Hope is a Seed. Death is a Star.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The body was silhouetted by the vivid luminosity of a dying star. In an eternal rotation, the body moved in a lifeless ballet. It really was quite beautiful despite the terror of it all. Shafts of refracted light caught the eye as they entered and splintered through the tiny droplets of moisture and blood leaching from the form. What does one call a droplet if it does not drop? If it has no gravity to command its descent? In the absence of gravity, the clustering molecules took on the appearance of sparkling jewels, rubies, and diamonds, adorning the body with a sort of holiness. But holiness suggests a godliness and there was no divinity here, only death. One can’t help but wonder what it feels like to breathe out air and breathe in a void. Would the lungs curl in like the knees of the grief stricken? The face of the floated resembles very closely, that which looks on in horror.
