The Star

I went out to do the groceries round for no reason, just because. 49 minutes to noon. It was cold and humid outside, not quite the best kind of weather, but it wasn’t too bad either, it was just cold. The air felt mushy, there were only a few clouds in the sky, and the blue above was so intense and even. As I made my way towards the shop, and past a couple of girls chatting just outside the art gallery across from the cafe, I heard one of the girls tell the other about how weird that spot on the sun was. A spot on the sun? Alright.

I look up and that’s it, and it’s frightening. I’m terrified, petrified and incredulous like no one has ever been in over 13.5 billion years. Throughout the many civilisations this planet had, only a few had a chance to feel this, but all who did ended up dead. I felt so small and alone. My hands grew cold, and I couldn’t even feel my legs. There’s a rush of adrenaline and tears, and I felt like coughing and vomiting.

I understand what’s happening, and I feel so sorry, desperate and impotent. Eight minutes ago something started burning from within the sun, making its way out, towards Mercury and Venus and beyond. At first there was only a dot across the face of the star. A dot that was about to annihilate all history, all sounds, memories, images and dreams. All past and present, and only that, for future would never be. The Romans, all the useless technologies and parliamentary bills; language, symbols, and all the effort we put into existing and surviving. All the sacrifices we made and the second chances we never took. All the mistakes we secretly cherished. All of everything, about to be transformed into cosmic mush.

That impeccably solid blue sky had become a dim orange that hurt the eyes, and the world fell silent under that mighty heavy light. There was no traffic noise, no birds singing and no hiss from the wind, just a faint ringing in the ears. Suddenly it was very hot. I only noticed the ground shaking because the buildings around started collapsing from the bottom upward. Still, everything was quiet. The most perfectly hermetic silence.

And everything went grey. Then white.

Part of me was glad that I got to see the world taking its last breath, and that was the last feeling I felt.

What struck me the most about this dream was that I actually thought I was dying, and thinking of death made me think not about an end, but about a new beginning. I wasn’t scared of it, not as much as I was a bit annoyed. What’s funny, I was actually quite annoyed of having to reset and start a new life again. What would I be? I’d have to choose a family and parents, a new place (probably an era) in which to exist; I’d have to grow up and go through childhood and learn and find myself and who I was again, and, again.

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