Celestial

Stars

Glow-Stick Eyes

And then, suddenly, we were running. Her hand was warm around mine, and my feet struggled to keep up behind her. We rushed through the forest, stars blinking through the trees. We were not running much faster than a limp, but the feeling of moving-really moving-was enough. Her mouth was spread in a smile that reminded of a grimace: like the feeling of being free in this forest would not last.

I wondered for a moment, if this was the scene in which narrators describe the air running through your hair, brushing it out and bringing energy to you. If I imagined hard enough, I could almost fathom what it would feel like. I hadn't had hair for the wind to brush for the last year and a half. I'm not sure what cancer has against windy nights and car rides.

My legs were weak, like shrapnel of chemo remained in them, penetrating my bloodstream. I should have never agreed to the horrible, horrible treatment. I thought I could cheat my way out of cancer with drugs, and injections, and radiation. In reality, it only left a bitter taste in my mouth, and took away the naturalness of dying.

The stars grew brighter as we struggled up a hill. She was strong enough to make it to the top, and she knew it. Her bright blue eyes reflected the moon as she wound her way on the path, arm straining to pull me behind her. My fingers were beginning to hurt from her grip, but I didn't dare tell her. I wanted to savor this moment of sprinting in an empty forest for as long as possible.

Finally, we reached the top. I steadied myself against a tree branch, heaving in oxygen until I could taste the medicine in the back of my throat. My legs were shaking, so I pressed my back to the living tree, and slid down. She turned as she saw me fall, and took a step forward. She crouched down, slim hands cold on my knees. I coughed loudly, leaning the back of my head against the rough wood. I felt so pathetic, so helpless, lying there as she touched her fingers to my bald head.

My chest did its erratic rising and falling as I settled back into the rhythm of breathing. Finally, I found the strength to open my eyes. Hers were inches from my face. I was once again struck by their brilliant blueness, shot through with silver like a broken glow-stick. They crinkled at the corners as she watched me, concerned. I reached out a shaky hand, meeting her cheek. She smiled.

Pulled me to my feet, and we were stumbling to the center of the hill. Trees rose to the moon in a nature-made fairy circle. The grass was cold and green, spreading out in front of us. At the center of the glade, a checkered blanket was spread in front of a jutting rock.

It was so pathetic; the little threadbare blanket was wet with dew. Her hair fell around her face as she walked excitedly to the picnic place. The small braid she always wore dangled by her ear. The silver bracelet she always donned sparkled like molten moonlight.

I took a few steps forward, and as I did it was like the trees parted their crowns to give me the night sky as a gift. I was struck by the vastness of it. Stars, burning and swirling in patterns over my head. The sky was ebony and blue, spreading out in unfathomable distance.

I craned my neck, squinting into the thousands of lights.

I felt suddenly so, so small and unimportant. And I realized that once I died, none of this would be affected.

And that was the most comforting thought ever.

I turned to her as she sat down upon the blanket, head downcast. I slipped a gentle hand on her shoulder, doing my very best to ignore the pulsing pain in my chest. Stupid cancer.

I put my arm around her shoulders, and suddenly we were in love. I was too out of breath to kiss her, and I wouldn't have wanted to anyways. I just wanted to be close to her, and hear the wind in the trees, and watch the stars. Sleep pulled at me, but I didn't dare close my eyes for fear of breathing my last. The stars were too real, and too close to leave now.

We laid back on the blanket, staring up at the stars, side by side. They swirled and gleamed: unchanging in their paths; unaffected, uncaring, unconcerned with the fading boy. The trees continued to grow, the wind continued to blow, and the night continued to pass.

I continued to die.