Prompt: 46: Star
Author's Notes: For Colleen, who kept me up last night.
Some stars are brighter than others, and some of the twinkling dots on the black velvet sky aren't even stars. They're planets that look like stars, too far away to be distinguishable. Appearances can be deceptive.
The special thing about stars was that they were constant. Solid things had always been a comfort to Michael. So many things changed in the world that those things that didn't - that were always the same - became rare and reassuring. Stars were one of these things. No matter what time of the day it was, they were always there, and when they showed themselves in the evening they seemed the same as the night before.
You can cover up a light, but if it's not extinguished, it'll keep on burning until it dies. It seems that stars burn eternally. They have such a long life span that they just keep going. They're always there, even if you put a cover over your head or close your eyes and can't see them. Michael always felt like they watched over him as he slept.
When he was younger, Michael used to climb out of their apartment window and drop to the fire escape outside. He'd climb the stairs to the top of the building where the roof was and just sit there and look up to the sky.
The world spins. Everyone knew that. Even at night the town around him pulsed softly with drowsy light. But in amongst the turmoil he'd sit up on the roof and watch the stars, forever constant in their constellations.
He'd only been caught up on the roof three times. The first time was by the landlady who had startled him and he'd shot off down the fire escape and back into his apartment before she could recognize him. The second time was by Lincoln, who had followed him and just sat up there, telling him all that he knew about the stars, and talking about things only big brothers knew about. The last time was by his mom. She'd slipped up on to roof one night as he was sitting there, next to a book on constellations, staring up at a particular star. She'd sat next to him, followed his gaze and silently kept him company until he'd fallen asleep on her shoulder.
Rooftops were safe at night. You could see everything, and they were quiet. You could do homework or science projects without your big brother commenting every ten seconds on what you were doing wrong. But the best thing about roofs was that you could build things.
Not big things, the landlady would throw a fit, but little things. Tiny houses made of matches or toothpicks, or towers made of only spaghetti and glue. Once he'd found a book in the school library on pinhole telescopes. Piece by piece he'd built one at night so that he could take a closer look at the burning orbs above him.
It wasn't all that great a telescope. It was small, and the materials were what he could salvage from the trash or the art room at school, but it was his, and with it he could close one eye and feel like he was alone with the stars.
His favorite planet was Mars because it was deceptive. He knew it was red, dusty and desolate, but from earth it was beautiful, shiny, and bright. Brighter than the others. At school he was short, stocky and quiet. He'd sit in the library rather than play outside. He was an outcast, but all he wanted to do was to be like Mars and put up a shield to shine.