Break Yourself Against The Universe
A lone survivor flees his ruined world, battling guilt and despair. With the unwanted help of a strange companion, he seeks redemption on a strange planet.
You were told it'd end in flames, and the beautiful destruction would burn you alive. Not on my watch. You used to be the quiet one in a raging world, until you upset the balance by switching places.
After your planet's descent into utter ruin, you picked up your broken form instead of waiting for the spirits to take you. I knew you'd pull through.
The sky bled tears as you did: so much wasted life over a right the rest of the galaxy enjoyed. Pain has been your entire life, but this is different. It cuts through you, deeper than you’ve ever known, and its mark lasts.
The sacred ground turned graveyard lay still in the dead night, exhausted from being ripped apart and reassembled for days. You did this for lunar cycles, and then, there was still hope. But there’s nothing left.
So you find your ship and the medical supplies within, fly from your beloved, broken homeworld and never return. It hurts. There’s guilt wrapped around you, like the iron chains they used on prisoners of war. No one is inflicting these bonds on you, my love. Only you can release yourself. When we’re done, I hope you’ll find the strength to become a person again. You’re only fragments of one.
My programming is easy to fix, but trying to rewrite the patterns you’ve had for decades? No straightforward task.
A heaviness descends upon you, lacing around your aching bones and muscles. Ironic, since in space you’re weightless. After moons of stoic silence, you break. You’re foolish to ignore the boundless wrath of pent-up rage and sadness, but how can I blame you? The thick, intricate lines of blue war paint you painted on your russet-brown, aquamarine scale-flecked face run with your tears. That victory symbol now signifies defeat.
How does it feel to be the only crying person from your world? Yes, it’s a hardship, and it rips apart your fragile body, but it heals. Scientists can’t figure out how your anatomy works, and yet you're still here. Faced with crushing failure, please, at least hold on to that miracle.
Yet you run raw until there’s nothing left. Lying on the cold metal floor of your stolen spaceship, the loud thrumming of the engine is but a gentle hum in your unhearing ears. Your red hair, braided in the tradition of your forebears, spills out around you like a broken halo.
I don’t know how long passes between you falling asleep and me waking you in a panic. Your ship has been discovered, and it’s being attacked. How did they find you? Through the cockpit window, you see the massive bowels of a battleship, approaching, ready to swallow your little shuttle. No. You won’t be subjected to more violence, because you make enough for yourself.
Oxygen levels are dropping, and you have minutes left. Returning to your control panel, you set your course for the nearest planet, praying to the galaxy’s many gods. Your ship explodes as you’re consumed by the energy of one of the largest battleships in the galaxy.
You awake in a sea of charred exoskeleton pieces, called ‘Lifegiver’ by a friend. She died in your arms as she held onto hope. It wasn’t enough, and you blame yourself for her death. You blame yourself for many failures. Recall the beautiful things she was and be glad you knew her. Otherwise, you’ll spiral.
When you drown yourself, how many times do I have to rescue you?
The swollen sky threatens to pierce the delicate landscape with lightning bolts and rain darts. Find shelter before it unleashes its onslaught. You saved your life and prevented those dastardly fiends from doing any more damage, but at what cost?
Can you breathe here? Or eat the plants nestling around your battered body? Let me see.
You sit up, but that simple motion racks you with anguish. I think it'll be a struggle without your exoskeleton. Don’t curse your lack of foresight, because in moments of crisis, that’s one of the first things to fall apart.
Although the sky is filled with watery fury, the distant lightning turns the faraway charred black mountains a violent shade of purple. The delicate, brownish-blue plant fronds tremble beneath the raw power of the raining world. Unless you find shelter soon, you’ll suffer the same fate. Move, my love, before the cold weakens you further. Beyond the hill you crash-landed on is a cave. Not far now.
Oh, my love, please, let yourself be! The way you speak to yourself, you wouldn’t to your worst enemies. You’re allowed to make mistakes, to cry yourself to sleep, feel guilt flow through your veins, and to imagine yourself falling, never to get up again. But first, get out of this storm!
Don’t drink in too much of the frigid air. Your body isn’t suited for this environment. The chilly atmosphere wafts up your nose, and your body seizes. You want to run until all you see are the foothills and the trees and the outlines of mountains in the far distance.
