a year in stories::seven

Almost forgot about this week’s story and I guess I’m not the happiest with this one. But maybe it’s good. I don’t know. I can never tell. Anyway. I feel I’m not doing so well at these right now. I was writing so effectively last month, getting thousands of words down every day, but I’ve only written these two short stories in February. Yeah, the novel’s slowed down because that’s what happens when I take time off.

Hopefully getting back into it this week. Maybe tomorrow.

Been playing way too much Final Fantasy VI, which is awesome for a lot of different reasons, maybe most importantly that they destroy the planet right in the middle of the game.

Blackhole Boy

 

When he opened his mouth I told him he looked too young to be galactic but the space collapsed anyway.

When I removed his shirt, kissed his chest, all that lied between me and neverness was that thin fabric called skin. Applying pressure, his chest concaved and in the hollow I longed to fill with me.

Blackhole heart, I said with ear against his chest, the fluttering emptiness of galaxies.

Never speaking, only touching, he was cold beside me and when inside I was filled with stardust. Tiny like a child but endlessly old, eternal, his eyes blacked out too nothing but to stare inside is to see the universal beginnings and ends.

He took my hand, closed my eyes, said to breathe in time but I didn’t understand but it didn’t matter because time’s all around anyway. When he spoke the air rippled over my flesh, through it, muted, and I imagined rain on puddles. Behind my eyelids, stars died: balloons full of seeds and from those seeds formed new stars, planets, gods, demons.

When I dreamt it was blackness covering the earth, erasing topography, geography.

When I dreamt the singularity everything revolves around pulled and folded the fabric of the universe into itself until there was nothing but the single point of reality.

Was this how it started, I said but he didn’t. Every time he opened his mouth the world around us shifted, collapsed, fluttered into him, into the eternity of nothing.

Was this how it ended, I said but he cried and his tears shined not like diamonds but like light.

If there is nothing within him then why light?

I fell in love with the blackhole boy but he left the world as soon as he came but left a letter for me to tell me why.

From then the sky writ in braille by his hands, I know.

From then I learnt to read signs in stars, in space.

Last night a meteor flew over Russia, killed a thousand people, sonicboomed into my heart, called to me.

And when I dream it’s not of blackness but blankness.

An asteroid approaches, the trajectory cataclysmic.

He comes for me and I’ll be here, waiting, openarmed, reading his words writ bright in the darkness of night. The stars shine from his hand, for me, telling me where and when and how.

I see it now, big enough to blot out the sun, eclipsing dawn.

And when there is nothing left of this world, I’ll be with you, blackhole boy.

And when there is nothing there will be us.

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