55

WE HUDDLE CLOSE, but it does no good; the cold still cuts through us, slicing its way to our cores. Bits of dust and debris, detritus from planets smashed long ago into pieces, whiz past, scouring my skin. I am filleted in a thousand micro-tears.

My brother next to me isn’t as fortunate. He is reduced to a shred of flesh and a cloud of fluid that the ones behind fly through, blinking him away from their single open eyes.

He is gone.

One less of us.

The loss of him is a sharp pain throughout our shared mind.

We huddle closer.

Filling in the gap.

A sun goes nova as we sail by, flaring into a bright purple burst, unleashing gamma rays that cold-scorch the flank of our school.

I feel their nerve endings burn and curl as if they were my own.

Hundreds fall away, drifting into space, becoming detritus themselves.

Flotsam.

Jetsam.

Still, we swim on.

The hole inside me hurts. I need. There is something out there that can heal me.

I just have to find it.

We just have to find it.

Father, help us.

Please just call us home.