Star Song
By Sam McCullagh When I was five, I wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to fly to the stars and grasp them between my fingers, watch the liquid gold run down my arms and seep into my skin, so I could glow too. Imagine my disappointment when my mother told me stars were impalpable. So, I’m studying to be the next best thing: an astrophotographer. If I can’t touch the stars, I’m happy to spend my life admiring them from afar. But tonight, I find myself slamming my laptop shut while editing photos of constellations for my college’s science publication. I storm out of my dorm and tumble through the thick woods behind it until I reach a cleared-out hill raised as high as the trees. It’s the closest I can get to the sky from here. I stiffen as I reach the top; unlike other nights, another being is on the hill. Did an alien invade it? No, he’s no alien; he’s a fallen star, his hair as gold and shining as the sun. What’s a star doing on my lowly hill? He smiles and waves at me. I return ...
