Flash Fiction: Dancing in the Dark

The far-off stars did a lazy dance as I moved, weightless outside the shuttle. No longer bound to the world below or the cramped quarters within I could let my soul drift within the vastness of galaxy and stardust.

A strange planet hung within the ether below, slowly, slowly turning a dance in the darkness to silent music. I closed my eyes, imagined the music of the stars, and moved fingers, stiff within their protective suit, to the silent tempo.

Somewhere I knew there were the coloured pillars of creation, etched in billowing clouds against the darkness. Other spheres, too, hung in the ether. All danced together. Here, however, was only the shuttle and the planet and the dance that would last until the last black hole blinked out of existence.

I moved slowly, as gracefully as the suit made it possible, ignoring the insistent voices being transmitted into my ears. Louder and louder they shouted, but the music was too intoxicating. The everlasting dance lured me away from the shuttle, sung its siren song, made me turn off the communication so I could better hear the stars and planets’ silent music.

I drifted away, loosened from the bonds that tethered me to the shuttle and the world where lights were too bright and too close, where stardust-people fought and killed and burned. I closed my eyes. Silence enveloped me. At last I was who I was supposed to be. I, too, was turning and dancing to the music of the living universe. I was dancing in the dark.

By Carin Marais

Bibliophile, writer of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and maybe-fiction, language practitioner, doer of stuff.

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