(INSPIRED BY THE PROMPT: “What happened when you broke the rules to follow at sea.”)
Christian had always wanted to be a sailor even though his mother was adamantly against him sailing the galaxy. He was in love with the stars. He wanted to immerse himself in the night sky and felt like their twinkling lights called to him. He wheedled a compromise out of his mother to have his graduation trip be his chance to see the stars up close and explore, as long as he returned home after to help her out around the farm.
A friend from school helped him charter passage on a boat setting sail the following moonrise, so Christian eagerly counted down the months to the next one. He had never been so impatient for the Westward sun to completely set before. Normally this was his favorite time of year, but sailing had long been proven to be more efficient when the boat launchers were powered by moonlight rather than sunlight. It was much more common to find moons to recharge in deep space than it was to find any old sun lying about between the outer reaches of any given galaxy.
As he was departing for his new and possibly only adventure to the stars, his mother grabbed his hand and whispered feverishly to him that she was going to give him advice he needed to take to heart and always keep in mind. Never having seen her so worried before, Christian took her hands and faced her in an attempt to calm her down.
“Always remember the rules you must follow when at sea,” she whispered to him, eyes wide and imploring. “One - Some lighthouse stars will move, so don’t depend on them. Two - Sometimes in the fog of a new galaxy you will see eyes in the fog, but do not trust them to guide your way. Three - It is possible to lose track of time and yourself at sea, but try not to worry as you will come back to yourself and remember eventually.”
“Mother,” Christina began in an attempt to humor his mother, “These are the whisperings of old wives tales. Space travel these days by ship is one of the most surefire ways to travel.”
“Recite the rest back to me then,” his mother gripped his hands eager to make sure he had the rules at sea memorized.
Giving a long suffering sigh, Christina smiled at her fondly and dutifully recited, “Four - If someone shouts my name from the dark recesses of space, do not reply under any circumstances. Five - Occasionally I might get a distress call from the Atlantic, but I mustn’t turn the ship towards it. Six - If my chest feels strange I must endeavor to make as little sound as possible until the feeling passes.”
Relief washed across his mother’s face. Christian chuckled as it was nigh impossible to forget the six rules when his grandmother had quizzed him on the rules before she left on her voyages. While Grandma Marie had passed away from lung disease when Christian was sixteen, he was enamored with her stories of adventure on the High Seven Seas galaxy and her encounters with space whales and pirates. While all the pirates had been rounded up centuries ago, it was always fun to know what her turn of the century upbringing was so very different from his own on land bound, on the farm.
It was curiosity more than anything that caused Christian to break the rules his mother and grandmother had tried to set in stone for him. But perhaps, when you lay out rules for a child, you should always explain why you’re laying the rules out, rather than just dictating them with no explanation. Because in Christian’s mind, how bad could things really get?
He’d seen the eyes his first fortnight into the voyage to Whisk, the first stop along his journey. They were haunting and enticing. Long eyelashes of delicate starlight dusted with the blue light of the moon. He’d never seen them blink. He knew they were staring contests he would never win. He was so entranced by them in the evenings, he didn’t realize that no one else seemed to see the eyes, caught in the mini galaxies he thought he could make out in the irises, if he just leaned forward far enough.
A month into the voyage he heard the whispers of a song, a siren call into the unknown. The music built to a soaring peak by the end of the day and he heard a soft whisper over the side of the boat say his name. Frantic to find the source of the voice, Christian spun around on the deck, heart pounding, searching for the source of the voice that suddenly stopped whispering.
Christian felt anxiety rise in him, that he would never hear the voice again.
Suddenly, the voice boomed out, “CHRISTIAN!!”
Tears sprung to Christian’s eyes. “Mother?! Is that you?” He called back.
The night sky seemed to crack and split, the purple and indigo streaks of a comet that had passed overhead looked like they were glitching, patches of code and static running rampant above and below the boat.
Time seemed to stand still. The sails above were no longer creaking, the snores of his fellow crew members were suddenly silenced. All Christian could hear was his harsh breathing and feel his heart pounding, sweat breaking out across his forehead with the abject certainty he had done something very, very wrong.