Tachyon Sparks:

Waiting

Looking up, gazing at blue skies atop crimson waves. Perhaps floating instead, it was hard to tell. Hands felt sticky, hard to move, hard to lift. Exhaustion in the sigh, exhaustion in the sway of the waves. Almost soulless, apathetic.

Yet, the gaze remained fixated on a singular point. Trudging on, getting closer, the hair became recognizable somehow despite the mess it was made. One step, the silhouette stopped being a blur on the distance. Two steps, the sway of breathing became noticeable to the eye. A sudden needle on the lungs, feet spring into motion ignoring everything else.

"I want to see you."

How long was the distance? How much time has passed? Little did it matter.

"I want to hear your voice."

Brief fragments come to mind, words of many, many moons ago. Eliciting a smile, honest and warm. Eliciting further speed, further rushing.

"Please, be there. Wait for me…"

A hand reaches out, grasping an arm. Pulling closer, embracing tightly. Entangling as tightly as deep roots, enveloping widely as if with large wings, falling hurriedly in worry. All in the periphery blurred, faded away. Rough and firm, breathing could still be felt. Upon contact, no injuries were felt. Hands frantically ran over the body, as if they were ants sprinkled with boiling water. They were graced by warmness, by a faint but calm breathing, by a low but constant heartbeat.

So another sigh came out. And minutes or hours could have passed as not a muscle did move from the hold. Their breathing synchronizing, darkness claiming the edges of vision. Yet, it was warm. No matter how much the surrounding mist tried to seep coldness into the cracks of the embrace, the lukewarm and pleasant feeling never waned, the closeness clamping the heat inwards.

How long had it been? Who could actually tell? Details were blurry, and it was unimportant.

"Because you're here… you're… here?"

And a question came up. Where was here, exactly?

And looking back, a large shadow was cast overhead. Twisting and turning, the clouds seemed to be about to descend into the earth, splintering everything in a tornado. Limbs became hard to move, aware of the strain. Aware of all the spilled crimson which burdened any and all movements. What little could be discerned nearby seemed to be coming undone, crumbling to ash or soon to collapse.

Yet, it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

In the moment of hesitation, of fear, the embrace was tightened. It was met with emptiness.

"Huh? Where… are you? Where are you?!"

As if drained by a current, the hold had been broken. And along the ashes, the embers, and what else lurked within the gore, so did that treasure slip away from grasp.

Again rushing, against the current. Yet, everything started to fade away. It was hard to move, hard to coordinate. And the current, the foul current kept moving fast, faster, so much faster. Again, the silhouette threatened with disappearing.

Stretching a hand, reaching out like a small, abandoned seed at the bottom of a ravine would towards the sun. Dodging jagged rocks, debris and vile shadows within the stream, every time the distance was shortened, the waves pushed back. Time and again, time and again. Until finally, both hands met once more. And the small plant spread over, covering in protection.

"Never letting go… I'm not letting go…"

Thrust left and right, perhaps even up or down at times, the hold struggled. Embracing the warmth, that which had been lost so, so long ago. So stronger became the lock, panicked the gazes around to find some form of shelter.

Yet, all around only embers and ashes could be found. Only the crimson current they were locked in. Sparks flying off, spreading and lazily falling like feathers, said small fire sound was all around. Yet, it was not hot, nor cold. Moved by the gale, a gale that felt too refreshing, oddly so.

So the embrace was tightened. The returning feeling was light, fading. Trying to lift up, to cling onto, the effort seemed pointless. The warmth sank and sank away, seeming to be drained along the sparks that flied off. Slowly, again it slipped from grasp. Fingers twisted, cracked, threatened with bending unnaturally, trying to not lose hold.

And a firm hold was enforced, only for the hands to meet with their own body.

Rustling around, seeking the warmth, the weight, the presence around frantically, nothing was found. Curling inwards, stretching outwards, no warmth was found to the touch. And everything had grown dark just as the contact had left the fingertips, or rather, everything had returned to dark.

Finding a stable surface, the feeling was odd to the touch. Soft, pleasant. Then, the gale blows again. And as the eyes opened, they found a clear night sky. As the hands rustled around, they met the grass. Slowly raising, a wide amount of green bathed in tender illumination filled the view.

"I fell asleep? So… Just a dream…" Hunching over, hugging the knees close, too close to the chest.

Reminiscence sometimes can heal, dreams where one can find that which is far away, far from grasp. A small moment of respite, of unbound joy away from the restrictions of day to day life. Such sweet dreams are sometimes enough to lift one's spirit, rouse vigor forth from an unexpected person. It is like warm water that washes away all stress, cleansing all within one's mind. A medicine which counters any and all infections, besting whichever pain that might ail anyone.

…Yet, the wound remains open.

Clutching both shoulders for dear life, face buried deep into the arms. Hands slowly ran over the side of the neck, the arms, the chest, everywhere where they had contact. Seeking the warmth, yet finding nothing upon waking. Those broken images, those frail seconds of peace blurred as the waking mind took hold, the dream growing harder and harder to recall. Throat constricted on itself, the incoming suffocation did not prevent dampness to escape the eyelids, did not halt the hiccups which mired the pointless deep breaths.

So, the wound remains open.

