Schroedinger’s Cat Now Made of Light, Or The View from Superposition//Nolan Liebert

The cat is born to two loving linear systems in a squeezed vacuum.


It is immediately frozen and dissected by lasers and beryllium tools.


It is immediately freed and given hexagonal tunnels of emerald to play in.


It lives and dies every day in the ancient aquamarine seas of Mongolia, Germany, and South Dakota.




The cat believes death is final. Time is marked by measuring the flux of aliveness and deadness. Instead of hunting it haunts, a ghost, a shadow, photons precariously balanced on the primary barrel of a German Leopard 2 main battle tank. It is guided by mirrors and magnets and military radar. Forever grey, it is the day filtered through an alkaline sky.




The cat believes death is a reversible process. It maps the future in right angles, vectoring sunbursts. Apply mechanical pressure to offerings of quartz watches and cigarette lighters. Harness the piezoelectricity. Play a tune both singular and silent, et voilà! New bones grow. An evolution. An angel, two angels, two leopards made of light.

Nolan Liebert hails from the Black Hills of South Dakota where he lives with his wife and children in a house, not a covered wagon. His work appears or is forthcoming in freeze frame fiction, Map Literary, An Alphabet of Embers, and elsewhere. He can be found editing Pidgeonholes or on Twitter @nliebert.