What if one day, a perverse cosmic switch was flipped, causing bones to resist gravity once exposed for a few years?
How would we contain the collective mass of the world’s dead and forgotten animals, shifting the earth and casting off soil as they slowly disinter themselves from their longtime slumber?
What would we do about the ever-growing graveyard in the upper atmosphere; billions of bones frozen and unable to either fall or climb any higher? Would we be able to sleep at night with millions of cold, empty sockets watching us from space?
How many jobs would be created by the need for retrieval and disposal? How many millions, even billions would be spent on the practice of cremation? And what if burning did not remove the self-uplifting properties of the remains?
Would these bleached white death relics be employed in place of balloons, with travelers flying on crafts uplifted by whale skeletons and children clutching strung-together, brightly painted arrangements of sparrow limbs at summer fairs?
What would we do, my friends, if bones began to float?