Stardust

She has many names. She is the Goddess of Galaxies, the Painter of Light, the Ruler of an abyss nobody with wits would explore. Sometimes, they change. Usually, they hold the same meaning. 

But mostly, she’s the Mother of Stars. They are her children and she cares for them as such, keeping them bright when the sky turns dark. 

She is the Mother of Stars, and she would do anything for her children. 

- 

It’s not sudden, but it isn’t exactly slow either. It’s like falling asleep on a quick ride to the store and waking up ten minutes later when the groceries need taken inside. It’s blanking out before coming back. Losing memories but knowing there wasn’t much to remember anyway. 

She opens her eyes, and everything is insanely bright. Wincing at the light she instantly closes them again, but then it’s insanely dark, and wait, has she ever blinked before? Her eyes instantly fly open again. She can only see when she squints, so she does just that, looking at the ground. To her surprise, there’s a woman sitting beside her… feet?

The woman looks at her expectantly. After a moment of eye contact she raises an eyebrow and holds out a cup. A beat goes by. 

“W-what?” The goddess stutters, swallowing. Her throat is so dry. When was the last time she spoke? 

The woman with hair short and gray looks mildly concerned. “Spare change?” she asks, gesturing to the sign next to her. Her eyes flicker over the words quickly. 

‘Homeless and elderly. Please give what you can.’

Oh. So she’s human. That’s one question answered. 

“Spare change…” Curiously, she reaches down into her pockets, because apparently she has those too. In her hand appears a couple dollars. They float into the cup, and it must be an awful lot too, because the woman’s eyes light up as she looks up in disbelief. 

Mind whirling, the goddess rushes to say something before the woman can ask questions. “I need somewhere to stay,” she explains. “I… don’t know this place well. Could you point me somewhere?” 

The woman smiles and points down the street. “Go right down there,” she instructs, “and when you reach the end of the sidewalk you turn right. There’s a hotel right down that road. You don’t have to have a reservation either.” 

She does her best to give a grateful smile. “Thank you.” The woman shrugs. 

“Anytime,” she says. “God bless.” 

The goddess(?) pauses for a moment. “Maybe not,” she confirms, slowly. She nods to the woman with a sure look on her face. “But you have mine, at least.” 

The woman looks confused, but in an hour it will rain, and not a drop will dare to dampen her clothes. Flowers will speed their growth where she sits and within a week roses will bloom between the cracks and crevices of sidewalk. People will look at her, and they will smile. The clinking of coins against her cup will become background noise. 

She ends up booking the hotel for a week. The receptionist looks at her curiously when she pays with cash, but there’s an ID for someone who is apparently her in her pocket, so there aren’t many issues.

She doesn’t dream. She doesn’t think she wants to, either.

-

The next day it pours like no tomorrow. Buckets of rain splatter around, nobody leaving their houses. She uses this to her advantage. 

Stepping out of the hotel doors, she’s immediately drenched head to toe. The rain doesn’t let up and she finds herself walking through a thin layer of water that splashes with every step she takes. She isn’t sure where she’s going exactly, but she doesn’t stop.

“Rain,” she grunts through clacking teeth, “why am I here?” 

The rain gets louder, and finally, the splashing against her shoulders begins to sound more like words. ‘You are here for something new,’ it whispers, nearly silent. ‘Something great.’

“And what exactly is that?” She snips. The rain pauses it’s splashing. 

‘They told us not to tell you. It said things like these are best left learned than not.’ It continues to pelt down, cold and unforgiving. The human with the soul of a goddess nearly screams. 

“Things like what?!” She yells, halting. Evenly, she asks, “Who exactly told you not to tell me?” 

‘The ocean,’ the rain says. ‘The universe told it and it told us. We are merely one in the same, you know.’

She breathes in through her nose. “Yes, of course I know. Why couldn’t the universe just tell me this itself? We aren’t exactly strangers.”

The rain does not respond. To her horror, it leaves, light bleeding through the clouds. ‘Sorry. We should not say anything more.’

“Rain!” She cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this!” 

The sky clears and the drops stop falling. Like magic, the flooded water that was up to her toes begins to clear through the street drains.

“Fine,” she spits. “Have it your way.” 

-

She spends most of her time walking. It helps her think straight. 

She is surprised, however, by how many people she finds sitting on the ground, blankets put down for comfort. There are so many. 

Whenever she passes one by her pockets grow heavy with coins. They clang against their cups to make such an ugly sound, but the people behind it give her smiles so big it’s as if she has sounded church bells.

“I have nowhere else to use it,” she assures them. “Keep it. Please.” 

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. She learns to walk the balance between “I can’t take this” and “Thank you” very, very quickly. 

