Cute and kind of odd.

Short Stories

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Star Colored
by Alaina Moore

As I soared high above the moutain tops I could see the stars. They were brilliant. More brilliant than they had ever appeared on earth. They were tiny rips in the velvet fabric of the sky. They were the empty places where you can be alone. And they called to me.

I reached for them with both hands as the wind tore at my bare flesh. I cried out. The stars were just out of my reach and I could soar no higher. The tears that leaked from my tightly closed eyelids froze on my skin and promptly shattered from the sheer force of the air surrounding me. I tried to inhale to calm myself but my breath had been knocked from my body long before now. I hadn’t breathed in hours. I hadn’t needed to.

I steeled myself for yet another attempt at touching those blissfully empty patches in the darkness. I didn’t need to look down at my naked form to know that my skin had turned a sickly blue. I didn’t need to see it. I felt blue. It was the only physical feeling capable of penetrating the abysmal numbness that had taken root in every nerve of my body. And I trusted that feeling. The feeling of blue. It anchored me to unreality and forced me to fly higher.

I reached again–not with my hands, for my joints had ceased to obey my command–but with my soul. With my heart and with my mind, I reached. I reached higher and higher still and I felt nothing. A vast and perpetually incomplete nothing. This was not the nothing of the stars. This was the nothing of the sky. I needed to go higher.

It was an impossible task. I was literally frozen. My blood had stopped in it’s tracks. My heart had paused mid-beat. My lungs were suspended in a half-completed state of exhalation. Even my mind had frozen with one thought still burned into the folds of my brain. “Touch the stars!”

And so I went higher. Despite the utter hopelessness of my undertaking, I went higher and this time I felt…nothing.

It was total, inexcusable nothingness which granted purpose to everything that exists. It was the polar opposite of purpose. One cannot have light without darkness, and one cannot have existence without nothingness. And I had found that nothingness. It was there…beneath my finger tips.

The same finger tips that had touched grass and folded paper. The same finger tips that had lifted food to my mouth and built sandcastles. The same finger tips that had known the feel of another’s flesh beneath them. The same finger tips that had touched the lives of others more times than anyone could possibly realize. These same finger tips. Mine. They were touching a secret that humanity had not even begun to look for.

The nothingness grew under my touch. It spread slowly at first, but soon it engulfed the whole sky. It was not white. It was star-colored. The blue feeling that had brought me this far was replaced by completion. As if my blood had finished its familiar circuit; as if my heart had completed its final beat; as if my lungs had expelled the last breath they would ever take and could now rest in glorious emptiness forever.

There was nothing left. Not my body. Not my soul. Not my mind. Not any product of these three entities. All of me had vanished. I had ceased to exist.

I had been afraid my entire life. But in that final moment of being I was not afraid. In that final moment I saw the emptiness and it seemed impossible to conceive of anything else. It was as natural to me then, as breathing had been. If there had been the need, I would have fought just as visciously to remain in that emptiness as I would have fought for breath.

My life had been the ending. And this was simply, a belated beginning.

by Alaina Moore

They sat on the bench at the BART station, kissing frantically and crying. Neither of them had cried in a decade. But they cried now. Her make-up ran and so did his. They kissed away eachother’s tears and they knew, for the first time in either of their lives, where they were. Who they were. In fact, they’d never been more sure of anything.

Then it came. The first stir of wind from out of the dark tunnel of fate. And they looked in eachother’s eyes and suddenly neither was crying anymore. They clasped the other’s hand and walked to the edge.

It seemed like an eternity ago that she was pulling on her midnight boots. An eternity ago that he was buttoning his twilight jacket. An eternity ago. It was really more like an hour.

The wind was stronger now. A warm, heavy, artificial wind that whipped her hair around her face. He glanced at her stony expression and her wild locks and could think of nowhere he would rather be. He gripped her hand tightly and braced himself for the inevitable.

Now that warm, heavy wind became forceful. It seemed vicious and toothy…hungry for whatever it could find. And they stood there, suddenly painfully aware of time. Of each second that ticked past. For them, that is how life had come to be measured: in seconds. That’s all that was left. Seconds. Each second they stood there contained a thousand memories. The night they spent in the park. The poem he wrote in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. The car accident. The flowers she once grew in her garden. The dead babies. Dancing barefoot in the rain outside her house in the middle of the street. Playing in the ocean on that perfect cloudy day until neither of them could feel the cold anymore. Hot chocolate on the porch. The day she got lost. The day he found her. The abandoned coal mines and the ghosts. Digging up the body. Burying the future. Her brother. His childhood. A second had never seemed so precious.

The wind reached its peak. They could no longer resist its pleading. She turned her face to his and kissed him, open mouthed and forever. Then they leapt. Their feet struck the ground between the tracks and here there was no wind. Here, all was still. They saw the train. They saw the end. They saw mortality. They saw completion. They finally understood infinity because, in that moment, they felt infinity disappear.

Prepare to evacuate soul in 3…

It was an old movie now. Or the way everything looks under a strobe light. Only part of the movement is captured. They saw the train’s approach in a series of broken snapshots.


They had never felt true calm before now. Nor true terror. Nor happiness. Nor fulfillment. Nostalgia. Regret. Love. Nor seen true beauty. Known true feeling. Nor felt so real. It was like licking an emotional alka seltzer tablet. Every sensation they’d ever experienced colliding in this one instant, fully realized and yet conspicuously detached.


And now they were falling. Stomachs in their throats. Terrified grins on their faces. Veins full of pure adrenaline. And one final thought in their heads. “I love…”


The newspapers had a field day.


Written by Juxtaposition

March 14, 2008 at 6:45 am

3 Responses

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  1. I really liked that. I can’t wait for your next short story.


    March 17, 2008 at 12:02 am

  2. You’re almost a femme Chuck Palahniuk.


    March 19, 2008 at 8:17 am

  3. could you please tell the turning point, rising action, falling action, resolution of the colored star, it would be grateful.
    thank youuuu


    November 19, 2017 at 2:47 pm

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