The sky in the room before me is full of activity. Small lights, each of them stars themselves, rising from and falling into various glows on the image of a dark planet that fills the room. I have found three windows here but the buildup of what I think is ice, distorts even the perception of the darkness through them. Certainly I see no fountain of ships, coming or going.
“Dad, how do I work it so I can see the whole planet?” But he is not my dad. I call him that once after a fit. I had been sedated I think, I was laying or had been laid down, I do not remember which. It was something about how I saw him, some new light shown on this relationship. I said it like a curse. He hears me but says nothing, just like a father. He is nothing like me.
She did not come today and He is packing things in those boxes and making them disappear. I know that I am different. Before, even before they showed me others, I felt like an ugly child, pupae, born of beautiful parents. Most of the things they kept locked away in the other rooms have been disappeared. I cannot follow him everywhere. Some of the walls dissipate as he moves through them. I stopped asking him to wait, to let me come too. Mom, mom, mom, I say but the what does not follow.
He shows me how to do two things on the array. He changes a color on the feeder, now I can operate it, he shows me how to do this too. “Were leaving.” He tells me but I do not answer him. If I thought I knew or feared this before, I knew and feared it now. There is no fighting concessions from an unwilling parent, nor an unable one. It’s the wall that turns to mist and the child in me that calls out against loneliness. I know She is not coming today because she is not coming ever again. I think, I try to remember a goodbye, a warmth. I tell myself she hid a farewell in something, some notion, a look, anything but she spent little of that time around me.
“We tried to find where you came from, where your home was.”
“What will happen to me?”
“You will have enough food, atmosphere, warmth.” I nodded that I understood.
I watch the last light leave the dark planet that fills the room and I tell myself it is the two of them, that I was loved, that the small star following some unknowable orbit is their souls combined, rising into a heaven I have only read about. The lights dim but still through the windows comes only that darkness without light.
In all those long years since I have only ever seen one other star, swoop and near and then leave to be lost again like hiding, watched, still in those vast fields until I look away and then gone. I weaken as I imagine I must. The array holds this in a sense, though what it says? I have written a cypher in my blood on the floor of one of the rooms. The walls won’t turn into mist for me.