The wind blows, vanishing all lingering traces of that warmth. Looking up, the lights which never fade in the night welcomed the weary gaze. A hand again slowly rose, shaking. Again, the small plant sought the sun, the warmth, stretching and stretching over and eventually covering the light from sight.

"But… you're not here…"

So, the hand crashed onto the grass. The wound remains open. So, remaining stargazing, silently watching the stars was all that as done, for a long, long time.

Eventually, a few footsteps echoed in the distance. Hands released the shoulders, rubbing both eyes, before turning around to glance at the intruder.

"Hey, dinner time was a few hours ago, you know?" She repined, ruffling her hair, the lab coat fluttering in the wind.

"…Is that so?" Barely a whisper.

"Come on, stand up. Let's go back," She offered a hand.

Remaining looking at it, then back to the stars, another sigh left the lips, "…I saw another dream."

"…Again?"

"Yes."

Sitting slowly, another set of eyes graced the stars, "Was it any different?"

"…I could feel the warmth of the hug. It felt… real, close," Biting the lower lip, clawing at the grass and discovering soft soil underneath, those eyes fell and burned like shooting stars left unwished, "I thought it was actually happening. I thought I… really was hugging…"

"…Dreams can be like that, at times. Some people can sense smells, others hear clear voices, discern sharp colors. And sometimes… even the illusion of touch can be present in our nightly recollections."

"That's a lie, you never sleep at night and you know it."

"…Point being, it happens. Feeling that you're close with people you haven't seen in a long time, only to be roused awake to an empty bed," Sighing and ruffling her hair, brushing the lab coat before standing up again, she once more offers a hand, "It's getting late."

Yet, once more, the stars were more tantalizing, "Do you think… that dream can become reality?"

"…One day, maybe."

"…When?"

"Sigh…" Wincing, looking away, lungs emptied and pierced through by firm steel, she shook her head hastily, "If your feelings are strong enough… Who knows? But, I already told you not to get your hopes up," Reaching down, pulling the hand, the feet into action, she firmly looks into those eyes, hesitant and scarred eyes, "I won't tell you to not think about it, but the chances of you two meeting are… astronomically low."

"…I see."

"If you want, I can dull the memory and-"

"No."

"Look, if it has you up this late, losing sleep too, I can't-"

"No!" Frowning, stares clashed. Breathing in, endowing the embers, "I… like these dreams. They… end, yes, but… They're pleasant, a bit."

"…You do know that holding out for a hope will only crush you on the long run, do you?" She placed a hand firmly atop both shoulders.

"I rather remain waiting. It also… helps with your research, right?"

"Well… yes, it does…" Caught off guard for a moment, she coughs, curling some hair backwards, "Yet, I can't have you leaving the base so often. You cannot aid others, if you cannot take care of yourself first. Your role requires you at full output whenever I need you, let me remind you."

"I know that well. Still…" Again, eyes craved the skies, "I'll wait, as long as it takes."

"And what happens when nothing happens?"

"Hmph… I'll despair after I'm dead."

"Sigh… I told you to stop saying that," Softly hitting the back of the neck, shaking her head slowly, both by herself and the winds, she took a few steps back, "Come on, let's go back. You need dinner, now. I rather you stay healthy, you'd understand."

Nodding, slowly standing up, a few steps were taken before growing to a halt. Again, stargazing. Again, longingly gazing at what might never come.

How long has it been? Was it all just a good dream? That which those eyes longed to see, which those ears awaited to hear might never be fated to be. Inhaling deeply, yet again a hand raised towards the moon, trying to grasp it, to contain it within a palm. And extending a wish as a minute light flashed through the night, the hand again crashed down. Gazing away, reluctantly then following after the intruder in a lab coat.

Shooting stars are said to grant wishes. They are revered by many cultures, and are often treated as a good omen. A symbol of hope, which its mere presence bolsters spirits of those who lay their eyes upon it.

However, shooting stars are actually very, very sad entities. They traverse long, almost impossible to describe lengths, freezing lengths of open space in solitude. All the while, they're fading. Burning away. And, for what? To either eternally loop around a set path, forever fated to never break away from said solitary path. The alternative is to crash down, to be torn apart, to burn alive and crash onto a planet. Perhaps someone would wish upon their corpses, perhaps happiness could coincide with the occurrence. Perhaps, a wish could be "granted" sometimes.

Yet, shooting stars usually die alone. Praised for a moment, burdened with impossible dreams and impositions, only to be forgotten as quickly as they flash through the skies. And then…

And then, there is only silence. And then, there is only cold. And a wound, a wound that remains open.

…

However, shooting stars do inspire valor in those who watch them constantly. A reason to look up, a reason to dream, to not give up hope. There is a certain fascination one can feel towards such selfless things, isn't there? Is it all worth it, though? All that travel, all that suffering, for only… a few mere seconds in the sky?

Perhaps, perhaps not.

Yet… even when everything comes crashing down, people still find reasons to hope. Such as that hand that remains seeking, seeking something beyond grasp. Such as that gaze, that longing gaze that is still waiting.

Waiting, day and night. As the sun and the moon continue to dance, as the seasons continue to pass.

Waiting, for so long. As the dreams plague the nights, as the emptiness meets the hugs.

Waiting and waiting, so alone. Hoping to see a shooting star, before it is time to crash down and burn away.

"…Just waiting… for the day we can see each other…"