How They Shine For You
written by ✧Aurora Lovecraft✧
Aurora Lovecraft's next short story revolves around the mysterious ways of the moon and stars and how much they may reveal about you - to others, as well as yourself. After all, a certain darkness is needed to see the stars and make a wish.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
4
Reads
307
The Telescope.
Chapter 1
The tiniest flicker of a smile forms on my lips as I reach the near-perfect spot. Right here, the grass isn’t too high or scratchy and the moonlight, unusually bright tonight, hits at just the right perspective. It’s quite close to perfection, really – only it’s missing what was never missed before until now. Sometimes, I wonder if I ever plan anything, think about consequences, or even ask the simple question of “Why?” before I set out on anything. Considering the fact that I’m now shivering outside in the tall grassy field next to my house at approximately 3:21 a.m. lugging pounds of astronomy equipment that I’m not even sure works behind me, I suppose not. Perhaps I did before. But I wouldn’t know, I don’t quite remember myself from before. I wish I had a better memory.
I finally take out the various metal tools and gadgets from the sack I’ve been pulling. Odd isn’t? That this sack full painfully beautiful memories I've been too scared to touch for 3 years would happen to slip over and out of that top shelf in front of me. Just the night when my mind refused the gift of sleep for the thousandth time since, just the night when I started to realize I’ve run too from it for too long.
I resort to dumping all of the sack’s contents out onto the slightly damp grass. A younger version of myself might have dropped her jaw in horror at a careless decision such as that, but not anymore. Anyone would be able to tell that I haven’t exactly spent these years treasuring these. I lower myself to the ground and observe this clutter of dust-caked and slightly rusted pile of metal inches from my feet, turning over each item I had stashed away an eternity ago. And possibly broken too. It’s all here, every last one, the Celestron reflecting telescope – the one with the bent legs that never screwed in quite right ever since. I trace the lenses of the magnifying binoculars, now clouded and cracked like a ruin of something once beautiful. I scan the wrinkled star charts, the carrying case with only one end of the handle attached, the various filters and eyepieces – few of which are intact or even only slightly shattered. Fighting a curse on my tongue, I wince as the all-too-familiar “post-traumatic” pain cuts through my lower back as I reach forward to grab the telescope and its mount. I notice the chips and scratches covering the optical tube and the focuser slightly bent out of place. The damage is worse than I had originally thought. I hadn’t realized how out of control I was in my actions that night long ago. Some might call it anger, others grief.
