Staccato

Starlight's Spell

I have to immediately get out of the hall.

I mumble some excuse to Laurie, whose eyes go wide. "No, stop, you're not allowed to, Noey- !" but I barely acknowledge that I heard her. I have to get out right now.

Two times. It happened two times in a day.

Those visions.

I weave my way through the tables, around the people sitting, mumbling apologies to whoever would listen, before finding the side aisle on the other side of the pillars and making my way straight to the massive, intricately carved double doors that opens to the porch, and out to the front steps that sweep out to the entrance. Two tall men in black suits, tiny earpieces in place, are stood just outside the doors, and they look at me, but I think they hear something through those earpieces, probably my dad saying it's okay, just let the kid out. I step quickly and deftly down the steps, wanting to get away from the glittery warm atmosphere and into the dark night, as fast as I can.

For the first few minutes that I walk swiftly through the huge, well-kept verdant expanse of our property, I'm barely registering the direction that I am walking, barely comprehending anything, except for the blank static inside my head.

A few minutes in, and of course, I know it- where else am I going but to the beautiful woods at the back of our estate, along the banks of the artificial lake where we row or kayak sometimes.

It's a chilly autumn night, and the dark lake lies long and silent under the pale moon, glistening mercurially under the occasional faint ripples the wind breathes over its otherwise smooth, glassy surface.

It's still and quiet, except for the whisper of the trees and the soft crunch of the grass under my shoes. I breathe in the dry scent of pinecones and autumn leaves, and jam my bare hands into the crisp material of the pockets of my slacks, before they turned as bone-ashen as the moon, under this breeze that can't seem to decide whether to bluster roughly or to waft gently.

The skies are clear as glass tonight; clear darkness spilled across with a firestorm of stars.

Vega, Rigel, Antares, Regulus, Castor, Pollux - I make out those six bright ones right away, and greet them in my mind like old intimate friends.

Vega, brightest in the constellation of Lyra, brilliant blue, burning ten times faster than sun into her death, as those great blue ones do; Rigel, brightest in the constellation of Orion, that shimmery white hot speck having begun its journey toward me 863 million years ago, seconds that ticked away 863 million years ago on that little speck, in actuality a behemoth seventy five times bigger than the sun, ticking away right now, in real time, before my eyes; Antares, brightest in the constellation of Scorpius; Regulus, brightest in Leo; Castor and Pollux, heavenly twins, brightest in Gemini...

A footbridge arcs across the lake, and I climb up the incline of the wooden planks, and walk to the middle.

It's a beautiful night; the moon's reflection shimmers on the lake, and above, she rests, with her silvery halo around her and looking down serenely at me. The trees stand like dark, rustling figures along the banks, and the lake extends, long and straight, far into the horizon of our estate.

I tilt my head up at the sky, my eyes blinking under the blazing heavens and as always, humbled and awed by the majesty and the monstrosity.

What is happening to me?

What is this feeling of incompleteness and foreboding that have been my constant companions since forever? What are these feelings, these intense, prophetic, voiceless voices in my head?

I have always known that I was a little different from everyone else. Not in a way that I would consider myself special or above others. Just different.