile. He turns his head slightly down to the left, so the boy won\u2019t see it through the mirror.\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho pokes his back. C\u00e1ssio grits his teeth to hide his smile.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Juninho moves his hands. It\u2019s this trip.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s this trip?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The way to school and back. My favorite thing about the town.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Despite the answer, C\u00e1ssio notices the grim lines around Juninho\u2019s cheeks.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio has been knocking at Juninho\u2019s door. For a month they\u2019ve been going to school together. So it comes as a shock when Juninho isn\u2019t home early one morning. His shock isn\u2019t because Juninho isn\u2019t there, but because, being a citizen of Santa Virg\u00ednia, C\u00e1ssio never thought he\u2019d come to take anything for granted.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cHe\u2019s busy,\u201d Uncle says. \u201cTell your mother I\u2019m going to check on her later.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio nods. The next day, Uncle says Juninho is busy again, and after two more days, C\u00e1ssio feels like he\u2019s been hit by a mecha.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cJuninho doesn\u2019t feel like the school has much to offer him anymore,\u201d Uncle tells C\u00e1ssio, a furl of worry in his flaccid lips partially hidden by the mustache.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBut he wants to be an engineer\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cDoes he?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cCan I see him?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cHe\u2019s not home.\u201d Uncle shrugs.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio walks to the olericulture compound. Juninho isn\u2019t there either. C\u00e1ssio checks every street and corner of Santa Virg\u00ednia, even wading through the lower streets where the water reaches his waist. No sign of the boy. For the next several days, Juninho is never at home. All C\u00e1ssio sees are his socks and sneakers dangling from the hut\u2019s clothesline, bashed by the warm wind like almost-ripe fruit.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>After seven days with no sign of Juninho, C\u00e1ssio decides he was a mirage all along.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>To please his now-recovering mother, C\u00e1ssio keeps going to school, except now the crossing has become boring and tiresome. During the classes\u2019 breaks, he walks around the multitudes of mecha skeletons laying around behind the main buildings. Vines push their lives through rusty carcasses; wind sings its dissonant and tinny requiems along hundreds of loosened plates and flailing limbs. The fact that grown-ups see hope down here is beyond comprehension. The fact Juninho saw hope in this place is an indication he was an illusion. Juninho is C\u00e1ssio himself. C\u00e1ssio has read in Seu M\u00e1rio\u2019s magazines about mirages and hallucinations in the extreme heat. M\u00e3e\u2019s disease made him devise a boy in his mind, someone he wanted\u2014needed\u2014to see and be.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>But despite the lack of flowers in the mecha graveyard, the mirror remains in the cockpit.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>One day, C\u00e1ssio steals a pair of Juninho\u2019s sneakers and socks from the clothesline. No illusion comes after them.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>It\u2019s only raining lightly when the mecha bogs down in a quagmire. This time the mucky water catches it up to its knees. C\u00e1ssio grunts in anger. All the levers are stuck. The next thing to fail is the air conditioning system. It hitches up a last whoop, then the only sound is the rain pitter-pattering on the mecha\u2019s broken glass, its drops slowly crying their way inside. Iracema\u2019s mecha is the next in line, a blur in the drizzly horizon. When C\u00e1ssio partially opens the cockpit to allow fresh air to come in, the battery LEDs warn that five power cells have failed. Not enough power to go on or come back, not even for a broadcast.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio sighs and stares at the mirror. This is what a dead kid looks like. Tia Neide always said they should fear the place in the middle, where no matter which direction you go, there\u2019s no way to reach a safe spot alone. He never feared it, though. If anything, places in the middle are the most peaceful ones. Right there on the drowned riverbank, with Colinalta and the town hidden from his sight, C\u00e1ssio often imagined he was about to arrive anywhere else. And the anger he had nurtured almost fondly until a few weeks before had been another place in the middle, a comfort zone between hating what he shouldn\u2019t\u2014because his mother battled and inhaled dirty air for him\u2014and loving what he couldn\u2019t\u2014because no matter how much he dried his feet in town, he knew the next day they\u2019d be drenched in mud and algae.