-

The old yet young goddess stands at the beach’s shore and looks out along the horizon. Seagulls fly overhead in a ten-foot halo- she’s here she’s here she’s here- but don’t dare land. Daylight settles on her shoulders yet she feels nothing but cold. 

“Ocean,” she starts, soft. “Can you hear me?” 

The ocean does not say anything directly. But the seagulls quiet, one by one leaving the circle and flying in a new direction. They caw as they go- speak speak speak- and at the notion she takes a deep breath in. “Ocean, I come with the request for you to take me back to the sky. I am afraid something horrible has happened and I grow wary of every passing moment in which my stars are left with nobody to care for them. As your ruler I kindly demand you help return me to my rightful place among the galaxies I have painted and the stars I have nurtured. It is what needs to be done.”

Waves shift around her feet. Finally, the ocean speaks. ‘Tell me. Are you aware of what the universe has said? What the universe wants for you?’

She hesitates for a moment. “I…” clearing her throat, she tries her best to stay calm and collected. “Yes, I suppose I do.” 

‘Then you know,’ the ocean says, smooth, ‘That we will be helping with no such matters. Apologies, Mother, but we are not ones to go against the rules of the universe. Let alone for someone like yourself- no offense, but you hold no power over us, child.’

Her hands turn to fists at her sides and she breathes in, shaky but deep through her nose. The waves lap at her feet curiously. When she finally opens her eyes the sun is setting and sand is biting at her ankles in angry gusts of wind. 

“I am the Goddess of Galaxies,” she says, stern. Her eyes burn as hair flairs wildly around her head. “I am the Caretaker of Stars, the Painter of Skies, the Ruler of the Abyss nothing living dares to explore. And I demand you heed my orders!” 

The ocean bubbles, waves growing bigger. In mere moments the water is up to her knees and she can’t see her own feet. She stands her ground. Eventually, the bubbles turn to giggles.

“Silly thing,” the ocean laughs, “what a thought. Order around the ocean, you say? We are not one of yours, child. We are something else entirely. In our waves you will not find stars, within our reefs there is nothing quite like those galaxies of yours. We are our own, and we will not be ordered around by something that holds no respect for such things.” 

“What’s an ocean to a galaxy?” She cries. “What is a cave to a hole, what is an abyss to yet another? I don’t understand why you won’t just listen to me! I am-”

“I would watch your tone with us.” The ocean cut off. Something shifts in the sand beneath her feet and jabs at the barely-calloused skin. She tries to bite her lip but a yelp escapes anyway, legs tensing. Blood that should not be her’s turns the water darker than before- a less-than-kind warning. “We may be water, that is true. But we are also sand, and our glass is not as comfortable.

The goddess breathes deep, closing her eyes again. She doesn’t open them this time. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits. “I’m… I’m scared, ocean.”

The ocean sighs, pulling back it’s tide till the water is only up to her ankles. ‘You have a purpose here, do you not?’ When she nods, it hums. ‘Figure that out first. I would imagine it’s your first step to getting home, correct?’

The goddess breathes through a choked-up throat. “Right,” she murmurs, trying to catch her breath. “Okay.”

-

She learns their stories. They talk so much when given the chance- she’s sure they aren’t often. 

There’s a woman who was recently evicted because she had nothing to pay with. A man who couldn’t afford his dog’s bills. A teenager who was kicked out because they were not accepted as who they are. A couple who’s been recently disowned. They are all people with families or pets or only themself and they are all against the world. 

She gives them all she can. She gives them coins, she gives them food, she gives them advice- she even gives them hugs. But yet they ask for more.

“What’re you up to?” asks a woman with a crooked smile. 

“What’s your name?”

“Where are you from?” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who are you?” 

She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. 

A man has his daughter curled to his chest while he thanks her for her donation. The daughter asks what her favorite animal is and instant she says she likes dogs, the way the dog a block away wagged it’s tail when she gave it a treat still fresh in her mind. The man looks at her like she has two heads. 

“She speaks Korean. Her mother always spoke it and it’s all she speaks in now.” He tilts his head and squints his eyes. “Who *are* you?”

She isn’t sure what to say, except to drop some coins against his blanket and speed-walk back to the hotel. She *does* dream that night. It isn’t pleasant. It’s questions without answers and accusations and *'Who are you, who are you, who are you’* till she wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing shaky. 

From across the room she looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is curly and wild around her head, skin lighter than usual. 

“Who am I?” She asks. The mirror doesn’t respond. 

-

When the moon is full and the sky is dark, she asks, “Who am I?” 

The lightning bugs land one by one on her fingers, glowing bright enough that she would have otherwise mistaken them for stars. ‘You are the Mother of Stars,’ they buzz. ‘You are the creator of galaxies, the painter of all that is light, the ruler of an abyss nobody has yet to explore.’

