The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter One

Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried:
(I'm a blackstar, I'm a blackstar)

– David Bowie "Blackstar"

Saturn

Arthur Dottweiler had never wanted anything more in his entire life. He wished for it. He longed for it. He lay awake at night thinking about it. He slept sometimes in the day dreaming about it. He wasn't necessarily a religious man; nevertheless, he prayed for it every night, not because he really thought God would help him, but mainly out of superstition.

But years of g did nothing. (He never actually thought about "doing," but it was too late now.) He had given up. Forfeited. It was never going to happen. Arthur Dottweiler: Forever Alone.

So here he stood, alone in the woods, a night not unlike any other. The moon neither waxed nor waned, merely hung inconsequentially in the sky. The stars, too, simply sat motionless against the black tarp of space, neither showing hope nor doom.

Arthur ran a hand through his thinning brackish hair, the oils from two days of neglect leaving a slight sheen on his fingertips and palm. He sighed audibly, and fingered the rope he carried on his side. It was a yellow nylon rope, the kind used to hang children's swings from trees in the backyard, not because it would do the job better than sisal, but because it was on sale.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, he recited in his memory, a lovely line of Robert Frost. He didn't actually think this, of course, he simply wanted to give the appearance that this was a gesture of romance, not pathos.

He stood beneath the elm tree. It was an American elm tree. One of the last of its kind after Dutch Elm Disease swept across the country, destroying over 75 percent of the 77 million American elms in its wake. The last of its kind, thought Arthur, kind of like me. He tried to make this comparison mean something more than it did, to give some significance to it all. In any case, the tree had the lowest climbing branches in the vicinity. He didn't actually know this for certain, of course. It was the lack of desire to walk any further that really made him stop here. Not because the tree was the last of its kind. There was no significance, no sentimental memory of the location or this particular tree; it was simply convenient. Plus, the branches were low enough that he thought he might actually be able to throw that high with his pudgy, soft arms.

The nylon cord was wrapped in a neat coil, like a cartoonist would depict a serpent. He held one end in his weak hand and took the heft of the coil in his right. He let his arm swing like a pendulum, gathering the momentum needed. In one last attempt at begging God, he cried out in a voice so loud he barely recognized it when it burst through his lips, "Please God, please, give me a sign!" The rope glided neatly over the top of the branch and fell down on the other side, a perfect beginning to a perfect noose.

He stood dumbfounded. His first try? Really? Jesus, he thought, even God wants me to die. He looked up at the rope dangling from the tree limb and gave it a little pull, a little shake, to see if it would somehow slip off the limb and be the real sign from God. It held strong. I guess this is it, then, God, he thought, and looped the end of the rope into a slipknot. He took the other dangling end and wrapped it neatly around the tree trunk and secured it with a clove hitch knot he learned in the Boy Scouts.

"Damn, I forgot a stool," he muttered aloud, thinking of the next step. He didn't really forget the stool. He left it behind. He didn't really want to do this, right? Any sign from the universe not to would do. Even if that sign was by his own accord. He looked around, thinking perhaps if it were meant to be, there would be a stool nearby to get the job done. There were no stools per se, but there were plenty of tree stumps, evidence of the emerald ash borer that was wreaking havoc on the native tree species. First the elm, and now the ash. Poor trees, he thought. They're almost as desperate as I. There were plenty of stumps from which to choose, and the one with the perfect height was nearest to him. Thank you Jesus, he thought sarcastically, if one can think sarcastically, which he did a lot.