If you do that, your hearts shall give out, as will your legs. Continue trudging.
This cave becomes your sanctity against the whirling winds and sheets of rain slathering the rocky landscape with an aggressive fresh coat of paint.
Unable to do much else, you avoid your mind by daydreaming. Do you remember when you were a romantic? That’s what drew me to you. I saw how you used your abilities to protect your home, how you lived for the thrill of battle and longed for the chase. You can’t run away this time.
For now? Sleep, my love, and wait out the rainstorm. I shall keep watch, figure out where we are, and we'll begin again in the morning.
As you wake, hours later, the sky is still a deep violet, with only the moons to reveal the faint outlines of the mountains beyond. There are a myriad of celestial objects in the sky, so many I struggle to count them. This landscape is familiar, though my archives aren’t turning up relevant results.
Let me continue searching while you come to your senses.
See, not all is bad. Though you forgot any breathing apparatus, the universe has shown you mercy. Doesn’t it astound you how much of a paradox you are? You led the most successful non-violent military campaigns in your system’s history, but you’re forgetful enough to leave the survival kit when you launch yourself into space. My love, you’re beautiful and brilliant, but you’re a fool.
How unusual. You used to protest when I said things like this, so determined to protect your precious reputation, to smooth over your shortcomings. Now you only nod, with a half-hearted laugh that dies in your throat. Oh my love, what has this life done to you? I suppose humility is a blessing?
Good news, there are others settled on this planet. Only the stars know why. I've generated a suitable map for your great journey across the plains. First, find something to eat. You didn’t bring any food, either? Is there a protein bar squashed in one of the many pockets you sewed into your jacket?
Thank the stars.
As you step across the grasslands, headed for the rocky outcrops as my route guides you, you notice things. Only fools think you need full access to your senses to appreciate beauty, but you experience it in its glorious strokes. Desolate as this place is, it’s stunning.
The mountains have ridges like welts. In the canyons between them is a green substance, carving out an uncertain existence. The leftover rain reflects your wandering form and the sky lighting its surroundings. The ground is soft, warm and forgiving, and this place feels brittle, a simple thing to shatter.
It’s the world you never wanted to know but will forever.
The one thing the Cosmos Chart failed to mention is how heavy you feel. Gravity drags you down, your weight a burden to the soft earth. You feel the air on the patches of your bare skin through the charred exoskeleton.
Thank the stars you had the sense to bring a cloak with you. Your Lifegiver is necessary to your existence, but conspicuous. Once it was to be shown off, painted in the swirls of red and aquamarine, but now it’s a danger, revealing your true identity. Yes, my love, I’ll call it that. Your dear friend always had a talent for naming things.
The planet’s atmosphere shifts like a living entity. A breeze brushes your skin. Maybe the rain is apologizing for its decimation of the earth and is giving this as a peace offering. It should take a day to cross the mountains to the other side to reach the first of the few settlements in this hemisphere, but if we factor in your condition and the state of your injuries, it’ll take far longer. Step by step, my love.
Unrealistic expectations do the most damage to sentient people. They live cursed lives, yet their outside circumstances have nothing to show for such a terrible internal world.
And you're still wearing that helmet. Yes, my love, I don’t like it, and no, I shall never be quiet about it. I know it helps you function in a galaxy that demands more of your sight and hearing than they can give, but that’s not the reason you wear it.
You fear living in a world you cannot understand. Though the memories of you will fade, you’re still afraid they'll remember. I know it's harsh, but they won't. Have you forgotten no one knows what your face looks like, except I?
And look. The settlements are near, with ships which can take you far from here. Whatever price they demand, I shall ensure you can afford it. You did it, my love, no matter what the vengeful gods threw at your quest.
There are still gaps in foundations to fill, cracks to repair, and unhealed wounds to patch. That’s why I’m here. Life is chaotic and you can’t handle it all. It isn’t an insult, my love. After a lifetime of living for others, you need to find yourself now.
And I hope one day, after years of suffocating, you’ll breathe.
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Statistics → Word Count: 1,756 | Reading Time: 6:23 mins