The woman once goddess now person chuckles bitterly. “Am I?” she questions. “What is a mother when all her children have long since been buried? A creator after their work has been lost throughout history? An explorer when their land has been taken over by those much stronger?” With anger mixing with adrenaline, she runs a hand through her hair. “What is a goddess when given a form so dreadfully human?” 

The lightning bugs dim, but she doesn’t care. “So I ask you again. Who am I?” 

The moon sets as the run rises. The lightning bugs leave.

-

There’s a woman crying on the street corner. Multiple trash bags filled to the brim surround her and something about her seems off. When the goddess wearing a human’s skin approaches her offering a tissue, everything spills over without her having to ask. 

“I couldn’t stay with him anymore,” she sobs, nearly choking on her own tears. “He wasn’t a good man. But- but the homeless shelter won’t take me. There aren’t enough rooms. So I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Her blood turns cold. Grass yellows beneath her feet. “They won’t take you *why*?”

The woman ends up leading her to the shelter. A man comes out with a bitter smile and a shrug. He gives them both a bottle of water, handing another tissue to the woman while avoiding Mother’s gaze. 

“We just don’t have enough room,” he says, much too casual for her tastes. “There’s nothing we can do.” 

“Then make more!”

“We can’t just make more room!” 

“Why not?” She knows why, though. Because her pockets have turned heavy and there’s the telltale sign of paper scraping against paper ringing in her ears. Before he can answer she reaches in and pulls the stack out, handing it to him a bit too roughly to seem kind. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Is that enough?” The man’s eyes snap up from the wad in his hands. His mouth is slightly open and his eyes seem glazed over. 

Stumbling over his words, he says, “I… yes, it’s definitely a great start at the very least.” Surprised giggles tumble out of his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair. “I…” He looks at her then, eyes filled with questions and excitement. “Who *are* you?” 

A beat passes. She breathes through her nose, before smiling and holding out a hand. He takes it quickly. 

“I go by Mother.” 

-

Eventually, she speaks to the universe itself. She sits on a hill with grass as soft as silk and hugs her knees to her chest. Neither speak for a long, long time. 

To the surprise of all those who watch, the Mother of Stars begins to cry. The wind howls around her as she wipes away tears. “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, scared and alone. “Have I…. have I failed, universe?” 

And the universe cries. “No,” it whispers. “You have done wonderfully. This is no punishment, Mother. There is simply more for you to do now.” The wind helps her to her feet and the grass grows taller to hold her hand. “Your purpose is more vast than you know. Your stars have flourished and continue to shine. Now it is time to help what has since grown.” 

The young yet old goddess sniffs, smiling. “I will never be able to understand your riddles,” she mutters. The universe laughs. 

“I am sure you will understand in due time. Maybe it is simply the human in you.” 

Suddenly, stars begin to shoot across the sky, bright and quick. They speak in unison, over and over. ‘Mother, we miss you. Mother, we hear you. Mother, we watch you. Mother, we love you.’. From her hilltop she watches as lights turn on and windows open. Children point and adults smile. It is not often that the universe cries.

“My children,” she breathes, raising a hand to the sky. If she focuses long enough she can feel them thread through her fingers. “My children.”

-

She leaves the hotel. The staff say they’re sad to see her go, but don’t seem all too bothered after they find tips of large sums scattered around her room. They name it, “The Room of Luck” in her honor. She finds it funny. 

-

Construction begins quickly. With a bit of luck and a few blessings, the new homeless shelter is up and running within a month. It’s brand new and feels like a home. The woman cries when she shows her her bed. Familiar faces fill the halls and she wishes the best to those who never arrive. She hopes they’re okay. 

-

“You’re no longer in a hurry to return,” the universe muses one night. “Why?” 

The half-goddess shrugs. “This is important, is it not?” She asks, sure. She grows more hesitant after a moment. “They… the stars will be okay, will they not?” 

The universe smiles. “We are patient,” it says, simply. 

-

A boy named Adam lives at the shelter and tells her about the stars every time they meet. He’s determined to stump her on his trivia. One day, he says, “We’re all made of stardust. Did you know what?” 

She freezes for a moment. “What?” 

He grins. “Stardust! All humans, we’re made of stardust.” He leans over the dinner table and gets right in her face. “Did I get you?”

It takes a few beats. But soon, she’s smiling, slow and sweet. Her eyes are misty. “Yeah,” she says, soft. “Of course you are.” She laughs a bit and ruffles his hair. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”

-

She has many names. She is the woman who founded the homeless shelter downtown, the girl with skin as dark as night who grants blessings to those who she likes. She’s the witch and she’s the angel and she’s something else entirely, they say. 

But mostly, she’s the Mother of Stars. They are her children and she cares for them as such, keeping them bright when the sky turns dark. 

She is the Mother of Stars. “And you,” she says, grinning, “are made of stardust.”