Orbit
let me tell you a story;
Once, there was nothing in the universe but a black-blue stretch of broken dreams and a scattered number of Suns, spilt around like rotten milk. They were breaks in the hopelessness and despair of beginnings; breaks in which emotions burned like fire and irregularity was welcome. And there was one particular Sun who, though small and dimmed, held the flaws given to him by the other Suns with a grace none other could manage – at least at first. Envy and compassion, weakness and love – they all bundled inside him like a coiled spring, waiting for the moment when it might be set loose with a twang.
He grew, like only a child could, and his eyes matured sharply with age. Through eyelashes of straying fire, he glimpsed snatches of the broken dreams who fled sight and knowledge. He watched as they hesitantly touched each other with shadowy tendrils before startling back, mutilated with the forbidden thought of wholeness. And compassion rose in the Sun like bile.
He stretched himself out as though he was a piece of elastic, nailed down to a board until he pried out the traps and freed himself. Orange and red and yellow bled from within, but one day, he had the instruments of music, instruments that could cling to a broken dream once he found it, could string it up with the others. Eventually, he had enough in his collection to mix and create and lovingly combine the broken dreams together until, finally, he managed to form one single dream, whole and seemingly flawless. This was his first, who fled from his grasp the minute she was sewn together; sadly, he hadn't the time to check if she had faults to perfect.
This dream became the first Moon, who was so much dimmer in the black-blueness, a new existence to accept, a blank new being that the Suns could not comprehend. Where was its light? What could it be? And still the Sun created more: The next dream was a Planet who rebelled and gave itself flawed plant life from stolen broken dreams he'd snatched the second the Sun turned his back. This made the Sun weep with sadness and then, when the despair was not enough, he growled with anger and rage and the bitter emotions that had long since stayed hidden under his fire.
The Moon was not fond of this angry Sun, and so she sided with the Planet, and took a portion of the Sun's light for herself. She was envious of his brilliant fire, as she was just blackness, barely even noticeable in the dark sky. So then, she was silver, a new colour to understand, and she spun around the Planet, moving him quickly away from the bitterly angry Sun, who had been betrayed by both the Planet and Moon. He felt that they had plotted against him, aiming to take away both his helpless dreams and his fire, jealous of his ability to invent wholeness.
After a seemingly endless time of pondering his rage – in which he created many more Planets and Moons to fill the black-blue – he decided to abandon the rest of the broken dreams and set out to find the hiding Moon and Planet. Time did not heal his hurt and anger; if anything, time made it multiply and grow and develop into something rotten at the Sun's core. So he went to find them with only revenge in his mind, meaning he did not notice the broken dreams he'd carelessly thrown aside behind him following him.
He found the Moon and Planet, of course, in some deep, dark corner of the black-blue – it was not too hard, for all he had to find was the silver Moon, so stupid in her eagerness to have beauty in her palm. Longing gripped hold of the Sun suddenly; he did not understand it, so he rode his instinct, and violently took the Moon for himself. Satisfied, he turned away. Without warning, a strike of disgust and pain split his essence, leaking blood around himself, as he turned and saw a weeping Moon, who had no strength but to strike only once. The Planet, horrified, came forwards to save the tears of dazzling silver in his lands, unsure what else to do.
But he was too close, and abruptly, the Planet found himself in the Sun's embrace. There was no way to flee, no way to escape. He was now the Sun's marionette. The Moon, who had always been in the Planet's embrace, found that she, too, was unable to escape. Misery cut them both, fuelling more pain into the already-shed tears, which gathered on the surface of the Planet.
As for the Sun, he bled droplets onto the Planet, avoiding the Moon with all his might. He could not stand himself anymore; he could not remember who he used to be. The holes inside him, the flaws and the rotted emotions, they were not who he wanted to be. And the bleeding droplets just bounced on the Planet's surface, causing mountains to rise and valleys to clutch the tears in their grasps. The broken dreams, who had witnessed these events, flew from the Sun in panic, tumbling onto the Planet distractedly. And they formed into tiny beings, born of pain and fear and wretchedness. They were beings who were never meant for pure wholeness; they would always be looking for something more.
