{"id":271,"date":"2025-11-06T23:33:48","date_gmt":"2025-11-06T23:33:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/?page_id=271"},"modified":"2025-11-20T21:27:19","modified_gmt":"2025-11-20T21:27:19","slug":"auntie-sybils-solarpunk","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/fiction\/auntie-sybils-solarpunk\/","title":{"rendered":"Auntie Sybil’s Solarpunk"},"content":{"rendered":"

Marco Etheridge<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil rocks slow and steady, pushing the rocker with one gnarled foot. Weathered planks creak beneath the stretchers. The old woman draws comfort from this quiet music.<\/span><\/p>\n

Beyond the covered porch, the world is a soft blur. Her eyesight is almost gone. Thank goodness for her hearing. Nearly a century old, but her ears are sharp. In the now, she hears what she cannot see. Yet when she peers into the past, her vision is as clear as spring water.<\/span><\/p>\n

Another sound, a counterpoint to the rocking chair. Rain patters onto the ground, singing a song she sees in her mind. Miniature dust clouds blossom as the first drops impact the dry earth. Bamboo sheds tears as raindrops slide down glossy green leaves.<\/span><\/p>\n

And now the smack of many feet against wet earth. The children race in the rain, screeching and laughing. They pile up the stairs. The planks thump and thunder. Sybil smiles as the swirling herd coalesces around her chair.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Auntie Sybil!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s raining! We had to run fast. Did you see us running, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy ears saw you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow can ears see?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be dumb. Auntie has special powers, don\u2019t you, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil\u2019s rasping laughter sounds like dry paper being crumpled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHave you kids finished your chores?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A chorus of yeses fills the porch.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe fed the fish in the ponds and weeded the garden, too. But now it\u2019s raining.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTell us a story, Auntie. Please?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, a story!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil smiles and reaches into her apron pocket. She pulls a pipe and tobacco pouch out onto her lap and begins filling the pipe. The children wiggle and squirm.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, then. Sit yourselves down.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She hears the children plop onto the planks like ripe fruit while she tamps the tobacco with her forefinger. Then the rasp of a match head against wood, the flame hovering over the bowl, and the first blossom of smoke puffing out into the moist air. She leans back in the rocking chair and blows a cloud toward the rafters.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou want a happy story or a scary story?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cScary!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, scary please, Auntie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA story about the Ollies.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHa! You peed yourself last time Auntie told about the Ollies.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid not!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid so!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil raps her knuckles against the arm of the rocker.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSettle down, you lot. I will tell you about the Ollies who ruled the world. A long time gone, now. It started when I wasn\u2019t more than six, just a wisp of a girl caught up in the storm.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow long ago, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNinety years, child. More years than you can probably understand. I was born back in twenty-twenty.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWow! That\u2019s really old!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShush. Let Auntie tell it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil puffs her pipe and waits for silence.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBack then, most folks lived bunched together in big cities. Hard for you kids to imagine, but it\u2019s the truth. They ate packaged food from big stores called supermarkets. Most people owned cars and drove around all by themselves. Such a hunger they had, and not just for food. Folks gobbling everything like there was no tomorrow. They were so hungry, they almost gobbled their own future.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the Ollies?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShhhhhhhh!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHush, I\u2019m getting to that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A pull on the pipe, then a cloud of smoke.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Ollies were rich, richer than everyone else in the whole world. There weren\u2019t many of them, but they owned almost everything. The Ollies had giant houses, bigger than anything you kids have ever seen. And that wasn\u2019t half of it. Boats like floating hotels, private airplanes, stuff that\u2019d make your eyes bug out.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut the Ollies weren\u2019t happy just being rich. They wanted power, too. Greedy, that\u2019s what they were. It got to where the rich men controlled all the business. If you wanted to buy clothes, for instance, you had to buy them from an Ollie. They got richer and you got poorer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t folks make their own clothes?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil puffs her pipe. Smoke swirls together with her memories. She gropes for words the children might understand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThings were a whole lot different back then.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDifferent like how?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, like I said, the Ollies were powerful. Pretty soon, they owned all the newspapers, and the television, and then they took over the internet. When that happened, the Ollies owned the information. They started telling folks what to think.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe heard about the television, Auntie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure, the storytellers told about it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHey, I was telling Auntie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just helping you tell it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil raps her knuckles until they settle again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou kids don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like to live scared. I was about ten years old when things started getting ugly. Probably started before that, but I was too young to understand. The Ollies were tricky customers. They liked to keep folks afraid. When people are frightened, see, they don\u2019t think so clear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy were folks scared?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a good question. You can frighten people by switching things around real fast. Keep changing the rules, and folks can\u2019t tell up from down. The Ollies did just that. One day, they said all teachers were good. The next day, they said all teachers are bad. They said, we gotta close the schools. Folks were good one day and bad the next, just because the Ollies said so.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s not right, Auntie. Teachers are good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExactly true, my clever girl. But you\u2019ve got to understand, the Ollies didn\u2019t give a hoot what was true. They told lies to make folks afraid, mostly afraid of each other.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow, I was a pretty smart girl. Even so, it was hard work remembering that people didn\u2019t change from good to bad just because the Ollies said so. But lies are tricky. Say \u2018em often enough, and they spread like poison. And that\u2019s just what the Ollies did. Pretty soon, invisible walls sprouted up like weeds, walls made out of lies. Those walls separated people into smaller and smaller groups. And once you\u2019ve got folks afraid of each other, they\u2019re easy to control. It\u2019s sad, but it\u2019s true.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t get it. Everybody gets scared sometimes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, like you\u2019re scared of the big fish in the pond.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAm not!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are, I seen you run away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow, hush. It\u2019s normal to be a bit frightened of something like a big fish. But being scared every day, that\u2019s different. That eats away at folks, makes them dangerous. Take my school, for example. I went to school in a big brick building. Not like you lucky young\u2019uns. Hundreds of kids in just one school, and there were lots of them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnyway, my favorite teachers started disappearing, one after another. They were good teachers, I knew they were, but they were gone all the same. The Ollies said we needed new teachers and new lessons. They expected every student to think the same way. Kids who didn\u2019t obey got yanked out of regular school and sent to what the Ollies called vocational training.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s vocation?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt means learning a job. Doesn\u2019t sound bad until you know that it really meant keeping kids dumb so they didn\u2019t know enough to fight back. Pretty soon, there were good kids and bad kids. That was another lie, but the Ollies said it over and over until parents started believing it. I lost friends, kids I\u2019d known since kindergarten.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

