I was a slave to the stars

Even as a little girl, I knew my destiny was in the stars. “Mama, I wanna see the sky!” “You can’t, baby. It’s too hot now. It’s not safe.” I stomped my feet. I didn’t like it when we couldn’t go out and play. But she was right. It was too hot. I could feel it radiating through the thick walls of our little family shack. It was the same with the sky as it was with the walls. I rubbed my eyes. It had been a while since I saw my stars. I missed them. “Mama, I have to go see the sky,” I said. “Not now, little one,” she said. “Please?” She was quiet, looking at the sky. I peeked at her face, and saw that it was gruff and wrinkly. “Wait here,” she said. She left, and I followed. I didn’t know what she had in her mind, but I knew that she would try to make me happy. I followed her to the big tank. She filled a bucket with water, and then we walked to a spot near the shack. She poured the water in a small patch of dirt. The sand sucked all of the water in, but then she poured some more. “Why are you doing that, Mama?” I asked. “Because I want to, little one.” I kept watching. By the time we had put the last of the water in, a big puddle of water had formed on the sand. She sat down, and gestured for me to sit next to her. I did. She put a hand on mine. “Look at the puddle, little one.” I did. And I saw the sky. “Look, Mama. The sky,” I said. “Yes, baby.” I looked at the stars. And I was happy. For a moment, I forgot that the stars were dead and the sun was burning out, and we were stuck here on this godforsaken planet. The sky was pretty, gracing the horizon of our planet with its shimmering blue glow. I kept looking at the stars in the puddle. They were my happiness. And my mother’s gentleness was my solace. “Thank you, Mama.” “Of course, little one.” We sat there for a while, watching the stars. I didn’t tell her what I really wanted to. “Mother, can we go to the stars? I want to see them for real.” She took her hand off mine. “No. Not now.” “But why? What if the stars disappear?” The stars were dying, and so was the sun and the moon. Our planet was dying, and we were all that were left. She stood up. I stood up with her, and she wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t worry, little one. I saved some of the starlight for you.” “What do you mean, Mama?” She smiled and kissed my head. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” She was right, of course. I wasn’t old enough to know. I stayed under her arms, feeling safe. I didn’t know what would happen, but my stars were there, and my mother was there. And that was enough. I grew up, and I was content seeing the stars in the puddle. I would spend hours looking at the sky, mesmerized by its beauty. After a while, I forgot that I wanted to see them for real. My mother taught me how to get water from the puddles and the tank, and how to get food from the remaining pieces of metal in the ruins. And I worked, because the lady who lived near us was poor and needed work done. But I never forgot my stars. One day, I had grown enough. I saw it in my mother’s eyes, and I knew. “Mama, you said you would tell me something when I grew up.” “Yes, little one. What is it?” “You said you saved some of the starlight for me. What did you mean?” She looked at me. I could see the fear in her eyes, and I felt mine too. “I saved some of the starlight for you. You can see it whenever you want to.” “How can I?” “Come.” I followed her, and we stopped at the remains of a big metal building. She lifted one of the big metal pieces, and we crawled in. Once we were in, she put it back where it was. I looked around, but it was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. She placed a hand on my shoulder, and we walked. I couldn’t see anything, but I knew by the way she moved that she knew the way. It was very dark, but once in a while, I could see a small patch of light reflecting off something in the walls. We kept walking like that for a while. “Mama? I’m scared.” “Don’t be afraid, little one. I’m here.” But she wasn’t. I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t see anything. I heard the sound of metal moving. And then I could see a little bit of light. My heart beat fast. I didn’t know what I was seeing. It was a little hole in the wall, and there was a small glass window. The light was coming from there, and I could see something moving through it. “What is this, Mama?” “This is where we keep the sky.” I didn’t understand. But then I heard the sound of the tank opening, and then the sound of water pouring. And then the sound of metal moving again. I looked at the light. It was brighter now, and I could see inside. There was a little bucket of water, and a big door with a small window in it. “Where does that lead to?” “Outside,” she said. I gasped. We couldn’t go outside. There was no air. The sun was burning and the light was too powerful. And the sky was different. It wasn’t blue like it had been before. “It’s the sky,” I said. “Yes, it is.” I looked at the door, mesmerized. I wanted to go outside, but deep down, I knew that I couldn’t. It was too hot. And the light hurt us. “It’s the sky,” I said again. My mother nodded. I looked at the door for a while, mesmerized by the glow of the sky. And then I looked at the puddle of water next to me. “Mama, I see the sky.” “Yes.” And I looked at the stars in the puddle, and I was happy. She put her hand on mine again, like when I was little, and I felt her gentleness again. And I was comforted. And I wasn't scared anymore. “Thank you, Mama.” “Of course.” We watched the stars together for a while. And then I had the feeling again. The feeling that I wanted to see the stars for real. I didn’t understand why, but I wanted to. And so I turned to the window again. And then I took my hand off my mother’s. I crawled up to the window, and I looked at the door. The sun was too hot, and the light too powerful. But I didn’t care. I wanted to see the sky. “Mama, can we go to the stars? I want to see them for real.” She didn’t answer. I looked back at her. She looked different. She looked older. I didn’t understand why, but her face didn’t look like it used to. And deep down, I knew the reason. I had to go to the stars. I crawled back, and placed my hand on hers again. “Thank you, Mama,” I said. “Of course,” she said. Her voice was deep and rough. I took my hand off hers, and I backed away. She looked at me, and I looked at her. “Goodbye, Mama.” She didn’t answer. I crawled back to the door, and I reached for the handle. I could feel it grating against my hand, but I kept trying until I got it open. I crawled out, and I used all my strength to stand up. And I stood up. I was outside, standing on the dry, arid land. I stumbled once, and I looked down. I saw something. The lady who lived near us was there. She was dead. And next to her were some heavy metal boots. Big enough for me, but too big for my mother. I gasped, and I stumbled. I stood up, and I saw the grating. Next to it was the lady. She had fallen into it once, but my mother had saved her. I stumbled again, and I stood up. I looked up at the sky. I stumbled again, but I didn’t stand up. The light was too powerful, and the heat too much. “Mama?” I said, but she didn’t answer. And I looked at the sky again, the blue sky with the stars in it. Gracing the horizon with its shimmering blue glow. And then I knew. The sky I was looking at wasn’t blue. The sky was wrong. “Mama, I see the sky,” I said again. But she didn’t answer. Because she didn’t exist. My mother didn’t exist, because she was never there. And neither were the stars. And neither was I. I was a slave to the stars, and I never saw them. I was a slave to the stars.

I was a slave to the stars

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