“It’s amazing to think all the water on this bus when during a lifetime each star makes a single ounce.”
posted by Deron Bauman in dreams | * | 8 comments
I am wondering, Lifetime of a star or human lifetime?
In this case, it was the lifetime of the star.
I didn’t even know stars made water.
Time confuses me.
Up bright and early for the Starvest. We traveled further each year, hopping from system to system in the rickety ship we’d pieced together. In order to keep needs low, artificial water had been rationed since before I could remember, but most of our days were spent gathering the real kind from the seemingly endless brimming galaxies. It got tough to even see stars for what they were after a few years, large gaseous rounds or small immovable solid objects. You just start calculating, as soon as you land how much you can gather. Bryn asked me the other day if we’d ever return to a star she particularly liked. I had never even thought of that possibility. Stars were simply starvested and we moved on, sending back smaller, heavily guarded vessels with the liquids to be counted and stored. The rich could afford the real stuff, but Bryn, my father and myself were given only a small measure on the anniversary of our birth. Father carefully saved his, hoping someday to trade for better parts or perhaps land on Home Planet. I taste the smallest sip every year, feeling the lightening quick effects of even the lightest drop for days, smooth against the tongue, giving courage to the heart and clarity to the mind, and then put my portion with his. Bryn asked why we tried so hard since more work just meant more star water for others, but she’s too young to understand that there are limits to this universe and there’s only a few more years left to gather. New stars are born to replace the old ones that have been harvested, but not quickly enough and they won’t even be ready when my ten-thousandth granddaughter is born and scraping the skies.
I love you, Amanda Mae.
Thank you, dear hearts!