Supernova

Chapter One | a burning void of nothingness

Sterling

Sometimes, when it's late at night and all the stars are out, I lie out on the roof of my apartment building. I lie there, in most weather, and breathe in the city air filled with smog and other things I should not be breathing in. Smoke. Gas. Probably burning fossil fuels. All kinds of things that pollute city air. Things that cause global warming and destroy the ozone layer. Things that dull the sky and obscure what I love to see. I wish I had a ladder that reached high enough to surpass it all so I can admire the balls of gas burning in space. Unfortunately that doesn't exist so I have to settle for the rooftop of my apartment building. Which is fine, I suppose.

There is absolutely no comfort in being out there, yet all the comfort in the world. It's weird. Bricks and stone and smelly city air. Honking horns and chatter. Bright city lights and heavy pollution that hangs over me. It's all . . . comforting. Even though nothing about it appears comforting to the average person. I could almost say I'm in love with it. You love comforting things. Most people say they find comfort in a person. Maybe with a fluffy blanket. Possibly in a book or their bed or a room full of puppies and kittens. I'm different in that way. My comfort is the rooftop on top of my apartment building.

So when I'm up there, and the moon is high, my eyes close and I imagine and wish that I'm a supernova burning into a void of nothingness.

It's not the kind of burning you see on TV when another forest fire wipes out a neighborhood in California. Or when a house spontaneously catches on fire and the family stands across the street watching their memories burn away. It's the pretty kind that creates a mesh of colors you could stare at for hours. A pretty burn. A slow burn. I think it helps me cope with the chaos in my life. Maybe it just creates more. I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

It's sort of funny to me that I wish to be a supernova because, at first glance, it's anything but human. A huge ball of gas ripping into the open space and exploding. That's the funny part. So much of what we are made of comes from supernovae. I guess that's also a comfort to me. We're the same.

I can't say I've quite figured out what it does for me. I keep doing it anyway though. That's all for me. The only thing.

Only tonight it's hailing and freezing and after working a fifteen-hour shift at the hospital, I have to say I can't bring myself to take the elevator, all bundled up, to imagine myself in space. No matter how badly I need it. I settle for the hallway in my apartment building instead. It's 2:00 a.m. on a Tuesday. I'm sure everyone here is asleep, and anyone who lives on this floor won't even think twice if they see me here.

My bag hits the floor and I fall back, closing my eyes. The carpeting itches under my hands, and the lights above me are a bright fluorescent that gives you a headache if you stare too long. They're the same kind of lights that fill the entire hospital. I hate those lights. It's not my rooftop, but it will have to do.

A supernova.

That's all I am right now.

I hear a door close extremely quietly but my eyes remain closed. They'll walk around me. If I didn't have such a long day, I would take a peek to see who it is, but I can't bring myself to care. The footsteps approach me slowly and I hear them stop around six inches from my head. I don't open my eyes. Maybe if I keep them closed, they'll think I'm asleep and leave me alone.

"Is your bed not comfortable enough for you?" I hear the person ask. It's a man. Maybe if I don't speak or move, he will walk away.

A moment of silence passes. Maybe it's working. I don't hear him move, though. Maybe he's inspecting me. That's kind of strange if I really were unconscious on the floor. Actually, no it's not. If I saw someone unconscious on the floor, I'd scope the person out too.