A thank you and a short story.
Dearest christmaspterodactyl,
Thank you for your exceedingly kind message, whoever you might be. ♥
---
To celebrate the successful setup of Ringo (a Dell operating with Windows 7 (I like it far better than Windows Vista) and a seventeen-inch screen that makes it terribly big but easier on my eyes) and the end of hours of data transfer and file-shuffling and customizing to get things the way I like them, here's a short story that I wrote in November. The two characters in it are major players in the NaNoWriMo monster; this is kind of a character study, even though their situation here is very, very different from that in the big story.
I'll be the first to admit that it's not absolutely fabulous, but I do need to keep writing and part of the writing process is showing things, I think, no matter how awful or brilliant they are. General feedback is nice. Since this isn't anything more than a drabble, though, I'm not out for hardcore critiques. You know, unless it should be more than a drabble. Fff.
---
Star Stuff
The night air was sharp with the scent of smoke from distant fires and the promise of a hard frost. What few leaves remained in the skeletal tree branches whispered coldly with each gust of wind, reminding anyone who cared to listen that autumn was quickly giving way to winter.
All Miriam could hear was the echo of her grandmother’s voice telling her to zip up her jacket and wear a warm hat. She was glad that she had taken that advice to heart, but not even her jacket could dispel the damp nighttime chill. Standing only served as a reminder that her feet, pleasantly numb until she had moved, were freezing.
“Julian!” she called, her voice piercing the brittle air.
The prone figure in the middle of the yard didn’t answer.
With a long-suffering sigh, Miriam forced her uncooperative feet forward and nudged her brother’s shoulder with the toe of her boot. “Julian, seriously. Get up; I want to go inside before I die of hypothermia.”
Her brother grinned up at her. “Some cold air won’t kill you.”
“I’d rather not take any chances. Get up, dope.”
Julian propped himself up on one elbow, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere. “Go in if you’re that cold.”
“Without you?” she replied with a tone that implied that, under no circumstances, was that going to happen. “I’m not leaving you out here. You don’t have enough sense to go inside before you freeze to death.”
“Let’s compromise,” Julian proposed. He patted the dead grass next to him. “You let me show you what you’re missing out on and then we’ll both go inside.”
As much as Miriam wanted to reject that idea, twenty-three years’ worth of experience had taught her that arguing with her brother was a useless venture. “Make it quick,” she grumbled miserably, sitting on the cold ground.
“Lay down.”
“Julian.”
“Just lay down. It’ll only take a minute.”
Miriam packed as much displeasure and despair into her sigh she could manage and did as instructed. “And?”
“And look at the stars.”
She looked. “Yep, they’re still there. Is that all?”
Julian looked over at his sister, quirked eyebrow barely visible in the starlight. “You don’t see anything worthwhile up there?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You don’t feel anything?”
“Besides cold? Not really.”
“Look more closely.”
Miriam examined the vast stretch of sky above her and failed to see anything other than stars. “Julian, tell me what I’m looking for.”
“You’re not looking for anything,” he explained patiently.
“Then why am I laying here outside and freezing to death?”
“I’d kind of hoped that you’d have an epiphany.”
“I’m not an epiphany kind of person. That’s more your thing.”
It was Julian’s turn to sigh. “Can’t you turn the left side of your brain off for a few minutes? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t want to.”
“That’s profound.”
“That’s how I roll.”
“And that’s why you’re unemployed.” Miriam sat up and attempted to rub some life back into her hands. “I have to work tomorrow. Let’s go.”
Julian reached over to tug at her jacket sleeve. “Miri, give this a chance. Please. One more chance. I’ll even talk you through it.”
Miriam hesitated but, as always, gave in to her brother. As little as she understood him and his creative time-wasting methods, she did love him dearly. Resituating herself on the prickly grass, she said, “One more chance.”
She saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.
“Look at the stars,” Julian instructed once again. “Don’t think of them as specks of light. Think of them as the stars they are-massive and farther away than either of us can fathom, burning just like our sun. Imagine how vast the universe must be to hold that many stars.”
Miriam imagined. The flickering lights became clearer and crisper, each one intensified by the night’s chill. As she looked, she noticed for the first time that not all of those little points of light were the same color.
When his sister made no protest, Julian continued. “The light from all of those stars takes time to reach us, even traveling at light speed. When you look at the night sky, you’re seeing some stars that have been dead since before people figured out how fire works; you’re looking into the past.
“Now imagine that, orbiting around one of those stars, is a planet. Imagine there’s someone on that planet looking back. They can just barely pick our sun out from the rest of the stars and they can’t know that, orbiting around that dim speck, is a planet just like theirs, and on that planet there are two people thinking about them.”
