Shoot Only the Stars

Short Fiction | Dominic Hemy

I

It crawls across the black sky, lit only by the pale glow of the moon and its blinking lights. The silhouette is both menacing and magical as it passes in front of the newly-risen orb, yet it is merely a brief visitor before disappearing again to unknown vistas. She caught no more than a fleeting glimpse, but even that was enough to stir the genesis of an obsession. It wasn't the beginning, just a start.

II

Space is not empty. The ideas of “infinity” and “zero”, two outlandish concepts that are the embodiment of contradiction within human understanding, are unnatural, yet fundamental building blocks of nature. Ultimate opposites, born from the same genesis, inherently alien notions that have to be learnt, but without which we cannot possibly hope to understand anything beyond the tips of our noses.

III

She sees the tree every day on her way to work, standing alone as if it were a watcher atop a cliff. The tiny birds perch and play amongst its bare branches, silhouetted against the leaden grey skies like leaves on a skeleton. Life versus death, black versus white, all of the colour blanched out in this small triangle of desolate land trapped between three paths. They all lead away from here, wanting to be anywhere but here. And just like that, it is gone, left behind in a flash of darkness.

IV

If the universe is infinite, can it have anywhere with absolutely nothing? If the universe is not infinite, is there nothing beyond it? If you zoom out even further from that pale blue dot, in any dimension, you do not have to go far before we are such a small blip we barely exist. But then, even the tiniest of fragments is not nothing…

V

The rich blackness continued to creep across the sky. Each day added another couple of inches to the emptiness, a few more points of light forever extinguished. They said it was the end of the world, of everything. Could it really take so long? She could not comprehend the vast distances that she was apparently witnessing being obliterated day after day by the cavernous void overhead.

They kept an ever-present eye upon the inky stain, but still the wrangling about when the end would finally come droned on. When would their own little star, her home, be swallowed up? It was still so unnerving to look directly at the pure nothingness, to peer into... What, exactly? The image of entire galaxies ripped apart in a furious orgy of destruction was both horrifying and fascinating. It was also completely at odds with what she could see with her own eyes.

As the sun set, casting a radiant red glow over the rest of the sky, she lay back on the gentle slope and let the cool evening air calm her. The sounds of insects chattering mingled with the birds calling as they swept overhead in soaring arcs. The soft grass pressed gently into exposed skin, tickling the nerve endings from below like the light breeze did from above; the waft of recently-bloomed honeysuckle and the first tendrils of evening meals mingled to recall fleeting glimpses from her childhood. It was the peaceful beauty of these moments that she treasured the most, an oasis of tranquillity amongst all the madness.

Yet there was the gnawing dread hanging overhead, just like the gaping maw eating the sky as she watched. Was it moving faster now? She tried to capture that feeling of serenity again, sink back into the tiny miracles of nature around her. The grass, the birds, the flowers, the insects – like the one now biting her ankle. She hurriedly swats it off, but already the damage has been done as the little red pinprick begins to swell. It was these distractions that kept getting in the way.

VI

Imagine, if you can, objects impossibly huge crashing into each other with such force that it all, down to the equally unimaginably small, is torn asunder. An orgy of destruction on the grandest of scales as entire galaxies erupt in wanton displays of the most extreme deconstruction, as every bond is broken and every particle rent apart. Imagine, if you can, the end of everything. What does it look like?

VII

She only became aware of the riots when a friend called to ensure she was safe. Turning on the television to see what the fuss was about, she hung on the phone for hours as together they watched familiar landmarks turn to fire. No sense could be made of the violence sparked, and the randomness of the areas affected was becoming disconcerting. Where next was a pillar of flame to leap up and greet the night sky?

There was no real sense of danger, no tension in the air, despite all the neighbours being equalled glued to the unfolding carnage. It became increasingly clear that many of those now involved were doing so just to be a part of it, opportunistic louts acting as if they had been given free rein to wreak merry hell for an evening. How long until the kids around the corner decided they wanted in on this lark too?

Despite knowing many of the areas damaged, even passing through them again in the aftermath, there was little sadness associated with the events of that night. There was regret for those whose businesses had been wrecked, and contempt for the spoilt brats who took such selfish glee in their petty rampage. But there was also a feeling of awe whilst staring at the smouldering remains, an otherworldliness about seeing it up close.

It all passed so quickly. Small scars were left in the psyche of the city, half-forgotten wounds picked at time and again in the following years by any fool looking to make a spurious point as it all began to unravel. That evening wasn’t the start of it all, but it was certainly a beginning.