Sunday, August 23, 2015
To you that might seem inconsequential--a little puzzling, perhaps. But we have only experienced night three times in six thousand years.
That was the second time.
It was also the reason I became a guardian.
You see, in the beginning, I thought about guardianship and decided not to. It seemed a very difficult job--and not only difficult, but wearing.
Then that night came.
It fell suddenly, like a shadow from some gigantic monster, a darkness almost smothering in its heaviness. From one side of the city to the other, we pressed into the Father's throne. The air vibrated with emotion. Only once before had this happened--and we could not imagine what might make it happen again. We did not know what fear was, then, but I daresay that fear was what we felt.
The Father was weeping. There had been tears of joy when the stars were made. There had been shouts of welcome when humanity was placed. But only once before had we seen sorrow. We glanced at each other, and pressed closer. He looked up.
"My children." The sound was flat, and almost dull, shot through with a pain I could almost touch. "My children--" and His voice failed. He only motioned. And we looked, and we saw.
The darkness. Oh, the darkness. If we had thought it was bad here, it was a hundred times deeper there. And as the days passed it grew worse. The planet itself seemed to groan. The ground, to shriek. And they were deaf. Deaf to the pain. Deaf to--to everything. They thought they saw, they thought they heard--but they saw only a flicker, heard only a whisper. When the light is gone, you do not know how deep the darkness is.
The light returned to the city. But not to Earth. Not to most of it, at least. I watched and the pain tore into me like so many knives (those, too--I had not known them before that night), till I could no longer stand it and I rushed into the Father's presence.
"Is there not something I can do?"
His eyes were full of pain, but gentle. "Yes. Yes, there is. But it is hard now."
"I do not care. Whatever it is. Anything to ease that pain."
"Anything?" He whispered, as if to Himself, and I thought He blinked away a tear. "Yes, my star, there is something for you. Look." He pointed. "See that one?"
"Of course. She is only a child. How can a child live in such a dark place? She will die. Oh, my Father, she will die!"
"She would," He said, with a smile, "if not for you. Will you go?"
I only bowed my head in response. He laid His hands upon me, and gave me blessing enough to last the years. And so I went into the night, and I became a guardian. And a star.