PROLOGUE: Minutes
The glass is splintered.
I run the pad of my thumb over the crystal of my watch, staring at it unfocused as the early morning sun beams down on me. Busy bodies rush by, some laughing with friends while others have headphones blocking out all the life around them. The longer hand on my watch ticks by another minute, but nobody notices. They’re too preoccupied with themselves or the people surrounding them to care about one little minute. Even though they only have so much time left in their short lives.
Anything could happen today.
The girl that just passed by with purple ribbons in her hair might choke on a chip during lunch. The boy leaning against a tree with his hood pulled tight over his head might get into a fatal car crash in the late afternoon. Any one of these people could die today.
Anyone but me.
I’ve seen the same sun for one thousand and twenty two years. For centuries, I’ve yearned for the stars that are just out of reach. Not just the ones in our sky, but the ones I’ve loved here on earth. The dozens and dozens of souls I’ve fallen in love with over the course of this lifetime.
Each and every one of them, gone.
One thousand and five years ago my life froze. At the ripe age of seventeen, I had no idea whether or not I’d make it to eighteen. It was a harsh time, and life was treasured above all else.
I wish I could tell seventeen year-old me that she’d still look the same in the twenty-first century.
With only a few scars and a million memories difference.
Looking up at the sky with its cotton ball clouds, it’s like setting eyes on a familiar friend. The heavens above have been the only permanent thing in my life, through its storms and sunrises and my highs and lows. The sun has kissed my skin for ages; the stars have winked at me for decades.
And the moon.
Oh, the moon.
She has lit the way through darkness for me one night at a time, gaining craters as I gain scars. Even as my loved ones have passed and gone up to meet her, she’s always been waiting patiently for me. Her glowing rays have brightened my dark skies despite gradually growing farther and farther away from the earth.
I’ll miss her, when she’s too far gone and I’m still here bearing the weight of the world. The sun will keep me company as it always has, but how many times will it burn my flesh, marking me red and vulnerable?
For now, I can only be grateful for the sun’s warmth as a cool breeze of approaching autumn flutters my hair.
A little ways away, a girl with glassy eyes tries her best not to shatter as someone speaks to her over the phone. She cradles the device in one hand, chin wobbling, as her other arm hugs her chest too tightly. At first, I wonder who’s making her feel so broken she can’t even respond. Then I wonder how many people I’ve made feel the same, over letters and calls explaining how we can never see each other again.
I’m immortal.
I learned very quickly that I can’t keep everyone I love to myself without harming either one of us.
Once, naïvely, I tried calling out to the moon to give me back one of my lost loves. I’d endured enough pain, surely someone could love me forever and we’d die together. The only response I received was silence, and that was when I realized the moon can’t answer. She can only listen.
It was merely my delusion that made me think a dead thing could answer my prayers for the living.
The girl on the phone crumples to the floor, snapping me out of my thoughts. Immediately I feel ashamed for turning the situation to myself. The only piece of defense I have is the fact that I can never tell my troubles to another, not truthfully, so I keep them to myself in a selfish spiral of thoughts. I relate to the suffering in quiet, invisible ways. Soon this sort of therapy will be the thing that destroys me. Remaining silent will likely make me crack in the end.
Just like my watch did.
Another minute passes by, and the glass cuts my thumb, drawing a tiny drop of blood.