All the Sun had left was the stardust of drying blood around him. The Moon no longer held innocence and spent the rest of forever being chased by a Sun who only wanted to say sorry. And the Planet whispered legends into the ears of those who could hear so sensitively from upon its surface. Stories were much better than the truth, you see. Miracles were so much easier to believe in than a tale of misery and wickedness.
He grew, like only a child could, and his eyes matured sharply with age. Through eyelashes of straying fire, he glimpsed snatches of the broken dreams who fled sight and knowledge. He watched as they hesitantly touched each other with shadowy tendrils before startling back, mutilated with the forbidden thought of wholeness. And compassion rose in the Sun like bile.
He stretched himself out as though he was a piece of elastic, nailed down to a board until he pried out the traps and freed himself. Orange and red and yellow bled from within, but one day, he had the instruments of music, instruments that could cling to a broken dream once he found it, could string it up with the others. Eventually, he had enough in his collection to mix and create and lovingly combine the broken dreams together until, finally, he managed to form one single dream, whole and seemingly flawless. This was his first, who fled from his grasp the minute she was sewn together; sadly, he hadn't the time to check if she had faults to perfect.
This dream became the first Moon, who was so much dimmer in the black-blueness, a new existence to accept, a blank new being that the Suns could not comprehend. Where was its light? What could it be? And still the Sun created more: The next dream was a Planet who rebelled and gave itself flawed plant life from stolen broken dreams he'd snatched the second the Sun turned his back. This made the Sun weep with sadness and then, when the despair was not enough, he growled with anger and rage and the bitter emotions that had long since stayed hidden under his fire.
The Moon was not fond of this angry Sun, and so she sided with the Planet, and took a portion of the Sun's light for herself. She was envious of his brilliant fire, as she was just blackness, barely even noticeable in the dark sky. So then, she was silver, a new colour to understand, and she spun around the Planet, moving him quickly away from the bitterly angry Sun, who had been betrayed by both the Planet and Moon. He felt that they had plotted against him, aiming to take away both his helpless dreams and his fire, jealous of his ability to invent wholeness.
After a seemingly endless time of pondering his rage – in which he created many more Planets and Moons to fill the black-blue – he decided to abandon the rest of the broken dreams and set out to find the hiding Moon and Planet. Time did not heal his hurt and anger; if anything, time made it multiply and grow and develop into something rotten at the Sun's core. So he went to find them with only revenge in his mind, meaning he did not notice the broken dreams he'd carelessly thrown aside behind him following him.
He found the Moon and Planet, of course, in some deep, dark corner of the black-blue – it was not too hard, for all he had to find was the silver Moon, so stupid in her eagerness to have beauty in her palm. Longing gripped hold of the Sun suddenly; he did not understand it, so he rode his instinct, and violently took the Moon for himself. Satisfied, he turned away. Without warning, a strike of disgust and pain split his essence, leaking blood around himself, as he turned and saw a weeping Moon, who had no strength but to strike only once. The Planet, horrified, came forwards to save the tears of dazzling silver in his lands, unsure what else to do.
But he was too close, and abruptly, the Planet found himself in the Sun's embrace. There was no way to flee, no way to escape. He was now the Sun's marionette. The Moon, who had always been in the Planet's embrace, found that she, too, was unable to escape. Misery cut them both, fuelling more pain into the already-shed tears, which gathered on the surface of the Planet.
As for the Sun, he bled droplets onto the Planet, avoiding the Moon with all his might. He could not stand himself anymore; he could not remember who he used to be. The holes inside him, the flaws and the rotted emotions, they were not who he wanted to be. And the bleeding droplets just bounced on the Planet's surface, causing mountains to rise and valleys to clutch the tears in their grasps. The broken dreams, who had witnessed these events, flew from the Sun in panic, tumbling onto the Planet distractedly. And they formed into tiny beings, born of pain and fear and wretchedness. They were beings who were never meant for pure wholeness; they would always be looking for something more.
All the Sun had left was the stardust of drying blood around him. The Moon no longer held innocence and spent the rest of forever being chased by a Sun who only wanted to say sorry. And the Planet whispered legends into the ears of those who could hear so sensitively from upon its surface. Stories were much better than the truth, you see. Miracles were so much easier to believe in than a tale of misery and wickedness.