It was the creaking drift that stirred him awake. Something heavy in the air…as if it didn’t circulate around his body but rather through his stomach and guts and thought. His eyes opened into seams as he stared off into a blackness lit only by the stars he was passing. Since long ago, the only sensation Deslin knew was that of the drift. It was the plunge, release, pull, release…a dance through the stagnant space that had become as ingrained as breathing.
Someone had long ago set him off in the direction of a faraway place. At least so far as he could remember, that was all that he could remember. Something, something, someone. The flashing images of his memory flickered for moments that lasted long enough to tempt curiosity before another rising force would bury them as they kicked for life.
Space is dark. For those that don’t know, its black is a haven…one made up of the failed sadness and misery of distant worlds and systems. Tip an ear to the black you’ll get a sense of what it means to be alone, out there, in the middle of nothing. Or, you could have asked Deslin. He knew it all too well, too quickly.
…
In space, hours bleed into days bleed into weeks bleed into months. The first twenty hours were the hardest. He sat in the darkness without a single living thought or memory. It was as if everything had been washed clean, as if he had been born into a new world with nothing to lay perception upon. All there was, his only company, a beep from the control room. Though he had long lost any sense of time, Deslin knew quickly the span of its intervals. Beep. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Beep. Lost in that cadence, he would stare into the infinity of starfields until coming full circle…until he was again, peacefully lost.
…
Deslin woke abruptly from numbness. He had stopped counting the breaths for some time, but was stirred again by the drift moving through his body. Immediately again, thoughts shot through his capacity. They raced, insatiable for anything to place a firm hold upon. Again, they failed. There was nothing.
Beep…
And with it, a memory. Two breaths in, two breaths out.
Beep…
Deslin took a breath, began to breathe out when it sounded again. He took another breath, began to breathe out when the sound cut him off. The intervals were quickly decreasing. An overcoming power surged through his body, something to latch onto…purpose.
…
In what could have been a blink or eternity, Deslin could no longer tell where one beep ended and another began. Then, altogether, they stopped. Light crept in, bathed the cabin of the vessel. The distant, surrounding stars disappeared. All there was, light…so initially blinding and painful, it numbed his sight into an instant state of comfort. Deslin reached for his stomach. His guts weren’t pulling. The vessel had stopped. The beep had ceased. Inside, pearls of sweat began to form on his body. The light encompassed him, trapped him, entranced him. Outside the ship, as the light folded itself around the vessel, pieces of steel began to peel off and melt away. Soon, there was nothing left. Deslin looked around, more than surprised to find he was being held, somehow nurtured by the burning light, alone in the middle of a universe.
It wasn’t a thought, but instinct that made him trust the starlight. He was certain that whatever source he was about to encounter knew nothing of deceit or false guidance. Its light showered him in waves, ripples. He saw a life, his life. Young, smiling. Whatever fear he knew buried itself beneath the surface, tucked from sight. In front of him, through the tunnel of light he saw his life played out, projected. Everything he knew, or dreamed, or loved, wrapped into an instant without pause. He remembered. A choice was made. He left. Something, someone, something.
As the images faded, so too, did the light. Its power converged into a single beam on his right forearm, the residence of his only identification, a black tattoo of his name, deslin. At least, he was always somewhat certain what it meant…a name. In that moment, he was no longer sure. After all, the letters were hardly precise. They ran from his wrist to elbow, jagged, sloppy. He began to wonder if he was responsible for their appearance. He opened his hand…
X…
There was an X in his hand. A marking? It didn’t make sense. He looked closely, distrusting of the identity of the letter. He began to feel a burn from the light. It scorched his skin, burned off excess. He was wrong. The letter wasn’t an X. Devlin saw the y and understood. It wasn’t his name. It was someone else’s.
The star began to slowly let go. The light dusted his clothes, began to take his body when he smiled. His eyes lit.
How sad…he thought before vanishing.
