Stars
Behind her, it is utterly, devastatingly, soul-crushingly
cold. The stars are faraway pricks of white light. The rocks are obstacles that
smash against her body, a hail of pinpricks along its immense length. Despite
the vitriol with which they hit her, they bring no heat.
She is half a light year long and it is inevitable they will
hit her in this crowded portion of the void. Her softly undulating movements
cannot avoid them all as they scream through space faster than anything has a
right to move.
Half a light year behind, the last vestige of her has just
left the tepid heat of the nearest star. The others are remote and small, bewildering
flashes of light layers and layers deep.
One star, after a time, stands out, emerging from the
bewildering pinwheel of lights. It is white and larger than the rest, nearer. Other
stars swirl around it as she floats toward it. Will it be an angry star and
burn her? Will its space be too hot to bear? Too crowded? Too empty?
After a time, she has left the frantic storm of rocks behind
and glides through empty space in a tingle of nothingness. The star continues
to grow larger and whiter. In the distance, or perhaps very near, it is hard to
tell, stars are born in tiny flashes of white light and die in brighter flashes
of yellow or red or blue. Birth and death, movement and stillness, collisions
and collusions go on in total silence.
Soon—or perhaps not so soon—the white star has grown large. Rocks
begin again to hit her body. Slowly at first—large chunks of matter thrown off
by some collision, flying out of the protective orbit of the star. Then faster,
harder. Comets break against her, colder than the other rocks. There are a few pieces
of sharp debris here, too, sharper than the rocks she is used to, that she
hardly even feels anymore.
This star, surely. This star will warm her stiffening, cold
body. Surely this time the star strong enough to hold the rocks and the comets
this far away from it, circling in a silent, madcap dance, will be strong
enough to hold her. Already space is warming around her. It is cold, but not
soul-sucking.
The star is tugging on her, pulling her out of shape. The momentum
of the half-light-year of body behind her pushes her forward, past it, and it
pulls, toward itself. It is not hot. It is only not cold. Perfect.
One rock looks different from the rest, covered in strings
and clouds of white and blue. She is not too near it, only near enough to see
it and watch it as she floats by. This patchwork of dull blue and dingy white
is more beautiful than anything she has seen. Most importantly, sharing space
with it is perfect. Not too warm. Not too cold. As she passes, the tepid
perfection envelops her body and she holds on to the feeling as long as she can
as she slides through it.
The star pulls on her as she passes it, beginning to pull her
into its orbit. She is too large for it to hold, and the pulls are feeble at
best, but it is pulling, trying to keep her in this perfect space.
Sharp pain explodes along her side.
The void fills with jagged slashes and pricks of light,
stars gone wild, streaking across her vision as the blinding pain spreads. It hits
again, further down her flank, knocking her away from the gentle, intoxicating
pull of the star. Again and again the pain sears her insides, and she screams,
but space swallows her screams and allows her only silent agony. Torn from the
orbit of the star, she floats on, helpless to pull herself away from the
tearing explosions down her flank, over and over.
The blue and white rock. In all her wanderings she had never
encountered life, but this was a new one. The blue and white rock was angry,
unwilling to share its sun, its perfect space. More explosions of pain along
her length, knocking her further and further off course, away into the cold and
the darkness.
I really like your space/time descriptions. The way you used “After a time” was clever. Also “half a light year long”. There is something tranquil to me about this entity. It reminds me a little of the “Ender’s Game” series by Orson Scott Card. Specifically, she makes me think of Jane. Have you read any of that series?
ReplyDeleteThanks! I read "Ender's Game," but not any of the others in the series. Does Jane come in later? I don't remember her...
DeleteI did intend a sense of wonder with this being, so I'm glad it worked for you!
Yes. Jane is later. In the original series she comes in the 2nd or 3rd book. I do highly recommend that whole series and the spinoff series centered on Bean. The books after Ender are very different. They touch on equally difficult moral conundrums. But don’t expect it to be like Ender. I’m not usually a reader of sci-fi too much, though I’m absolutely a sci-fi fan. But this series is still one of my favorites. It’s in my top 10.
ReplyDeleteI'll have to check those out. I love a good sci-fi story now and then! (To read and to write!)
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