There is a girl that is watched. A girl who is unknowingly watched. Unknowingly loved. A girl with eyes the colour of Venus, lips the shade of Mars and hair as wild and violent as the storms of Jupiter. A girl who looks to the sky every night and wonders.
There is a boy who watches from the stars, a million miles away. Where the sky is black, and the stars and the dust collide to form shades of burgundy and indigo that tear across the darkness like blotches of ink. The tears rise around in enormous blotches of vibrant colours, twinkling with silver and gold as the others sleep.
Here is a nursery where the stars sleep and where one of them watches. Here is a nursery where the stars watch and where a boy watches because he is one of them. A million miles away, staring at the speck of life in the abyss.
Here is a boy. He is Armie. He is Armageddon. For there is a boy in the sky and a girl who will be the bringer of Armageddon.
They say that the stars we see at night died hundred-of-thousands of years ago, but they're so far away. Their light beams are still travelling, which is why we still see them.
‘But,’ she pondered, ‘what happens when the light beams end and there is only darkness and the moon? What then?’
She would often think of such things when she came here. Where the sound of running water calmed her and the rustle of hidden feathers and claws audible in the breeze. Where water on the ground soaking into the fabric of her blouse and skirt, cooled her back as she laid there. Grass sometimes poked the corner of her eye if she let her head roll to the side.
The lights from the house up the hill could still be seen in her peripheral, where her grandmother would be cooking dinner next to the radio and her grandfather probably asleep in the lounge chair with the television still going. Here it was quiet, though. Nothing but the water, the beasts of the forest, the silent fireflies and the stars. Here she could think about school, work, friends and everything else.
Maybe she would try to grow her nails out and stop using a small chip in one as an excuse to bite them all off. She thought about how she regretted engraving her name into one of the desks at school.
‘I should probably go and feed the cat...’ she pondered.
Every afternoon, between 4:30 and 7:50, the girl would lay there in the chaos of her own mind. This was Aurora. The lonely, crazy-haired school girl that gazed at the stars. Unaware that a million miles away, a star gazed back.
Armie had found Aurora twelve years ago, when a car had dropped her on the sidewalk out the front of a run-down, weed-infested, graffiti-covered park. Inside the car was the man known as 'Paul.' The man Aurora thought about frequently, her father. The father who then handed Aurora a note reading:
‘If found please return to 23 Harvey Street, Castle Hill.’
And then he drove away, leaving tiny four-year-old Aurora alone on the sidewalk of the weed-infested park.