Miriam thought. Her mind, used to dealing with schedules and dates and set tasks, had to stretch itself to simply entertain the ideas it was being presented with. “Julian?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the point?”
“The point,” he replied, as patient with Miriam as ever, “is whatever you want it to be. To me, the point is simple: in the grand scheme of things, my life doesn’t mean a thing.”
“That’s depressing.”
“No, it’s not. It’s liberating, Miri. I can look at those stars and think about the vastness of the universe and remind myself that it really doesn’t matter if I mess things up. It doesn’t matter if I studied the wrong thing in college and can’t find work. It doesn’t matter that I’m still living at home, confused about life, and completely clueless about what kind of future I’ll have. The universe doesn’t care about any of that. I’m nothing out here. I’m not even a blip on the universe’s radar.”
“Julian, how is that not depressing?”
He fell into a contemplative silence. Finally, he said, “Try applying it to your life, Miri. Think about how meaningless all of the things you worry about and stress over are, or just how short your life is. Compared to every single one of these stars, we barely live for a moment. And still-even though we’re both hopelessly insignificant and short-lived-we’re a part of this vastness. ‘We are made of star stuff’-do you remember that Sagan quote?”
“Vaguely, but he was just talking about elements.”
“He was talking about more than just elements.”
Miriam shifted to look at her brother. “What else did he mean?”
Julian waved in a gesture that encompassed the whole of the universe. “That we’re no different from everything up there. If anything, we’ve got one up on the stars because we’re capable of thinking.” He paused, dark eyes fixed on infinity. “And the little things in our lives might not matter and we might not matter as individuals, but ultimately, Miri? Ultimately, the stars and the planets and the people living on those planets are connected. Everything’s made of the same star stuff. Everything that has ever been born, lived, and died-stars, worlds, people-exists as long as the universe does, inextricably tied to everything else.”
For a while, nothing passed between brother and sister. The leaves still clinging to tree branches whispered and their fallen comrades murmured in reply as the wind sent them tumbling across the ground.
“Julian.”
“Mm?”
“Let’s go inside before we both freeze.”
Julian rose without protest. Miriam picked a dead leaf out of his tousled hair.
Before she closed the door to keep out the night, Miriam took one last look at the starry sky. She allowed herself to imagine an ever-changing universe full of stars and creatures that lived and died and were reborn in an endless cycle. She imagined all of her tiny troubles and concerns crumbling into dust and returning to the stars, as she too would someday.
Miriam followed Julian inside, her thoughts full of star stuff.
Thank you for your exceedingly kind message, whoever you might be. ♥
---
To celebrate the successful setup of Ringo (a Dell operating with Windows 7 (I like it far better than Windows Vista) and a seventeen-inch screen that makes it terribly big but easier on my eyes) and the end of hours of data transfer and file-shuffling and customizing to get things the way I like them, here's a short story that I wrote in November. The two characters in it are major players in the NaNoWriMo monster; this is kind of a character study, even though their situation here is very, very different from that in the big story.
I'll be the first to admit that it's not absolutely fabulous, but I do need to keep writing and part of the writing process is showing things, I think, no matter how awful or brilliant they are. General feedback is nice. Since this isn't anything more than a drabble, though, I'm not out for hardcore critiques. You know, unless it should be more than a drabble. Fff.
---
Star Stuff
The night air was sharp with the scent of smoke from distant fires and the promise of a hard frost. What few leaves remained in the skeletal tree branches whispered coldly with each gust of wind, reminding anyone who cared to listen that autumn was quickly giving way to winter.
All Miriam could hear was the echo of her grandmother’s voice telling her to zip up her jacket and wear a warm hat. She was glad that she had taken that advice to heart, but not even her jacket could dispel the damp nighttime chill. Standing only served as a reminder that her feet, pleasantly numb until she had moved, were freezing.
“Julian!” she called, her voice piercing the brittle air.
The prone figure in the middle of the yard didn’t answer.
With a long-suffering sigh, Miriam forced her uncooperative feet forward and nudged her brother’s shoulder with the toe of her boot. “Julian, seriously. Get up; I want to go inside before I die of hypothermia.”
Her brother grinned up at her. “Some cold air won’t kill you.”
“I’d rather not take any chances. Get up, dope.”
Julian propped himself up on one elbow, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere. “Go in if you’re that cold.”
“Without you?” she replied with a tone that implied that, under no circumstances, was that going to happen. “I’m not leaving you out here. You don’t have enough sense to go inside before you freeze to death.”
“Let’s compromise,” Julian proposed. He patted the dead grass next to him. “You let me show you what you’re missing out on and then we’ll both go inside.”
As much as Miriam wanted to reject that idea, twenty-three years’ worth of experience had taught her that arguing with her brother was a useless venture. “Make it quick,” she grumbled miserably, sitting on the cold ground.
“Lay down.”
