Beyond Our Stars

Chapter 1

I haven't seen my father for ten years, and I don't even remember the last time I saw him very well since I was only six years old. I know he isn't dead- the labs have kept me updated on his health. Other then that, they haven't told me anything. I'm not sure being away from him for this long, knowing you can't see him for a very long time or having him dead is worse. I wouldn't know.

The only memories I have of him are two pictures: one of which I was riding on his shoulders as a four year old in the park, and the other one only a few days before he left. I was holding his hand, looking up at him, while he grinned at the camera. I have both pictures above my bed.

Then of course I have the tablet he handed me, seconds before he left. I have been driven to turn it on many times, but I never have. He told me not to, so I leave it at that. Every night before I go to bed, I find myself wondering what was so important and why he wanted it kept a secret. Every night I wonder when he's going to come home.

My mother isn't much of a help. She sits on the edge of my bed every night, staring of into the distance for a few minutes. I used to find it comforting to have her there, but I don't anymore. She's always gone during the day, so I'm alone, "free to do what ever I want," she says. But I don't have much to do except wandering the dusty streets, muttering greetings to people I happen to pass that I know.

Everyday is getting hotter, even though it's still winter. The sun is growing in size, becoming a red giant and melting the ice caps and the water is starting to be hard to find. The sun has been releasing its outer layers, and our world is bathed in constant red light. No one knows why. It hasn't always been this way.

Our city, or most of the world apparently, is a wreck. The streets are dust and the peoples' clothes are a rags, hanging around their thin waists and shoulders. The buildings' paint has peeled to reveal the rotting wood or stone beneath. The few brick houses were crumbling, sometimes the buildings had large holes in the sides. The wooden houses were rotting, and every winter it was worse. The rain would make the roof sag, sometimes they collapsed, and it would do almost nothing to keep the rain out.

My family was one of the lucky ones. We had a large, white house on the best street in the city. Out clothes were new, and we had enough money, more then enough, to buy new clothes and food. We weren't starving, and our house was in perfect shape. If my father died, all that would be taken away from us, and we'd be one of the street people.

I've always felt bad for the street people. It's not their fault. When I've suggested helping them by giving them money, my mother shook her head stiffly. "No. Don't you go near those things, either," I never asked her again, though I thought of it often.

* * *

I pulled away from the window where I watched the life on the streets below, old men and women hobbling down the paths, and children, wearing nothing but rags around their waists, grinning and laughing as they played, running up and down the streets. It always amazed me how happy the people with next to nothing they owned, were always the happiest.

I stood by the door, my hand on the brass knob. Mother always disapproved of me going outside with the street people, and she wouldn't let me by myself. But she wasn't here now, and she would never know. The street people couldn't- wouldn't harm me. I was sure of that.

A gust of hot wind blew my red hair, revealing my green eyes and thin face. I had never liked how I looked.

I stepped hesitantly out onto the stone steps of the house, and walked slowly to the streets. An old woman looked up at me, her long hair turned gray over the years. She smiled at me. I waved my hand at her, hurrying past.

The children continued playing, their loud laughs filling the air, but the adults stood in the shadows, their sullen eyes following me, studying every move I made. I ducked my head, staring at my feet, but I could still feel their gazes burning holes into my back.