The years blur past in Sybil\u2019s memory. By the time she\u2019d graduated high school, a handful of rich men controlled everything in the world. The oligarchs appointed judges, rigged elections, and chose presidents and prime ministers. They bought and sold the truth. Up became down and black, white.<\/span><\/p>\n

She was eighteen, and the oligarchs were the most powerful men on the planet. They did not tolerate dissent. Anyone who opposed them found themselves jobless, homeless, or in prison.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil graduated with honors. She might have been at the top of her class had it not been for the mandatory religion and political science courses. In the end, it didn\u2019t matter. Universities had ceased to be an option for students like Sybil. The invisible walls had become real.<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

A small voice draws her back.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that, child?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour eyes went closed, Auntie. Were you sleeping?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, just drifted off, I guess. Goes with being old.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened then?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil strikes a match. As the pipe smokes to life, she gathers the thread of her tale.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI grew into a young woman. I was young once, you know. School was done, and there was no chance for more, not for girls like me. So, I trained for a nurse. I needed a job, and there weren\u2019t many nurses. Learned the hard way from doctors and nurses who had been thrown out of the system. By that time, folks had been split into what you might call two groups. There were the Ollies and folks who supported them, and then there were all the poor folks on the wrong side of the tracks, as we used to say.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean like the tracks for the electric train?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSort of, but back then it meant the difference between them that had and them that didn\u2019t. Folks on the wrong side got sick, of course, but they weren\u2019t allowed to go to the rich people\u2019s hospitals. That\u2019s how the free clinics got started, and that\u2019s where I worked.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s not right, Auntie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt sure isn\u2019t, but it happened just the same. Now here\u2019s where the story gets scary. You sure you want to hear it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0A chorus of yeses erupts from the children at her feet.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery well, but I warned you. Now, the Ollies were the new bosses, and they didn\u2019t listen to anyone. They decided what was right, what people should think, right down to telling folks what they could and couldn\u2019t do with their own bodies. The Ollies turned their back on science because they thought they knew better. They even lied about vaccines, one of the basic tools for keeping folks healthy. Pretty soon, vaccines got scarce or vanished altogether. It was just plain stupidity, and that can be very dangerous.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s vaccines, Auntie Sybil?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAw, you know. It\u2019s like jabs.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

