Mar. 15th, 2011

ckocher: (Default)
I’ve always dreamt about the stars.

I’m not sure when they started. Perhaps when they bolted my skin into place, its gleaming whiteness covering miles and miles of the fibers that make up my nervous system. Or maybe it was the first time I was rolled out to sit under the night sky, nose pointing upward, my whole being restrained, chained, to the ground.

I was so ready to fly that first time, ready to go charging through the sky into the blackness, to slip forever outward through the stars.

Then the mens came. I was aware of them before now, swarming around and inside me like ants but these mens, they were different. Special. They patted my shell, they talked to me, they became part of me. And I came to understand that they would go with me into the stars, and that I was all that would stand between them and the blackness.

The blackness would erase them. I was their guardian. I was born to do this.

I thundered upward, the flight every bit as exhilarating as I had imagined it to be. The roar of the air streaming past my body, the jolts and explosions as my fuel bags fell off back to earth. In the end, it was just me, me and the mens I carried inside me. And together, we pierced the shell of the planet and we were there in the black for the first time.

I wept, silently, tearless, but full of awe and joy. The planet rolled beneath me, the stars danced above me. The mens, my mens, whispered their own words of awe and faith and love. Their whispers echoed through my skin.

I loved my life. I counted, impatiently, the days on the planet, rumbling with pleasure when my new group of mens would come to me. I took them into the stars and safely back again, over and over. It was joy, it was honor.

I am home again now, my skin still shivering ever so slightly from the last trip upward. My mens were silent on this last return, and one of them stood for long moments next to me, his hand resting on my skin. He spoke to me, but I do not know what he said.

I am in my cradle now, and it is quiet. I am waiting, waiting for that moment when I get to leap upwards once again. But it has been so long now, and no mens have come to visit me. I am alone, alone with my thoughts and my dreams of stars and mens and flying and the black.

When will I go back? When will I see the stars again?

When will my mens return to me?

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ckocher

December 2012

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