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The mecha subsides into the tide with a grumble. It hunches. All the lights go off. As the giant vehicle stoops and sinks, the tide slowly fills it up. He releases the seatbelts and crouches on the seat, pushing up a tad more of the cockpit hatch. It\u2019s his island now, but it won\u2019t be for long. In front of him, a whirlpool swirls its muck and pulls the mecha toward it.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>That day, the fireworks won\u2019t paint the soup of grayness in the sky. Tia Neide and the others will be there soon, or someone from town, but it will be too late. There will be nothing to be found but the tide.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">#<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The bicycle comes from his left, from the town.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>C\u00e1ssio stands and waves to the blurry silhouette coming at him. A thrill tingles through his skin. He\u2019s crying, he\u2019s smiling, but most of all he feels like a grown-up: silly and hopeful. He turns back to the cushion behind the seat and picks up Juninho\u2019s dry sneakers and socks. While he\u2019s loosening the shoelaces, he realizes he has a favorite thing about Santa Virg\u00ednia after all.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p class=\"seperator\">***<\/p>\n\t\t<\/main>\n\t\t<section class=\"authorBio\">\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/Renan-Socks.jpeg\">\n\t\t\t<p>Renan Bernardo (he\/him) is a Nebula and Ignyte finalist author of science fiction and fantasy from Brazil. His fiction appeared in Reactor\/Tor.com, Clarkesworld, Apex Magazine, Podcastle, Escape Pod, Daily Science Fiction, and elsewhere. He writes from secondary world fantasy to dark science fiction, and he enjoys the intersection of climate narratives with science, technology, and the human relations inherent to it. His solarpunk\/clifi short fiction collection, Different Kinds of Defiance, was published in 2024. His dark sci-fi novella, Disgraced Return of the Kap\u2019s Needle, was published in 2025 by Dark Matter Ink. He also had stories recommended by Locus and longlisted for the BSFA.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t<section class=\"donate\">\n\t\t  <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">\n\t\t    <img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg?ssl=1\"\/>\n\t\t  <\/a>\n\t\t  <p>Like what we do? &nbsp; <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">Buy us a Cup of Coffee!<\/a><\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<div class=\"sfsi_widget sfsi_shortcode_container\"><div class=\"norm_row sfsi_wDiv \"  style=\"width:225px;text-align:left;\"><div style='width:40px; height:40px;margin-left:5px;margin-bottom:5px; ' class='sfsi_wicons shuffeldiv ' ><div class='inerCnt'><a class=' sficn' data-effect='' target='_blank' rel='noopener'  href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' id='sfsiid_facebook_icon' style='width:40px;height:40px;opacity:1;'  ><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/icons_theme\/default\/default_facebook.png?resize=40%2C40&#038;ssl=1\" width=\"40\" height=\"40\" style='' class='sfcm sfsi_wicon ' data-effect=''   \/><\/a><div class=\"sfsi_tool_tip_2 fb_tool_bdr sfsiTlleft\" style=\"opacity:0;z-index:-1;\" id=\"sfsiid_facebook\"><span class=\"bot_arow bot_fb_arow\"><\/span><div class=\"sfsi_inside\"><div  class='icon1'><a href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' target='_blank' rel='noopener'><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' class='sfsi_wicon' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/visit_icons\/Visit_us_fb\/icon_Visit_us_en_US.png?ssl=1\" \/><\/a><\/div><div  class='icon2'><div class=\"fb-like\" width=\"200\" data-href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wet-socks\/\"  data-send=\"false\" data-layout=\"button_count\" data-action=\"like\"><\/div><\/div><div  class='icon3'><a target='_blank' rel='noopener' href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer\/sharer.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsocietyforritualarts.com%2Frw%2F2025-autumn%2Fwp-json%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fpages%2F60' style='display:inline-block;'  > <img class='sfsi_wicon'  data-pin-nopin='true' alt='fb-share-icon' title='Facebook Share' src='https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/share_icons\/fb_icons\/en_US.svg' \/><\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><div style='width:40px; 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Illustrated by Thana Meejinda The glint of sunlight over the flooded streets. That\u2019s what C\u00e1ssio picks while he wades toward the mecha garden, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-60","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Wet Socks - Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2025-autumn\/wet-socks\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Wet Socks - Roses and Wildflowers Autumn 2025\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Back to Journals Home Featured Story For Autumn 2025 On to the Wonderous Stories Wet Socks Drying in the Tide by Renan Bernardo (Originally appeared in Solarpunk Magazine #17 in September 2024.) 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