The first plague struck not long after Sybil became a working nurse. Measles, a simple childhood disease, its deadliness forgotten. The virus sliced like a scythe through unvaccinated populations. The first wave killed children. The second cut down adults as well. And for the survivors, the Measles virus left a silent calling card. Their immune system\u2019s memory had been wiped clean, leaving them defenseless against a deadly tidal wave of disease looming on the horizon.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil worked long hours in the makeshift clinic. The doctors and nurses were understaffed, undersupplied, and overwhelmed. The government offered nothing but platitudes. Since a pandemic was not possible under the good guidance of the oligarchs, the state-run media claimed the pandemic didn\u2019t exist or was a myth manufactured by malcontents.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0The caregivers worked and wept. No matter how many tears they shed or how hard they worked, more children died. So many terrible memories of those dark days and always tears.<\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

In her memories, Sybil hears the rasping breaths of dying children, the sobs of grief-stricken parents. The mournful sounds become real as she opens her eyes. At her feet, the children are crying. She realizes she\u2019s been telling the story while immersed in memory, past blending to present, and doubling back. Old as she is, time is no longer linear.<\/span><\/p>\n

A half circle of glistening eyes stares up at her. Those dark days make for a brutal story. No way to sugarcoat it, but she can soften the blow.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, children, those were horrible times, but we survived. And even though many people died, it was the beginning of the end for the Ollies.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWeren\u2019t you scared, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI was terrified, child. Every minute.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you run away?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil smiles and leans forward.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere are times, little one, when you do the job in front of you because there is nothing else you can do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened next?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou sure you want to hear more?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Another chorus of yeses punctuated with sniffles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe first plague ended, but not before it had killed people all around the world. The sickness killed many folks who grew the food that other people needed. Food became scarce, but more than just food.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBack then, lots of goods came from far away, things folks used every day. What we call commodities. After the plague, three commodities became scarce. Can you guess which?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The children squirm and murmur.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you a clue.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Auntie Sybil waves her hand in front of the children. Smoke trails from her pipe.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWait! I know. Tobacco, right, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery smart. And the other two? Things you drink that come from far away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A susurration, then an urgent hand waving in the air.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes? Figured it out?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCoffee, Auntie.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRight you are, my smart girl. And what goes along with coffee?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOooh. Tea!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery good. Tobacco, coffee, and tea, three things folks used all the time. Now, the Ollies had everything they needed and more. That made them blind to what regular folks didn\u2019t have. And blindness cost them dear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil puffs her pipe and points to the smoke.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA smoke or a hot drink. Simple things, easy to take for granted until they\u2019re gone. Folks got angry, started raising a fuss. The Ollies ignored those angry voices. Big mistake. Those rich men thought folks would never dare rise against them. But the Ollies were dead wrong.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen people made the Ollies go away, right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil shakes her head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it wasn\u2019t that easy. Angry people took to the streets, marching and shouting. The Ollies sent their police and soldiers, men and women with guns. Men and women who should have known better.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen a crowd of angry folks marches up against soldiers with guns, bad things happen. Too many folks shoved too close together. Fear and anger cloud people\u2019s brains. Someone throws a rock. Then the soldiers start shooting. And that\u2019s what happened. Soldiers shooting down their own people. Blood running in the streets. And not just once, children. No, it happened again and again.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut Auntie, that\u2019s not right. Police aren\u2019t supposed to shoot the good guys.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right, child. Some soldiers and police realized that very thing. They refused to shoot folks who might be their mother or sister. Soldiers joined up with folks fighting the Ollies. The civil war was terrible, children, but what came next was much worse.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

#\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A second pandemic erupted, caused by a mutated influenza unlike anything the world had ever experienced. The virus cut down a population weakened by disease, war, and a lack of vaccines. Death raced around the globe.<\/span><\/p>\n

By now, Sybil was a veteran nurse, but nothing could have prepared her for the horrors of the new plague. The virus killed rich and poor alike. Mortality rates soared past fifty percent. Hospitals and clinics were overwhelmed. Citizens fled the cities and died on the roads. Those who stayed perished in their homes.<\/span><\/p>\n

Somehow, Sybil survived the pandemic that killed half the world. Workers stacked the corpses and excavated mass graves. Weeks, then months, became a blur of death. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the plague itself died away.<\/span><\/p>\n

Human beings weren\u2019t the only casualties. Governments became empty shells. World trade faltered, then ground to a halt. Financial markets collapsed. The wealth of the surviving oligarchs tumbled like a house of cards. The post-plague world needed farmers, welders, brewers, and teachers. The super-rich were suddenly useless. They did not last long.<\/span><\/p>\n

A new world emerged from the catastrophe. The plague had unmade a century of technology. Survivors abandoned cities. People migrated to arable land, hoping to grow enough food to survive.<\/span><\/p>\n

