The stars. They used to shine and pulse with life and possibilities. Now, darkness. Consuming and sinister. No hope. Lonely.

She missed the stars the most. She missed sunrises and waves and birds on the beaches. But she missed the stars the most.

She missed mountain peaks and pine trees. She missed snow and big cities. She missed overcast mornings and foggy evenings. But she missed stars the most.

She missed stars because they were her last memory. She missed stars because the one time she enjoyed the company of her father was when they gazed up at the bright possibilities.
And on that night, driving home from the clearing, those bright possibilities faded and flickered away. That truck’s light burst through the window of their car, changing midnight into mid-afternoon. Her sight went from bright white to black. Lonely black. Black, without hope.

And her father. His life faded from him like her sight faded from her and the stars faded from the galaxy.

She missed the stars and their life and their memories with her father. If she had known she would never see him again, she would have looked at him when the truck hit, instead of the stars.

Because then maybe, just maybe, she would miss her father.