Stars

Hi!

So, here I am with another post. This one's a prose piece (of which there aren't many), but this one actually remains very close to my heart. Incidentally, I wrote this one in eighth grade, and recently rediscovered it in a folder full of inkstained and barely legible pages. Needless to say, the work, when I reread it, made me cringe.

Strangely, however, this particular piece stuck with me, almost as if stubborn enough in refusing to leave. And so, defeated entirely, I rewrote it, and yet miraculously managed to retain its core. 

What you read today, therefore, is an eighth grader's idealism (and, in some parts, immaturity) wrapped in a vocabulary that has done its best to make the piece seem more mature. But whatever it may be, it is also one of the first nature pieces I've ever written, as well as being among the earliest in my portfolio of 'serious' work. 

So here goes.

The sky glittered with stars.

Each was a twinkling, bright dot against the deep blue-black canvas stretched out to the edges of the world, beautiful in individuality, but something much different when they were viewed altogether.

Almost like something more.

They glimmered and glowed, in many different designs and compilations. It became almost hard to imagine and accept their reality, that in truth they were distant balls of white-hot flame, great, gigantic and enormous.  That was the strange thing; sometimes, the very thought of the simplicity of these... faraway dots was terrifying. Terrifying in their aloofness, their silent neutrality regarding our world. Yet they were beautiful in their humbleness and elegance. 

But then... they were just balls of fire anyway.