Stars (Short Story)
I bet you won’t believe me if I tell you what I did once. I think somebody needs to know, and if I tell a complete stranger, I might finally feel better.
Once upon a time, I touched a star.
I was out, just around midnight, and I looked up into the sky only to see something glistening. It looked so much brighter than everything else, but all the while it was still dimmer than the lights of cities. At first, I thought it was the North Star. I reached up, wanting to point and acknowledge the North Star’s existence. As I reached my finger up, I felt the star gently graze across my finger. I let out a shriek immediately, not because it hurt, but because everyone always said stars were unreachable. Stars are not what we imagine them to be, they are big balls of gasses, rather than shapes we use to define hope. Why, suddenly, could I touch stars?
Reluctantly, I reached up to a different star, but my finger merely poked the sky. I then reached back up towards the other star, and once more, I felt it dance against my finger. I didn’t pull away, I don’t think I could, I was in so much amazement. I looked around, to see if anyone else was near, but I soon realized I was somewhere unfamiliar. It was an open field of nothing but short grass, with no rocks or trees to be seen, and even though it was the dead of night the entire field was dimly lit by my star. I wrapped my hand around my star, hoping to pull it down and see it better. I gave one hard pull, and instead of my star coming down, I went up. I instinctively grabbed my star with a second hand, as to make sure I was pulling all my weight to the best of my ability. Then I noticed, I was light. I let go of the star entirely, only to float peacefully next to it. The star, however, had dimmed. I looked at it curiously. It was no longer the brightest thing in the sky, but instead it was no more than what you’d think a distant star would appear as. Yet the field was just
as lit as before, and with a quick glance I realized that the star was no longer lighting the field, but I was. I had become as bright as my star.
I floated through the night sky, and all the stars decorated me with all that I could desire. They gave me white robes and a beautiful flower crown of white, and as I jumped from one star to the other, each glimmering with my approach, I fell in love. I wanted to hear their stories, wanted to know who they were, who they are. I wanted their dreams, their hopes, their desperations, and I think they wanted me to have them too. The stars enclosed around me, and we laughed like we had never laughed before, and even though I couldn’t breathe I still laughed for them. I was suffocating in hope. I wanted, needed them, just as they needed me.
Their grip around me started to die, I could feel them softening and I let out a gasp. I spread my arms out to hold onto them but I no longer reached them. No, I desperately thought to myself. My eyes became heavy but I couldn’t sleep, if I slept I would never see them again. I cried out to them, begging, pleading for them not to leave me, but their desires were ripped away from me. My eyes fell closed, the battle had exhausted me. There were tears running down my cheek as I awoke. I was back in the city, in my bed.
The stars would never dance for me again. I could no longer reach them despite how hard I tried. From then on, I’ve felt lonely. No person will ever fill the void that was once filled by the stars. Perhaps telling someone could appease that loneliness, but I have my doubts.
If you ever do meet me, you can catch me reaching up to the sky, towards the brightest star. My arms spread wide, my eyes closed, waiting for the feeling of the star brushing my finger, taking me as its own.
And yet, all I am reaching for is a dream. The illusion of a dream.