The Glass Bubble: a modern day myth of love, divorce, and the afterlife. PART ONE: The meeting

by abillionbeautifulbutterflies

The Glass Bubble: A modern day myth of love, divorce, and the afterlife.

Part One: The meeting

From the moment he was born, he could not stretch himself wide enough to be seen in his entirety. The more intensely people glared to understand him, the more lostness seeped between them. By the time he reached adolescence, degenerative matter poured from the confused eyes of his fellow islanders diffusing triangular torrents like high beams that coated him in a thick nebula cloud. The erratically unstable gasses squeezed against his skin in tiny pinches and sulfuric scents. Cosmic dust with derangedly tangled tastes of lethal propyl cyanide, raspberries, and rum choked him on inhale as they settled around his center, further clouding his purpose, some might even say his disposition. No matter his stance, sideways or backwards, no one could look right at him. He was disappearing into iridescent dust. This went on for so long, he could no longer find his own self in space, making everything unmanageably relative and his existence inconsequential, at least thus he had come to think of it. Growing ever so tired of the flimsy form his stature took, Lacunar contemplated quitting it all and jumping off his tiny piece of shaky land, many times over.

This was a great sadness which unconsciously stirred, not only in him, but through galaxies near and far. Stirred in slowly falling petals in Spring time breezes, stirred in train whistles on foggy nights, stirred in the languid creaks of settling houses; for Lacunar held within his buried center, a greatness. Aforementioned, the universes had an ever so subtle inkling of this grievous matter, ibso facto, they sent out a magnetic field to force all things into being…temporarily in chaos. And as he slept, that chaos pierced straight into his center, glimpsing to him a ray of clarity.

And so, that December he decided that jumping off the Island was not an option. He picked up his magical pen, breathed into it and wrote a letter.

Dearest friend,

          I write to you, because your haunting presence visits me in my dreams. I know you. You are for my making, I am for your foothold. I hear you in the icy wind brushing through cedars, I can almost taste the sweet smell of your compote. I want to build on your banks, a house of love and sound, of hands holding, and whispers and giggles caught in bed sheets. I crave to be your family. I will sweat and break and grow to be your back.  Let me step upon your shore and you will rock no more.

-Signed-

~Wading to rise

He placed the letter into a bottle and with all the strength he could muster up, he hurled it into the wide reaches of a distant galaxy to answer a call, screaming for “ALL HANDS ON DECK.”

Caldera spun. Spun. And pulled and pushed and held on tight. And swirled all day and all night to keep her island floating. And while this chaotic motion- an immeasurable Obliquity of the Ecliptic- was quite the elaborate dance, her Island was many times sturdy than Lacunar’s, and she, quite the opposite of lost in a cloud of stardust, was born of Eta Carinae’s stellar wind and become a sun in her own right. Many people loved and depended on her and she on them, she loved her island and had no plans of leaving it. The difficulties there were in it’s precarious tilting slope and swirl. She could barely hold it to a sensible and steady motion, almost falling off it herself. She had prayed into the wind cast off from her nearest moon to bring her a weight, one she could tie fast to this magical land, to anchor it in a steadfast trajectory. Finally the wind returned from it’s exhaustive voyage. At first she could only hear the shrill scrape of it’s approaching, frictioning against her axis. Then she saw the tiniest, whirling glistening drawing near. And then at once, as if popping in, through, and then out of some black hole, it plopped at her feet, a pretty brown bottle encapsulating Lacunar’s emotively elegiac supplication. She uncorked the bottle and almost choked on the sparkling dust cushioning his note. His words were deliciously salty tears reflective of her own sweaty heart pounding to keep that island floating. Something was quite right with this. Alas- the message came with no return address. Peculiar.

Luckily, she did what she always did- sent a message on the winds of her moon. Dearest cosmic wanderer. I have buried your message in my chest plate for safe keeping. I believe you are my weight, alas I know not from which far reaches you  write. Please identify your whereabouts.

Lacunar awoke from his dream with a startle and a gasp. The iridescent dust had now fully filled his lungs. The message arrived just in time. He took a breathe and upon exhale forced out the most colorful burst of rays to ever gather in such close proximity, and then he tied them to the wind to ride the great return to his new land.

This time there was not a shrill scrape at the approach. This time, Caldera looked up at the sky; then widened her eyes to embrace the speeding Bok Globules. She observed the dark clouds of dense cosmic dust and gas form a star from which a shower of color rained at her feet and upon them he arrived.

 

 

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