Oh, To Kill A Star
A fictional piece
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.
But, strictly speaking, that's not so true.
You see, things do scream in the vacuum of space. Throughout all of the galaxies things are crying out, begging to be heard. Great wails and yells. The entirety of space is screaming - endless, painful screaming.
And not from humans or aliens or any other life force that you believe is out there, oh no.
Stars scream when they die. I should know, I'm the one killing them.
Throughout history, throughout all of space and time, I have been in your legends. To you I am a myth, a fairy tale - I am a story to scare your children with. I am the Grim Reaper, I am the man in the moon, I am the gods and I am what ended the gods.
To feed off of a star is to taste paradise, to steal their nuclear fuel, to watch it peel its layers and collapse in on itself, to absorb all of its power while it explodes, you have never know power like it.
You have never known the joy of hearing stars scream.
At first, panicked and helpless yells of resistance. The way they pull against me, as if they could have the power to fend off such an inevitable end. Then comes the agony, the cries that can be heard throughout the galaxy which is like music to my ears - it's almost addictive. Stars are so pitiful, the way they struggle under my command and beg for some respite. Oh it's laughable.
Once it's nearly over, when they're nearing the point of collapse, they whine and bellow and their throes and woes come together all at once, peaking at it's crescendo and there - there it is. The consumption is over and the screaming finally stops. I can feel the life of the star inside of me and a breath of fresh elixir exhales from my lungs. This is the life.
I move on to the next. And the cycle of endless stealing and squealing for my healing repeats.
But do not fret, my inquisitive mortal, such things cannot be heard from your ears. Cannot be seen from your eyes and simply cannot be comprehended by your tiny, little minds.
For when you look up to the stars, you see light. You camp under them with your silly fires and make wishes and dream upon them. You believe the events of your life have been controlled by the dying stars that were present at your birth. You look through lenses to admire them, but what you do not realise is that you're admiring my work. You are staring at a sky full of stars that I have killed. They have been screaming for eternity while you evolve and grow and become none the wiser. And it is glorious.
To be the beholder of such power, to be the end of all life, it is something you will never know. So yes, I guess it's true that nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space. Nobody but me, and it is a wonderful, beautiful secret.
Even though this piece doesn't fit the New Worlds Challenge criteria (it's not the first chapter of a book, just a short story) I still wanted to publish it because I'm actually quite proud of it.
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