“Julian.”
“Just lay down. It’ll only take a minute.”
Miriam packed as much displeasure and despair into her sigh she could manage and did as instructed. “And?”
“And look at the stars.”
She looked. “Yep, they’re still there. Is that all?”
Julian looked over at his sister, quirked eyebrow barely visible in the starlight. “You don’t see anything worthwhile up there?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You don’t feel anything?”
“Besides cold? Not really.”
“Look more closely.”
Miriam examined the vast stretch of sky above her and failed to see anything other than stars. “Julian, tell me what I’m looking for.”
“You’re not looking for anything,” he explained patiently.
“Then why am I laying here outside and freezing to death?”
“I’d kind of hoped that you’d have an epiphany.”
“I’m not an epiphany kind of person. That’s more your thing.”
It was Julian’s turn to sigh. “Can’t you turn the left side of your brain off for a few minutes? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t want to.”
“That’s profound.”
“That’s how I roll.”
“And that’s why you’re unemployed.” Miriam sat up and attempted to rub some life back into her hands. “I have to work tomorrow. Let’s go.”
Julian reached over to tug at her jacket sleeve. “Miri, give this a chance. Please. One more chance. I’ll even talk you through it.”
Miriam hesitated but, as always, gave in to her brother. As little as she understood him and his creative time-wasting methods, she did love him dearly. Resituating herself on the prickly grass, she said, “One more chance.”
She saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.
“Look at the stars,” Julian instructed once again. “Don’t think of them as specks of light. Think of them as the stars they are-massive and farther away than either of us can fathom, burning just like our sun. Imagine how vast the universe must be to hold that many stars.”
Miriam imagined. The flickering lights became clearer and crisper, each one intensified by the night’s chill. As she looked, she noticed for the first time that not all of those little points of light were the same color.
When his sister made no protest, Julian continued. “The light from all of those stars takes time to reach us, even traveling at light speed. When you look at the night sky, you’re seeing some stars that have been dead since before people figured out how fire works; you’re looking into the past.
“Now imagine that, orbiting around one of those stars, is a planet. Imagine there’s someone on that planet looking back. They can just barely pick our sun out from the rest of the stars and they can’t know that, orbiting around that dim speck, is a planet just like theirs, and on that planet there are two people thinking about them.”
Miriam thought. Her mind, used to dealing with schedules and dates and set tasks, had to stretch itself to simply entertain the ideas it was being presented with. “Julian?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the point?”
“The point,” he replied, as patient with Miriam as ever, “is whatever you want it to be. To me, the point is simple: in the grand scheme of things, my life doesn’t mean a thing.”
“That’s depressing.”
“No, it’s not. It’s liberating, Miri. I can look at those stars and think about the vastness of the universe and remind myself that it really doesn’t matter if I mess things up. It doesn’t matter if I studied the wrong thing in college and can’t find work. It doesn’t matter that I’m still living at home, confused about life, and completely clueless about what kind of future I’ll have. The universe doesn’t care about any of that. I’m nothing out here. I’m not even a blip on the universe’s radar.”
“Julian, how is that not depressing?”
He fell into a contemplative silence. Finally, he said, “Try applying it to your life, Miri. Think about how meaningless all of the things you worry about and stress over are, or just how short your life is. Compared to every single one of these stars, we barely live for a moment. And still-even though we’re both hopelessly insignificant and short-lived-we’re a part of this vastness. ‘We are made of star stuff’-do you remember that Sagan quote?”
“Vaguely, but he was just talking about elements.”
“He was talking about more than just elements.”
Miriam shifted to look at her brother. “What else did he mean?”
Julian waved in a gesture that encompassed the whole of the universe. “That we’re no different from everything up there. If anything, we’ve got one up on the stars because we’re capable of thinking.” He paused, dark eyes fixed on infinity. “And the little things in our lives might not matter and we might not matter as individuals, but ultimately, Miri? Ultimately, the stars and the planets and the people living on those planets are connected. Everything’s made of the same star stuff. Everything that has ever been born, lived, and died-stars, worlds, people-exists as long as the universe does, inextricably tied to everything else.”
For a while, nothing passed between brother and sister. The leaves still clinging to tree branches whispered and their fallen comrades murmured in reply as the wind sent them tumbling across the ground.
“Julian.”
“Mm?”
“Let’s go inside before we both freeze.”
Julian rose without protest. Miriam picked a dead leaf out of his tousled hair.
Before she closed the door to keep out the night, Miriam took one last look at the starry sky. She allowed herself to imagine an ever-changing universe full of stars and creatures that lived and died and were reborn in an endless cycle. She imagined all of her tiny troubles and concerns crumbling into dust and returning to the stars, as she too would someday.
Miriam followed Julian inside, her thoughts full of star stuff.