Galaxy Missive

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I never listened for anybody's voice but hers. In outer space or motherland, in the darkness, or when the day starts.

Dead or alive, she belongs to me. Promised before she breathed, she fled as soon as she was delivered. A slave, no less. Humiliated by a lowly mortal. What I paid for her life was less than a snack or a toy. They're not worth much. It's a sport that led me to her. But after she ran, things changed.

No, I haven't fallen in love. There's no such thing. It's only in stories from eras ago. We're too wise to love now. Growing mindless for what? We can fly, visit worlds in one day, and breathe air that could kill in seconds millennia ago.

We're superior in every way but one. We lost our eyes. We can still see with tentacles. But I often find myself imagining what it was like watching something through your head—standing high to see, not crawling, and letting tentacles do it for you.

Eyes were our sacrifice for survival. When radiation levels reached critical alert, there was no time to board ships. We had to live through it. If living was what we did. We had suits and magnetic shields, but the eyes couldn't handle such destruction.

A few days after the explosion, it started.

We all had tears of blood, and the soil was smeared. Slowly, tentacles emerged in that space, and bodies got lower. Not as tall, but moving faster.

Beyond the speed of running, better than cars. A simple walk can take us halfway around the planet. To sense and check, to find more secrets.

Once we had tentacles, we smelled. The bodies and decay were just beyond the first three layers of the earth. And so, we remade them.

We couldn't go back to what we looked like, but we remade humans from ash—their own remains.

That's how she came to be. My property, my runaway.

She had no face in the beginning. I added green eyes, red hair, and vanilla skin. Red lips and shapely body. Tall, straight, willowy, slower, so much slower than we are. And still, that walk. I wish I could do it again.

My work took hours of each day, weeks, months. Finally completed, venom was needed. Earth's core leaks life venom once every tenth twilight, down to its very core. We extract it to make new humans. Assemble the undead.

One dose is usually enough for two years of life. For her, I added two doses. She wouldn't wake up. And when she did, she screamed. She looked at me, fearful, and tried to jump out of a window. The snakes' pit borders humans' quarters, so she soon gave up.

I let her be until the life-venom flowed entirely in her veins.

The second encounter was deceiving.

She pretended to like me, to thank me. Humans live in lies, so I gave it no thought. But then, she tried to kiss me. Those red lips came close. And I was unbalanced.

A goodnight kiss from lifetimes ago. Who did I see?

The slave was gone. Mother, mine... no, I have no mother... did I.. before?

I slashed her to the ground. None can get close to me. I won't allow this madness... this... warmth... suspicious in every pore.

I avoided her for a month after that. No, I wasn't scared. I didn't go there to avoid hurting her. I am the master.

She doesn't sleep. She learned to speak to snakes and now walks with them in the yard. The only one of my slaves that got so far.

Humans are slow, but their progress fascinates me. They love things; they attach... their eyes to so many useless things. And yet, they find a use for them.

My study on her began.

I set myself up as a teacher. I learned about her kin and how they lived underground once the air was poisonous. This woman lasted after her family was consumed by gas and electric shocks. She may be undead now, but there's power in her veins—more than I poured there.

And then it happened.

She talked without being allowed by the electric rod. And when lightning touched her, nothing moved. No pain, no scream. When all other slaves are maddened by the mere sight of this rod I hold.

Her skin stayed white, bare, unhurt.

We went outside together. The air didn't wrinkle her looks; she stayed tall, straight, and walked ahead. Faster than me. No, no human can do more. I am the master!

Scorching daylight didn't bother her in the least. Instead, she asked for more. And learned and spoke in our voice. The one, the Maker, gave us after growing tentacles. She knew the words, made songs, and even added notes to my book.

Little by little, I neglected and eventually abandoned my other slaves. If snakes had them or they went outside and succumbed to the air, I couldn't say. There was no space in my mind, no place but hers.

Unsullied by our atmosphere, she took rocks and brought home that dust we all fear. Nobody says it, but we know. The day a new storm lands, all radiation will be activated, and we'll turn to ether. Begin again.

Life with her, the undead, was wholesome. Fuller than I've ever had, no free moment. With her, without, in the same place, or traveling on ships to dig for the dust of life. I went far and came back to teach. Listening to me speak, I followed her eyes. She moved, not far, never close.

My property, and yet, I couldn't be away too long.

And now, she's gone.

She left during my last voyage. I brought her a moon rose. No one can see it now. I blasted it the moment I heard she escaped.

That's how this journey started. She's left me for a different galaxy. I don't love her, but I'll get her back. I don't want her, but I'll have her. I let her walk a second only; I'm still the master.

I breathed through fire and came out of a death pit. I order, and heads bow. Her shrieks will echo at my call. Into another space or a black hole! This galaxy has no mercy for undead fugitives. Mine she is, mine she remains.

Should I have given her a name? What will I call her when we meet?

© 2022 Amy Christie