The star stared down, a single fixed eye in an otherwise empty night sky. Few had ever seen such a completely clear sky, a sky that was far from any city light pollution, a sumptuously crystalline blackness or nothingness, eventually encompassing for the first time a pinprick of light that I assumed to be the light of a star having travelled here toward me for eternities….
I always pluralised the word ‘eternity’; it seemed to show respect to the eternity maker; I did not want to assume that it was at all straightforward to create a perfect single eternity. You often needed several things to make one thing.
A single perfect star appeared worrying. For if there was one star, why were there not more? As a child, I was brought up on skies clustered with stars, many gone nova, most seen by the naked eye, but there were millions more that I imagined reaching out their light to more sensitive eyes than mine, to more reachable or closer eyes than mine, closer, that is, to their light source. Childhood had not lasted long for me; I felt myself to be a wanderer even before I had left my mother’s womb.
I often left my own body behind. I eventually forgot I had a body to which I needed to return. They would have to burn a body like that in case another returned instead of me.
I watched that star, or that star watched me. An eye for an eye. A staring game. Each daring the other to go plural first.
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