She Who I Once Knew
Nicole Lorang
It was a hauntingly familiar sight, the destruction of planets. By the hands of men, they bursted into a kaleidoscope of colors, each one unique in its cataclysmic dance. This one, name unknown, was enveloped in a violent orange as it cracked apart, before its remaining pieces were sent shooting into the void of space. From the window of the vessel, the planet’s end looked as though it were happening in slow motion, taking its time destroying any and all beings that once called it home instantaneously. I could almost feel the scorching heat through the quartz glass. The sight, at this point, had become quite dull, as I had seen the likes of it countless times before. I stared at death with indifference. They never had a chance anyway. Just another casualty in the infinite expanse of the universe.
Behind me, the spaceship doors slid open with a low mechanical hum and hiss as the pressure equalized. Ignoring it at first, I refused to remove my gaze from the nameless planet — figured I owed them this simple acknowledgement of existence lost, if nothing else. When no one spoke or issued a command after a beat, I knew who’d entered. I turned to face the presence and there she stood, face blank and betraying nothing. I knew better than to expect anything from her, and yet I couldn’t help myself. I raised my eyebrows, a message of anticipation, and fixed my eyes upon her. I was desperate for the words I yearned to hear, words that once flowed effortlessly by her tongue.
In that stilled moment, my mind retreated to a pastness that had no hope for recovery. We started with small acts of defiance. Sneaking into restricted areas claiming to be for authorized personnel only, pilfering food rations, exploring the hidden corners of our confined world late at night. We would revel in the thrill of our decided quests, holding back laughter, tiptoeing through darkness, aware of the risks but intoxicated by that false freedom. The observatory was always our spot, it had the most magnificent view of the stars and close by galaxies. Training and serving on the ship as long as I can remember, stars were something the crew would see every day, nothing to marvel at. But when she was next to me, her breathing audible and grounding, they became new.
The first time we stumbled upon that hidden spot, the unassuming staircase leading up to the unknown, she took my hand and guided us up. Carefully quiet on the metal steps, we stayed conscious of the echoes out to betray us. At the top we stood, a thick door prohibiting our entrance, shrouded in absolute darkness. It was a void that embraced us, concealing the world beyond our reach. But she was undeterred by such hindrances, a beacon of determination in the abyss of narrow corridors.
I could hear the gentle rustle of her nimble fingers as they felt around through the thick air, seeking purchase upon a handle we couldn’t see. I heard a soft whoosh of air and the familiar low hum of an opened hatch, signaling she had found the way in. We found ourselves within a dome encircled by panoramic windows, where brilliant constellations adorned the vast expanse of otherwise inky infinity. Distant planets and stars cast a gentle gleam upon our faces. Transfixed, I followed her towards the farthest window. She herself was a vision, bathed in the glowing light. Her eyes met mine in shared awe. She reached over and tucked a stray hair behind my ear, her hand lingering upon my cheek.
"I never thought I would find someone who sees the stars the way I do," she whispered, but her eyes didn’t leave me.
A mischievous smile, knowing in its quirked corners, graced her lips. A language beyond words. The observatory melted away, unneeded, and it was as if we were the only two beings who remained. During that time, we believed we had invented a new level of understanding and closeness, one that we had never thought possible within the confines of our existence in space. The memory of her tightly coiled hair, her dimples that appeared when she smiled big, the determined look that she constantly wore.
Yet, like the shifting tides answering to a moon we’d never see, a higher power had cast an unseen veil between us. Words once spoken with ease and gestures that flowed effortlessly now vanished, swallowed by an unspoken chasm. Comfort and familiarity dissipated like a wisp of smoke blown away, replaced by a noticeable unease. Now there was only the quiet sense of distance. I wanted to talk to her, to know if I did something, or if I did nothing, which would be far worse.
Still standing by the door, she cleared her throat and I was forced back to reality. She had come to the observatory for a reason. She knew she could find me there. We looked at each other, those familiar yet distant eyes locking with mine, and I truly believed she was going to
invite me back in. There was a palpable shift in the artificial oxygen between us, as if the universe itself held its breath, aware. It took a moment, and a flicker of hesitation appeared in her eyes. But she merely said, “Come on, Admiral’s waiting on the recovery crew.” And that’s when I realized I’d lost her.
She turned away and retreated from the room, the doors sliding shut behind her as the dissipating sound of her booted footsteps echoed through the room. In her absence I was consumed by the silence and the stillness. It’s funny how a single sentence, a simple putting together of words, can signal such a catastrophic end. I should have expected it, the disappointment and the utter unfeelingness of the whole thing. Duty called, but I lingered by the window a moment longer to look out at the still-obliterating planet with newfound awe. The vibrant hues of its demise became an ethereal portrayal of both wonder and sorrow. The enormity of its annihilation suddenly became the most mesmerizing thing in the universe. I stared transfixed at the dying world I never knew, and will never know.