The Stars Sing

The cosmic told me a lie.

The weight of my sins.

The whispers of the demons.

This chamber.

All of it is a lie.

The stars have littered my line of sight for all the time I have been here. But my body is getting tired. Worn out. Day and night have become entangled into a mess of knots. I still think of Big Brother, but his face has blurred into the years.

Whenever I lie down, the ceilings far above would meet my eyes. They curve down into a sphere, from the apex to where I lie on. I imagine this place to be a Moon, a half Moon. I would lie down on its see-through floors, overlooking the skies below me. An endless canvas of white. I would watch the clouds shift through the winds, for hours, until everything turns into a dark indigo.

But those are days I am awake. But I am hardly awake. Hardly ever present. Nothing awaits me in these cold walls. Only the overpowering vibrations of silence. And so I choose to be in slumber, swimming around the depths of what lies within me.

I have tried to shatter this barrier. I would take a deep breath. Let the silence fill me with the pungent venom of anger. It’s stronger than me, that I know. That’s why I let them in, poisoning me with wrath. Then I'd leap, feel the flares burn the air around me, and strike. A thousand hits, blinding violet sparks bouncing off the floors. And then I would be above ground again, gathering a spiral of heat and destruction in between my hands.

I would thunder down the floors. Let the sparks drain my essence until I’m dust. But every time I strike, the glass suffers no cracks. And so I would throw myself onto the ground, hoping the flares would burn me.

But I would not burn.

I would lie back on the floor, and let the silent lulls of slumber take over me. And I would no longer be present. These days, in the distant skies of the night, I’d see strobes of light. Flickers. One would think they are the stars, but the stars do not speak. The stars do not sing. These strobes, long and short, in intervals, they carry words from a distance unspeakable.

I imagine it would be Big Brother speaking to me. I'd often reconstruct his face in my head, reaching my hands into the void of my mind. Completely blind. But I wouldn't grasp a form, an image of him, or the gentle words of his. The only time he speaks to me is when I’m floating in the sea of nightmares. His warm voice would speak in songs of silence.

Then I'd awaken again.

I took in the cold, suffocating air, and muttered prayers: for Big Brother. To Lucifer. To the demons that sealed me here. I leaped, plunging into the ground, gravity pulling me along. Bursts of violet burnt the air, hitting the floors. There it is. Through the blinding beams, flickers sang to me from a distance. As if cheering me on.

The stars blinked multiple times before dwindling into nothingness. Big Brother is waiting for me, in the Pandemonium, thousands of miles below this surface. If I stayed here, I am not strong enough. I sent the last sheds of my strength to the ground. I watched as the burning sparks dimmed, fading into thin air. Flames of amethyst singed my skin at the surface.

Wisps of smoke and mist hung above the floors. Cracks, even the smallest, the slightest; there are none. I clawed my hand on the floor, scratching through to find cracks. The barrier is solid.

The floor is cold on my forehead. I watched the strobes flick, light up, and vanish into the darkness. I took a deep breath. Clouds of breath formed on the glass.

The stars are singing again tonight.

Another old flash fiction piece I polished! Mostly to practise prose. I hope you enjoyed