Stardust

             Eleven billion years ago, I was a simple cloud of stardust floating through the universe. I didn’t feel; I couldn’t see; I barely even existed. And now, I’m becoming that cloud again. I can feel my fire abating and my energy dissolving into oblivion.

            I remember when I first began to comprehend myself. At first, the changes were subtle, but then I noticed that my form was condensing and then that I began to spin. Slowly at first, but as time went on, I realized that I was accelerating and despite the blurred universe, the world had never been so clear. It was like the pieces of my soul were finally coming together. I felt on fire and for the first time in forever, I had energy to burn.

            Around me, large masses of the dust that I’d left behind were clumping together, producing powerful planets. Most of them were red hot, orbiting around me in unstable and erratic rhythms, making them incredibly dangerous and easily destroyed. Hundreds collided into each other, creating fiery explosions of epic proportions.

A billion years later, all had calmed, leaving only four. They became my children, my darlings, my universe. I dedicated my warmth, my protection and my soul to theirs, and I adored them from the time that they formed their first moons to the day that they were no more.

Each one was unique and wonderful in its own way. I named the one closest to me Ignis because he was my little fire, the smallest of my planets, but also the fiercest. He never cooled down, always erupting and exploding. I named the second Tempestas because her winds never stifled and her lightning never ceased. She had a sort of splendor that made even the most frightening of storms beautiful. The third I named Feroxaqua for his vast oceans. On one side of his surface, his waters were clear and calm, but on the other, they boiled in turmoil, crashing into each other. I called the final one Carissime, because she was my dearest. She was peaceful and sprouting with life, a stark contrast to the rest of my children. Her surface was mostly lush green forests, a home to many unique creatures. When I watched over her, a tranquil feeling would wash over me. If I’d been able to breathe, it would have taken my breath away.

Sadly, nothing lasts forever, not life, not planets, not even stars. No matter how strong a resolve to live is, it will eventually give way. No matter how resilient, how beautiful, how much they are loved, everything dies. Some make peace with this, and give in to death as soon as it touches them. They smile and greet it, taking it hand and not letting go. Others pull away, clawing onto something that they can no longer have. They’ll do anything to grasp on to the precious but slippery treasure of life. I was one of those that couldn’t let go.

At 9 billion years old, my supply of fuel was exhausted, but I refused to die. I expanded, burning brighter and hotter than ever before, searching for something else to use as sustenance, neglecting to think about how that could affect the planets around me. It was selfish; I didn’t realize that my actions had consequences.

I inched closer and closer to my children, and there was no way to stop since the process had already begun. Slowly, they began to morph, collapse and then horribly die by my rays. At first the changes were barely noticeable; steam emanated from Feroxaqua, Tempestas settled, and Carissime became discolored, nevertheless, something was horribly wrong. Before I knew it, Feroxaqua was reduced to nothing but a desert of sand dunes and memories, and Carissime, ashes and burning forests. Inch by inch, I grew closer, smothering one after the next. For every one that I ended, a piece of me was consumed. After an eternity of watching my children from afar, I embraced them, finally, and then I was alone once more.

 For a billion years, I’ve slowly faded away, haunted by the ghosts of my family. There are times when I can’t even look out, afraid to see nothing but an oblivion. Thankfully, I no longer have the energy to burn and the fuel to fuse. I’m tired and ready to fall back into the comfort of a lifeless slumber. Slowly but surely my light will dim, and then disappear altogether. Eventually, I will stop spinning and then nothing will hold me together. I will drift away and be free, and at last, I will again be nothing but a cloud of stardust.