The learning curve was steep, and failure carried a high price. Two hard decades followed, years of shortage, famine, and even starvation. Folks learned quickly, or they died.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil became a senior nurse on a farming commune. The group suffered in those early years, but they worked hard and were lucky. Despite the hardships, the community survived and even prospered.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her own good fortune blossomed when Sybil met and married Jack. Together, they struggled through the hard times and thrived in the better times that followed.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil\u2019s memories flicker to a stop, leaving a single image.<\/span><\/p>\n

My dear Jack, decades gone, and I love you still. I\u2019m the last of them, Jack. I outlived our three children, more\u2019s the pity, but I\u2019m surrounded by grandkids and great-grandkids. They call me Auntie Sybil. You should see what the young ones have done. Life is good here. Our hard work bore fruit.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Then, like a spooling film, memory flows, carrying Sybil forward.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her world became a place of wood and bamboo, grass and stone, water and sunlight. The fragmented infrastructures served no purpose in this new world. Technologies became, by force of circumstance, local and self-sustaining. Wind, water, and sunlight.<\/span><\/p>\n

Folks traveled on electric carts, pedaled bamboo bicycles, or walked. Cobblers were in high demand. Long days of hard work strengthened bodies and calmed minds.<\/span><\/p>\n

The remnants of the old world lay everywhere. Whatever could be recycled or repurposed found new life. The rest became junk, a reminder of a terrible past. Scavenging parties raided the dead cities for steel, stone, and glass.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil\u2019s childhood world had disintegrated like a jigsaw puzzle thrown to the winds. As a wife and mother, she worked side-by-side with the others to craft a new way of living. The resulting mosaic was both original and very old.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yes, a mosaic, all of us, people and ideas pieced together like bits of tile and stone. Some notions worked and some failed. But it was work together or starve alone. Pieces of the puzzle, that\u2019s what we became\u2026<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

#<\/span><\/p>\n

The children wiggle and whisper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think Auntie\u2019s sleeping.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut she\u2019s still talking. See, her lips are moving.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTold you, Auntie has special powers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Then a bolder voice, louder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAuntie Sybil, are you sleeping?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The old woman opens her rheumy eyes. She lunges forward, swipes a wizened hand through the air. The children shriek and laugh. Auntie Sybil leans back in her rocking chair, chuckling to herself.<\/span><\/p>\n

One of the littlest voices squeaks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAre you wakes now, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t sleeping, child, I was remembering. When you\u2019re as old as me, it\u2019s hard to tell the difference.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAuntie, what\u2019s a moss-ay-ick?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil drifts back into herself.<\/span><\/p>\n

Maybe those daft old philosophers were right about time. Or was it the scientists? Yesterday, today, tomorrow, it\u2019s all one great, winding river. I\u2019ve traveled up and down that river, up and back again. And here I am, still floating along. Such a wonderful journey.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAuntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil pulls back to the half circle of blurred faces.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe word is mosaic, child. A picture made up of little bits of stone and glass and shell all glued together. Stick your face up close and you can\u2019t see the picture. But when you move back far enough, all those different bits and pieces blend, and then you see the image.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOooh, you mean like on the wall of common hall, the big rainbow, and sun.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExactly right, my smart girl. But mosaic also means little things brought together to form something bigger, something beautiful. Each of you is a little piece of a wonderful mosaic. So are your parents, your brothers and sisters, even old Auntie Sybil. That bigger thing is all around you. Our farms, the fishponds, the bamboo groves, the workshops, all parts of something much larger. And that\u2019s also the end of the scary story and the beginning of another.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, Auntie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Ollies are gone, but we must remember them, so we don\u2019t go back to those bad times. The Ollies hated the idea of people being different. They wanted everyone to be the same, act the same, even think the same. Those were terrible years, children. They might come back if we don\u2019t keep telling the stories. You children are the new storytellers. You must promise me you will remember.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe will, Auntie, we promise.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to be a storyteller.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMe, too!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sybil listens to the world beyond the children\u2019s voices. The storm has passed. She leans forward and smiles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s enough for now. The rain\u2019s gone. You\u2019ve got work to do. Shoo!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The children groan, but they obey. Sybil listens to the patter of little feet. Then there is only the creak of her rocking chair.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\nMarco Etheridge Auntie Sybil rocks slow and steady, pushing the rocker with one gnarled foot. Weathered planks creak beneath the…\n<\/div>\n
Continue reading “Auntie Sybil’s Solarpunk”<\/span>…<\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":81,"featured_media":0,"parent":14,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-271","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/271","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/81"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=271"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/271\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":464,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/271\/revisions\/464"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/14"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=271"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}