This one is based on a picture that hangs in my kitchen. It shows a woman drinking coffee, with a few lines about how wonderful coffee is. That wasn't what struck me about it when I looked at it closely though - it was her eyes, and the stars that run by the side of her face. She seemed timeless, and inspired this little story. She was quite sure that she was the oldest being that existed, and almost as certain that nothing older than her had ever existed before her. She was almost everything and had the ultimate blessing – that of anonymity. She was prevalent in the world that others couldn’t see her beginning and end and, if you can’t mark the boundaries of an identity you can’t truly see that it is there.
She had marked the time passing and had entertained herself in creation – whenever an idea occurred to her, she would create it. It was fun to watch her creations and see what they then created themselves. And the deeper she went, the more and more fascinating it became. And, wonderfully, she could always create – she would never run out of space, as she was constantly getting bigger. And so, she created, and she watched. She witnessed the rise and fall of creatures and civilisations across countless worlds, saw their struggles and their triumphs. She wondered, idly, sometimes if they would ever notice her looking back at them, but they never did. When they were inclined to believe in things greater than themselves, they lacked the understanding to identify her and, by the time they had reached the understanding, they lacked the inclination. At times, they recognised and identified part of her. They would call her ‘night’ and pray that she would keep back the predators. Or they might define their faith by most local star – one of her creations and still a part of her. They might recognise her breath, and hope that it wouldn’t destroy anything. And they would always hope that her tears would come, but not too much. It was always particularly interesting when some of them advanced to the point where they could venture into her themselves – no longer confined by the pull of their own planets, but ready to explore the stars. By that point they understood her, but not all of her. They were ready to move within her, but not to speak with her. And so, she kept her counsel and watched – hoping against hope that, one day, somebody would notice her and say hello. For as much as she had her stars, and everything else that had sprung into existence, she sometimes felt lonely. As she peered through the clouds onto a world teeming with life, and she saw the myriad creatures that called the planet their home, she saw them come together in companionship. She saw them play, support each other and love, and she felt jealousy. She also saw them fight, and kill each other and hate, and she felt relief that she was alone. One day, she happened to be looking down upon a world when one of them was looking directly back up at her. Like so many others, they had developed their optical technology to the point where they could gaze into her. This one saw something else – not just stars and the space between them. This one, somehow, seemed to be able to see the enormity that was she. He smiled as he looked through his device and then stood back from it and waved. Of course, he didn’t know how to talk to her, how to address her, but he had noticed her. He had, somehow, seen the consciousness behind the darkness. And so, she smiled back. She didn’t think there was any way that he could know that she had seen him too, but still she smiled. It was, sadly, the only time it happened – the man died before they could see each other again. However, she watched his home, and followed his family. Generations passed, and they all looked to the sky. She supposed that the man that saw her must have told the story to his children, and they’d passed it on. At the very least, he’d clearly created a love of the stars and the mysteries of space in his descendants and each generation kept the passion alive for the next. She watched the planet, curious about the family of this man that had seen her, that had comprehended her in a way that nobody previously had, through all the eons. She saw them develop, seemingly almost between blinks, from looking at the stars to starting to leave their planet. Their rockets reached other bodies within their system and she smiled at their progress. The family that she paid attention to didn’t get to travel in the rockets, but they kept watching the stars. And still she wondered why that man had been different, why he had been able to see her. Was it simply a matter of timing, that they happened to be looking at each other at the same time? Surely it couldn’t have been the first time. Was he the first to have the faith to believe at the same time as the learning to understand? She resigned herself to never knowing. More generations passed and the family she watched changed their fortunes. One of them, a woman this time, had achieved the dream of her family and was chosen to travel on the first ship that was due to leave their solar system, moving out further into their galaxy. It was the deepest into her that anybody from this planet had ever managed to travel and she found herself unexplainably excited at the prospect at having one of them get so close. Their ship blasted off and she watched it rise into their atmosphere and then out, into herself. As it moved further and further, she watched it all the closer – not blinking, not letting her attention wander for a moment. She didn’t want to miss any of this. She looked ahead, to where the ship would eventually end up, and she was surprised. They would narrowly miss almost a dozen planets before they finally reached one. They had miscalculated – or they didn’t understand everything about her that they thought they did. She looked into the ship. The woman, the descendent of the man that had seen her was alone, piloting the ship and checking figures, computers, vectors. The pilot looked up as she looked down, and it happened again. They saw each other, just as she had seen the woman’s ancestor and they smiled at each other. “It’s you,” the woman said. “The story has been passed down for so long – and we’ve all believed it. But I never thought we’d seen you again.” She heard the words, but she wasn’t sure if she should respond. Or even if she could. She could create, and she could watch. That was what she did. Was it all that she could do? She spoke, without really knowing how. It was like creation – but instead of stars, it was sounds. Vibrations in the air. So strange, that she could only speak to people whilst they were in their ship where there was air, but whilst that ship was within her so that she could reach into it. “I remember him,” she said, keeping it simple for her first time. “And he remembered you. Who are you?” The pilot continued to stare into space, directly at her. “Didn’t he understand? I thought he understood.” “He always said that you were space given consciousness. That you were the nearest thing to a god that he had ever recognised. That when he looked into you, just for a moment, he sensed that there was intelligence. He spoke to you, but you never replied.” “I couldn’t. Or didn’t know how – I’m not sure which. But he was right. Or right enough.” The pilot smiled back. Space smiled too, but she wasn’t sure if the pilot could recognise that. “What is your name?” the pilot asked. “There have been many over the years, across so many planets and so many people. None of them quite right.” “What would be right?” “I don’t know. What about you?” “I’m Claire.” For a few moments they simply existed together. “You’re going the wrong way.” She spoke to Claire quietly, but hurriedly. She wanted to complete the conversation before any other members of the crew could arrive. Somehow, she knew that it would be a mistake to be identified by anybody else. “The wrong way,” Claire replied, shaking her head in confusion. “We’ve been so careful with the calculations.” “You’ve made a mistake. Nobody understands me like I do.” “We can’t change our vector,” Claire said, her head in her hands. “It’s set by ground control – even if I told them they’d just run the numbers again and not change it.” “Where are you trying to go?” Claire pressed buttons, bringing up a map on a screen. She highlighted a planet near a star that was close to her own. That made sense. “I will make sure you get there.” Claire smiled up again. “Thank you.” There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I know you will.” And so she did. She withdrew from the rocket and guided it along its path. It required constant attention – ever time she changed its course, the rocket tried to compensate for what she was doing. She found it exhausting – she’d never had to concentrate so hard and for so long before. She was tempted to abandon the effort and put them in the right place in the end, but she was worried that she’d miss the chance. So, she kept up the concentration, and she didn’t move to watch something else. She focussed on Claire, and her ship, and the other people on board. Other than Claire, they never realised how close to disaster they had come. They knew that something kept throwing them off course, but they felt it was simply providence that got them to their destination safely. And perhaps it was, but if so it was a providence from a long time ago, when a man looked up through a telescope and looked into the eyes between the stars.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Flash FictionSome shorter fiction, usually based on some kind of challenge. Archives
October 2021
Categories |