The Galaxy Garrison

02:06am

    He awoke in a cold sweat; his breathing was erratic and he felt light headed. His usual olive complexion was now jaundice and pale. He kicked off the covers and swung his legs round and placed them on the icy floorboards, which sent a jolt of numbingly cold pain into his legs. Slowly, he managed to get to his feet while wiping his clammy palms on his boxer shorts. He shuffled around the dimly lit room, struggling, while waiting for his eyes to adjust. The only source of light was that of the moon coming through a gap in the thin curtains, and the large red luminescent numbers that read '02:06' of the alarm clock on his bedside table. Stumbling, he grasped for the chair on the other side of the room, while slipping on the papers and clothes he had left strewn across the floor. He slumped into the desk and let his head fall heavy in his hands. After a few moments of catching his breath, he massaged his brow and bent down to pick up the old, worn, pair of jeans at his feet. Slamming his clenched fist down on the desk in a rage of desperation and malice, he quickly put them on and grabbed the green khaki jacket that hung limply on the back of the door beside him. He slipped on his only pair of shoes and flung the door open and slammed it behind himself as he stormed down the well lit corridor, covering his eyes as he did.

    He reached the end of the corridor and leant into the wall, leaving his hand resting on the handle. The intense emotions he had felt just moments prior began to subside as he let out a long shaky breath. He felt disorientated and frail, as if his next step would have him collapse, but his mind darted back to that now fleeting dream. A rage bubbled within him as his face reddened in a fiery wave. He rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, not quite sure in himself if he were about to follow through on the act. In an outburst of sheer resentment, he raised his fist and punched the heavy metal door with all the force he could muster. Letting out a stifled cry of frustration, as tears began to well in his eyes, he kicked open the door leading to the courtyard of the Garrison.

    Immediately he was hit with a cold, refreshing breeze. The sky was vast and dark, far from the harsh white lights of the hallway. The sky was beautiful at night. It was a deep inky blue, that appeared to go on for an eternity. The stars danced as if they were in awe of the moon's soft glow, giving a vaguely silver tint to the world below it. Large grey clouds cushioned the horizon, and their grumbles could be heard from many miles away. He took a breath; cold fresh air filled his lungs and he finally felt as if he were no longer being suffocated. The crisp night cooled him; beads of sweat were beginning to evaporate from his temples as he came to the realisation that the nip of wind was penetrating the thin fabric of his pyjama top. He quickly threw on the jacket he still had in his hand, having completely forgotten about picking it up. Shivering, he put his hands in his pockets and strolled over to a large marble bench in the centre of the courtyard.

    He sat on the glacial marble slab, his hands so cold they felt as if they were fusing the slick polished surface beneath them. Illuminated only by the moon and the few dimly light lights surrounding the patio, he leant back. Bearing all his weight in his hands, he tilted his head back and gazed at the stars. The wind began to pick up and bite at his ankles. He let out a small sigh. He had always found the nights sky beautiful, that's why he joined the Galaxy Garrison in the first place. There would always be love in the stars, he thought. There would forever be love, grief, vanity, resentment and honour filling the sky, even long after the Earth's death. The thought of that always filled his heart with an emotion he could never quite explain. He tilted his head to his left, the constellation of Orion bore down into his soul. The group of stars depicting a once great man, trapped in the sky to be viewed for all eternity by his lover Artemis, after his fateful demise. His head fell forward, his short brown locks tickling his flushed cheeks, as a heavy sorrow filled his chest. "Oh Lance, what are you going to do?" he whispered in a voice that was barely audible to himself.

    Grimacing, he cupped his hand, that was now turning a vulgar shade of purple and searing with pain. "Mierda", he chided in his native tongue, "I'll deal with this tomorrow." Throwing his bruised knuckles down in defeat, he looked back towards the moon in a state of pure longing. He was cut short as the rumble of noise from the storm began to grow louder, the clouds racing towards the large isolated building. With a more clear head and less anxiety, he rose from his seat. Taking one last deep breath of cool clear air, he began to trudge back to the dormitory.