Universe

Just Starting Out

The steady fall of feet, and the rise of your chest. The heart beating, just beneath your ribcage. How natural it feels, to just simply, be. To just, run. It's the only way to escape my thoughts. My bound thoughts. I am to this Earth, bound that is. I have nowhere else to go. I feel so small and insignificant.

I run faster.

The universe. It's calling to me, the stars; they want to burn my skin. I feel confined. If the world is so massive, then the universe must be huge. I need to feel it. The open space. I need to cure this need. This fire burning in me.

I must run faster.

We are the disease. We have killed our planet. We have poisoned it with our very being. We blame each other, and our fore fathers. Yet, when asked to do something to save our planet, and our children, and their children, we simply cannot be bothered. Because there are some who would rather hide behind their guns, their theories, their ideas, about what life is. They'd rather shoot first, kill first, and then investigate later. And claim the people who did the killing, the heroes. I would be no hero.

Keep running.

Only to cover up the fact, that our entire species could be wiped out in an instant. And the moon would continue rotating. The stars keep shining. And life on this planet, would flourish. We have not a single purpose. Compared to the Earth, we are but an ant. Compared to the Sun, the Earth is but a pea. Compared to the Sun, we are so small, that we are insignificantly tiny. Like a bacteria on the shoe of the Sun. And it does not stop there. The Sun, is but a star in our universe. Nothing, but a star.

I run up the steps to my door, and unlock the door. It swings open with a greeting from a nicely voiced, but obviously naïve, lady.

"Welcome home, Artemis. How was your run?"

The voice sounded gentle, but had a slight abrasive edge to it. All people are programmed to be like this.

"Fine."

The Lady does not like long answers. She says they bore her. Real mother isn't she? She stopped letting me call her mommy at the tender age of two. I remember it as well as my father's funeral, when I was seven. These memories burned into my head. Never to be forgotten.

"Oh, don't be like that! You know I love you!"

The Lady likes to pretend she loves me, for appearance sake only, so I quickly straightened, and peered at her.

"Is someone here?"

I tenderly asked her.

"No one's here dear, I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

There was an almost malicious glint to her eyes, as she looked to me.

"Alright, then I'm going to head up to my room."

She looked at me with a glare so intense that I thought the blood in my veins might run free from my body.

And then she did the one thing I never expected her to do. Her eyes softened, and a look of absolute sadness overcame her face. She stumbled, as if drunk, to me, raised her arms, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into her hold.

She leaned in, and rested her head on my shoulder. Her hand came up and stroked my hair, and I leaned into her hug. She leaned into my ear, and whispered gently,

"I'm so sorry."

Just as the words choked from her mouth, I felt the biggest pain in my heart. And I felt a warm liquid stain the white floor, darkening it, staining it, burning it. I fell onto the floor, in a heap, and she looked at me as a crazy woman looks at her greatest treasure. She bent down to me, mumbling,

"I'm sorry. Please, forgive me."

The entire world was spinning, I was confused, and upset, and dying.

I am dying.

The words sounded so foreign to my brain. Death has never been something I've feared, because in it, the weakest find the strength to forgive. And that is what I was doing. Forgiving.

The hand once held over the wound, now bloody, and stained, lifted to her cheek, and laid there. Cupping her cheek in the stained hand, the words were spoken like a prayer.

"I forgive you."

And the stained hand, stained her cheek, and slid away, for it could rest no longer. And the look in her eyes, matched the look of the bloodied streak running down her face. Pathetic, but forgivable. Her face, stained, and terrified, was burned into my memory, as the breath escaped my lungs, and my heart sputtered out.

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Love,

Astronaut Dreams