Z.A. Mackic

It never fails to amuse me. After Trump’s first evening back in office, journalists and commentators were falling over themselves with gasps of  “Oh, this is bad,”  and  “Oh, this is surprising,”  and my personal favorite,  “Oh, this will have terrible consequences.” Here’s the catch: it’s not surprising. He’s doing exactly what he said he would during his campaign. Word for word. The only thing missing is the tariffs, which—admittedly—I was looking forward to, if only to watch the  “egg prices”  voters squirm. Alas, I suspect one of his oligarch buddies sat him down and gave him a crash course in Econ 101. But the real comedy gold is mainstream media and social media reactions. Everyone— everyone —knew what Trump was going to do before he was elected. They saw it coming like a freight train. And yet, driven by their own greed for ratings and clicks, they all went along with it. Now, we get the pantomime outrage. Don’t worry—it’ll last about a month be...

Today, I’m sharing a coping skill you might find useful as we navigate the upcoming Trump presidency. Why? Because he’s already kicking things off with a circus—and the whole point of a circus, of course, is to provoke outrage.   Jean-Paul Sartre captured this dynamic perfectly:    “Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past...

This morning, I was hit harder than expected by the news that Meta is giving up on fact-checking. As someone who survived a war and witnessed the chaos of dictatorship and societal polarization firsthand, this feels like an ominous turning point. Part of me hoped I was overreacting—after all, my imagination has a knack for catastrophizing. But with billionaire after billionaire in the U.S. folding before any real pressure is even applied, it seems my imagination isn’t catastrophic enough. A few months ago, I decided to focus on helping people who will inevitably end up worse off in the coming years. Why? Because one haunting memory from the last war still gnaws at me. Near my university, there was an old woman begging. When I first saw her, she wore decent clothes and didn’t look particularly hungry. But day by day, her clothes grew more tattered, her frame thinner. At the time, I thought,  I don’t have enough for myself—how can I give anything to anyone else?  And then, one d...

Big news, everyone: my story,  "Haunted by Hairballs" —a ghost tale with a distinctly feline twist—has been accepted for publication! I'll share the link here as soon as it’s live, so you, too, can revel in the terror of cats wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting poltergeist. You’re welcome. But let’s pivot for a moment from the paranormal to something even more hair-raising: reality. Specifically, the current political situation in the U.S., which has been giving me unsettling flashbacks to my Yugoslavian roots. You see, I hail from the former Yugoslavia, where "chaotic political climate" wasn’t just a phrase—it was a lifestyle. And let me tell you, what’s brewing here feels eerily familiar. Déjà vu, but make it dystopian. Given my prior experience with impending societal meltdowns, I’ve adopted a survival strategy that might seem radical to some: I’ve practically ghosted domestic news. Instead, I stick to foreign sources to stay informed. Why? Because I like my in...

It felt like she was drifting in a fog, drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyes, correction, one eye finally focusing on her surroundings. She found herself in a cell onboard the highliner, one of those close to the hull, barely heated. Gingerly, she moved her limbs, assessing the damage. The moment the shuttle had landed inside the highliner, Duke’s men had seized her for interrogation. No jump yet. There was no doubt in her mind; she was certain. It would not go unnoticed by her. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the unknown, waiting patiently. Slowly, she moved her limbs, battling through the pain. Even breathing hurt. They must have broken her ribs. Beli watched as they beat her, that same grin plastered on his face. Could the doctor be right? Could it be possible that he wouldn’t be so monstrous if he had been raised with true love and respect? The kind they had on Voyager. She rolled onto her side; the pain shooting through her. But the pain seemed to be every...

Alathea halted the shuttle at the predetermined coordinates between Voyager and the Highliner, then initiated communication with the Highliner. “The Duke is still aboard Voyager. We’re devising a plan for his transport.” “We’ll dispatch a shuttle. Those were the Duke’s orders.” “There’s been a change in plans,” Alathea informed them. “I need to speak with the Duke,” came the reply. Alathea ended the communication and contacted Voyager. “We need to hurry. They’re preparing to deploy troops.” “We’re ready. It will only take seconds,” came the response. “Okay, I’m ready too.” “Alathea, we’ll wait for you at the edge of the Federation,” Tuvok assured her. “No longer than a week. If I’m not back by then, there’s no point,” Alathea insisted. “You will be back,” Tuvok affirmed. “I’ve met no one more capable than you.” “And you know that’s true since Vulcans don’t lie,” Tom added. Alathea blinked away tears. “Thank you, guys. You’ve shown me how amazing humans can be. Thank you.” “You’ll be ba...