The Stars are Pollen

Chapter 1

And so Cornelius stepped through the threshold out into the sunlight. It had been some time since he had taken a leisurely stroll out by the pool, and by pool he meant the body of water that had once been a lake which he now fancies to be his swimming pool.

Reason being (other than the water was more acidic than neutral) is the affluence that comes with owning a swimming pool. He could recall the conversations between his mother and the women who would come into her work. "Oh Betty" they would say "This weather is so marvelous! Why, it is the perfect time to just lounge around the pool all day, wouldn't you say?". This question was never really a question of course. It was actually a verbal trap, meant to ensnare anyone who had the misfortune of not owning a swimming pool. It would be sprung like this; "I imagine it would be the ideal time" quoth the victim. "Ohhhh I'm so sorry Betty I forgot that you didn't have one, oh I do say you should come by one of these days, bring Frank and the kids! It is more than large enough to accommodate all of us, and you know Howard and I did just install the hot tub!".

Cornelius was sure the pool was a sanctuary from the scorching Arizona summers, and yes he was sure it was large enough for the Swan and Turk households, but he would never know for sure. The invitation is always on the table, however the Turk's always forget to put an address on it. That was a joke Cornelius' dad would often make. His Mother would never laugh.

Cornelius' new pool had an area of about 54 square kilometres, a bit excessive but fitting for the richest man in the world or rather what was left of it.

On his walk Cornelius saw a flower floating near the bank. He walked over and admired what he saw. It was a new species no doubt. Many of those had been popping up lately, all fighting for a spot in the wild, yes, but more importantly in one of the many Jars in what used to be the outhouse of what used to be a doomsday bunker which is now what Cornelius calls home. However this flower was different. While the flowers these days came with razor sharp petals, stamen that were about 400 cm in length when stretched out from their tightly wound coils, and many other ghastly features, this one was elegant. The petals looked acid washed, purple at the edges, but white splattered along the base. The stamen rested in the middle with beautiful yellow pollen resting at the tips. The water beneath it acted as display glass, placid and clear. Nature never looked more artisan.

Cornelius took his bag off of his shoulders and laid it on the dirt path before him. He pulled the zipper across the top, and removed one of the many glass jars he had gotten into the habit of carrying (about 4 on any given stroll). He carefully twisted the lid one, two, then three times before pausing. This next part was incredibly crucial you see, for when you are the richest man in the world you have little to look forward to.

Gone are the days when a younger Cornelius had to wait for birthdays to eat cake (he has plenty of those in his new home), gone are the days when he got to compete in highschool track meets (he holds the record for fastest lap around his swimming pool) and indeed gone are the days when he had someone to talk to other than himself. All this to say, this next part was especially important for him.

After the third turn of the lid Cornelius lowered the jar to the ground, and then his head to the jar. He treated the jar like it was holy, a tribute to the universe itself. He brought his ear no more than five centimetres from the lid. He was on the ground like that, completely static for exactly 5 seconds (time is absolutely objective here since Cornelius is the only one it matters to) before he slowly began to summon the minimal amount of motor units in his hand to contract his fingers which surrounded the lid. He then did the same for the muscles in his wrist. Slowly creating the force needed to overcome the friction keeping the lid in place. He did this for another three seconds before it happened. POP!