thisfatefulhour: (Default)
[personal profile] thisfatefulhour
May 29, 1982

Charles and his father talked for a long time last night. By the time Charles left the kitche, turning out the lights as he went, Mrs. Murry had been in bed for a good three hours, and even Ananda had wandered away to snore somewhere.

Charles understands that his father is still thinking of this as more of a theoretical exercise than anything. He doesn't want to consider that his son could be lost, like he was -- stuck on a planet in a faraway galaxy, or killed in transit, or simply finding someplace else and never coming home.

If there's one thing Charles won't let happen, it's that. He will come home.

After dinner, he tells his parents that he's going for a walk. His father considers him for a long moment, and then nods, with a quiet, "Don't stay out too late."

His mother touches his shoulder as he passes her, and smiles. "You didn't get much sleep last night. Don't overdo it. And wear a jacket, it's windy out tonight."

He smiles back, and touches her hand, and heads out through the lab door, grabbing a windbreaker as he does.

The unbuttoned windbreaker billows behind him when he steps outside, and his hair is blown out of his face. The wind is

(wild nights are my glory)

insistent, not wild. As he starts for the orchard, the direction shifts abruptly to blow from behind him, pushing him along, tugging at him.

When he gets to the star-watching rock, he climbs up onto it, rather than lying on it. He braces one foot on the highest edge, head tilted back, and has a brief thought that this probably looks completely staged and overdramatic.

He laughs, happily.

The wind tonight is clean.

And he finds where he is, and he finds where he wants to go--

(Where doesn't matter)

And the wind gusts and there is a shattering and a moment of nothingness and--

(by the way, there is such a thing as a tesseract)
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Charles Wallace Murry

September 2009

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