the skull in autumn

Crisp maple leaves crunch beneath my feet as I wander deeper into the forest. The October air carries the sweet decay of autumn, and above me, branches paint the sky in strokes of amber and crimson. A squirrel darts across my path, disappearing into the underbrush with an acorn clutched in its teeth.

That’s when I see it—a skull nestled in a bed of fallen leaves, its empty eye sockets somehow managing to look contemplative. I pause, wondering if I should alert the authorities, when it lets out a small yawn.

"You know," it says casually, as if commenting on the weather, "the development of nuclear submarines fundamentally changed the calculus of mutually assured destruction." The jaw moves naturally with each word, bits of soil falling away as it speaks.

I stand frozen, leaves still crunching beneath my shifting weight. The skull continues, seemingly unperturbed by my silence. "Take the Ohio-class submarines, for instance. Each one carries twenty-four Trident II missiles. That’s enough firepower to fundamentally reshape continental geography." It pauses thoughtfully. "Though I suppose I’m proof that death isn’t necessarily the end of conversation."

"I…​ I don’t…​" I stammer, but the skull cuts me off with what I swear is a dismissive scoff.

"The real genius was in the nuclear triad, you see. Land, air, and sea-based deterrents. Makes it impossible to eliminate retaliatory capability with a first strike." The skull rolls slightly to face me better, a small beetle scurrying out of its nasal cavity. "Though between you and me, I think the whole thing’s a bit excessive. One good nuclear winter and all these lovely autumn colors would be a thing of the past."

A crow lands nearby, eyeing the skull with professional interest. The skull pays it no mind, launching into a detailed comparison of various missile guidance systems. I begin backing away slowly, the sound of crunching leaves mixing with terms like "circular error probable" and "terminal phase maneuvering."

As I retreat, I hear the skull calling after me: "If you’re interested in learning more about multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles, I’m here most days. Not like I’m going anywhere!"

The last thing I hear, before the forest swallows the scene entirely, is the skull beginning to lecture the crow about the strategic implications of hypersonic glide vehicles.