I see every star of the galaxy from underneath the glass dome. The Abandoned Planet rises above this sea of stars, its swirling blues and greens mixing with the pulsing red lights of the dance floor. We’ve come here to pray to it, each movement of our dance an individual devotion, each ringing note a supplication. There are no gods anymore and we know it. We have only the machinery beneath our feet and the Earth above our heads. We sing to the wild things there and the bodies of water we can only imagine. We have lakes here, even rivers and streams, but they’re contained. They can’t grow, and their evolution is orchestrated like ours.
I will dance for the long-tailed foxes tonight and ask for transcendence. My sister prays to the snakes, our progenitors. Maybe the acrobats on the wires pray to the apes, who were said to be the legendary propagators of the Dead Ones.
I stare past them to the Planet. I’m fiercely certain that the creatures hear our music and raise their heads, the light of their eyes traveling across time and space to reach my own. I feel a surge of bliss rising from my belly through the top of my head; I’ve been seen, and our songs heard. I don’t know by whom or to what effect, but they’ve heard. I laugh. I’m joy, burning brighter than the closest star! I spin until the stars blur, and think of how our parents and grandparents may have been content to wither here in their artificial youth, but we won’t be contained any more.
“We want to pick the fruit from the tree,” I shout, ”and see the sun rise from the sea. Our prayer has been heard!”
Those around me smile, and continue their dances.
Someone told me that my entries here have continuity. How accidental of me! I suppose I’ll have to see if this interesting development continues.