Week 10: Storytelling--Amaranthine Heavens

Distance.  Such a short word, simple in its meaning, and yet incomprehensible in its reality.  To be so far separated from someone you love, someone you yearn for with each breath, each beat of your heart, and yet to have but one thing keeping you apart--distance.  An insurmountable distance, an expanse of not simply a few feet but of worlds, universes, infinities.  And what is there to do?  To pine away for one so far away seems pointless, hopeless, but when you are so deeply connected to them that even across the light years you can feel their love, feel the pull of attraction, how can you give up hope?  How can you let a love like that go?  How?

Distance.  I have come to hate that word and all it represents.  From the first time that I saw him, that I knew of his existence, I could not dream of being with anyone but him.  And yet, I could never reach him, never touch him, never hear his words of love; I could do not but look at him from afar and watch intently for the signs that he was looking back at me.

The first time I saw him, the first time I felt him, I had been out in the desert harvesting the violaceous fruits of the prickly pear.  I had lingered in the desert as the sun began to set, painting the skies with rich reds, deep blues, and vibrant purples.  I stood looking up at the vast heavens as the stars began to emerge within the oncoming darkness, shining brightly.  My head tilted back, I closed my eyes and savored the cool breeze tickling my skin, the fresh air scented with the sharp, fruity aroma of the prickly pear.  By the time I reopened my eyes, the skies were awash with starlight, decorating the heavens with those figures which I knew so well, whose shapes I could trace in the patterns on display above me.

Moreover, on this night, there was one star that gleamed more brightly than all the others, one star which drew my gaze inexorably.  As I watched, it glittered even more brightly in the night sky, seeming to thrive on my attention.  I brushed my hair out of my face and blinked slowly, eyes widening when the star seemed to wink back at me in response, its light extinguished momentarily before it glowed all the brighter.

For reasons unknown, my heart skipped a beat before beginning to swell, my skin flushing and my blood rushing through my veins.  It felt as if I were on fire, as if some of the star had taken up residence under my skin, burning me with a passion so pure and true it overwhelmed me.  Breathing ragged, limbs trembling, I hurriedly grabbed the fruit I had harvested and ran back home, the sense of being watched over persisting the entire way. . .

That night, I dreamed of a young man whose skin shone faintly through the dark, pale and luminous as the moon.  His hair was black as night, his eyes were glittering sparks of frosted sky.  He walked towards me from a path in the sky, following the Milky Way as it wound its way through the stars.  As he approached, my blood boiled, my heart pounded, and my breath caught in my chest.  I knew, without a doubt, that this ethereal young man was none other than the star, my star.  Soon he stood in front of me, his hand lifting and reaching out as if he were going to caress my face, and I leaned in, pulled towards him as if by gravity.  But before he could touch me he was forcefully pulled away, thrown back into the sky by an unstoppable might as I was hurled abruptly down to earth, where I woke suddenly in a cold sweat.

Day after day I visited the desert as the sun began to set, lying back on the sand to watch my star sparkle brightly above me, winking at me across the great chasm of space that separated us.  And each night I dreamed of the young man who lived in the star, always face to face with him but never able to touch him.  And as the days passed, I came to the realization that we could never be together, that the burning passion rushing through my veins would consume me entirely before I could be with the man I loved.  The distance, the space between us, it tortured me endlessly. . .

I began to lose the will to live, the will to carry on never knowing the touch and companionship of my love.  To be so close every night and yet never cross those final inches--I could not bear it.  And so I asked, begged, our tribe's witch woman for advice, and she traveled with me into the desert one night.  She crafted a potion from the plants around us, the brew seeming to absorb the colors first of the sunset and then of the night sky.

As I drank the potion, a tingling sensation began in my feet and traveled up through my body, sending shivers through my arms.  Before I knew what was happening, my feet had become roots, anchored firmly in the sandy soil around me.  My arms became branches, and where once I had inky black hair, now I had a crown of emerald leaves.  I would have let out a sound of despair if I had had a voice, for while the witch had transformed me, I was still far distant from the star youth, my radiant love.

But as my love looked down at my changed form from the heavens, he leaned out of the sky so far that he fell, tumbling down from his starry abode towards the unforgiving earth.  Again I wished to cry out, this time in anguish for him, my falling star, but was unable to give voice to my distress.  As I watched, wracked with pain but unable to stop his fall, the witch spoke a few soft words and I saw my star turn into a bright purple blossom that landed on my outstretched branches as fragments of his star powdered my leaves with a frosty white.  We touched, we became one, joined for all eternity, our souls mingling, melding, burning together.  For finally, finally, there was distance between us no more!


Author's Note.  I wrote this story because I have always loved the stars, and so the tale of a girl who fell in love with a star immediately intrigued me.  In the original, the story progresses much as it does here, with the star winking at the girl and her visiting the star every night in the desert and then again in her dreams.  The witch woman promises the girl a life with her star youth to keep the girl from killing herself, and transforms the girl and star into a beautiful desert shrub.  The color purple and the image of the sky kept appearing in my descriptions, so I decided to play off of those for the title--"amaranthine heavens" can thus be taken to mean either purple skies or eternal paradise, whichever you prefer, haha.  I hope you enjoyed my story!  (And sorry once again for the lack of dialogue, lol.)  Ciao!

Bibliography.  "The Maiden Who Loved a Star," story from When the Storm God Rides: Tejas and Other Indian Legends retold by Florence Stratton and illustrated by Berneice Burrough (1936).  UnTextbook.

Image Information.  Night sky in Punakaiki, New Zealand; photo from The WoW Style.