Dreams and Entropy
by Astra <astraplain@yahoo.com 

The starlight mocked her, standing as she was, alone.  
Wearily she touched the control, moving as if the 
effort were nearly beyond her strength.  She turned 
away, watching her own shadow fade into the growing 
darkness.

She stared into the blackness feeling and thinking 
nothing.  There was a coldness deep in her weary 
body, but she didn't shiver.  She felt the blackness 
and nothing else.  It was consuming her, bit by bit, 
slowly.  It would leave her nothing - not a care, an 
emotion; only a dark heaviness that felt of nothing, 
denying her even the luxury of despair.

Perhaps it was best this way, the Ice Maiden now as 
hard-hearted and emotionless as her namesake.  It was 
an apt name after all, trapped here in the frozen 
void, alive within the heart of this soulless metal 
beast.

She allowed herself a fraction of an irony at her 
purple prose.  Such flowery language to describe such 
an unpitiable self.  She was nothing to the void 
through which she traveled; to think otherwise was 
yet another mockery.  She would not have it.

With a heavy step she walked blindly to her room, the 
heaviness within making the trek a Herculean task.  
The softness of her bed offered no more comfort to 
her than any of the other things that surrounded her.  

Lying down she stared unseeing into the blackness 
above her.  Her breath came raggedly, her lungs 
struggling against the heaviness in her chest.  She 
gasped a little, then coughed, making no effort to 
ease the struggle by turning to her side. 

Eyes closed, the images she had fought with little 
success in the light of day now claimed victory.  
Hurts, insults, fears, longing, desires, guilt... 
love.  All these things struggled for control in her 
mind.  None of them won.  She felt nothing.

In the end, it was the nothing that shattered her, 
leaving her the agony of unshed tears.  In her 
weakness, she turned to where the picture lay, face 
down.  One hand reached for the cold metal frame, 
it's color as black as her soul.  

She did not actually touch the frame, but her mind 
displayed the image for her anyway.  A quartet of 
dreamers haunted her.  All of them young and 
idealistic and full of promise.  How could their 
dreams have betrayed them so bitterly?

Jack was on the left, handsome and smiling, one arm 
wrapped around her.  The memory of his touch made her 
pause.  They had planned their whole lives - babies, 
starships, and then a quiet colony world where she 
would treat bumps and scrapes and he would sculpt, 
and play music and love her and their children for 
eternity.  They would have a cozy house with a dance 
studio for her and a workshop for him and plenty of 
room for the kids to play. She would teach them all 
about herbs and healing, and there would always be 
music.

Walker would visit them, stopping in from time to 
time, always looking just as he did in that picture.  
He was a charmer and loved nothing more than a good 
tall tale.  He was destined for the stars, like Jack.  
But also like Jack, he knew it wasn't his life.  He 
was poet and a scholar and he had his mind set on 
teaching at Harvard one day, although she'd always 
teased him that he'd be far too bored in such a 
stuffy place. 

Harvard was much more Jean-Luc's style, she was sure.  
He always looked stuffy, even in that picture, with 
the four of them dirty and mussed from a day of 
cleaning and painting the newlywed's apartment.  
They'd gotten roaring drunk that night on some local  
wine, but she'd always suspected he wasn't really 
drunk.  His dreams were taking him to the stars and 
nothing, family, friends or lovers would ever 
interfere with his precious dreams.

The heaviness slammed against her chest again, making 
her sob just once before she brought herself under 
control.  The tightness in her chest squeezed tighter 
and she turned away from the picture, physically and 
mentally.

What had happened to that woman in the picture, she 
wondered.  When had she lost her dreams?  Why hadn't 
she noticed they were gone?

There were no answers, of course.  Of the four people 
in the picture, there was only one left with dreams.  
She found it in herself to wish him well, then, 
closed her eyes against the blackness and thought of 
nothing until exhaustion claimed her. 

Nights are long for those with no dreams, and on a 
starship,  there are no sunrises filled with promise. 

:::end:::