Dreams and Entropy

The starlight mocked her, standing as she was, alone. Wearily she touched the control, moving as if the effort were nearly beyond her strength. She turned away, watching her own shadow fade into the growing darkness.

She stared into the blackness feeling and thinking nothing. There was a coldness deep in her weary body, but she didn't shiver. She felt the blackness and nothing else. It was consuming her, bit by bit, slowly. It would leave her nothing - not a care, an emotion; only a dark heaviness that felt of nothing, denying her even the luxury of despair.

Perhaps it was best this way, the Ice Maiden now as hard-hearted and emotionless as her namesake. It was an apt name after all, trapped here in the frozen void, alive within the heart of this soulless metal beast.

She allowed herself a fraction of an irony at her purple prose. Such flowery language to describe such an unpitiable self. She was nothing to the void through which she traveled; to think otherwise was yet another mockery. She would not have it.

With a heavy step she walked blindly to her room, the heaviness within making the trek a Herculean task. The softness of her bed offered no more comfort to her than any of the other things that surrounded her.

Lying down she stared unseeing into the blackness above her. Her breath came raggedly, her lungs struggling against the heaviness in her chest. She gasped a little, then coughed, making no effort to ease the struggle by turning to her side.

Eyes closed, the images she had fought with little success in the light of day now claimed victory. Hurts, insults, fears, longing, desires, guilt... love. All these things struggled for control in her mind. None of them won. She felt nothing.

In the end, it was the nothing that shattered her, leaving her the agony of unshed tears. In her weakness, she turned to where the picture lay, face down. One hand reached for the cold metal frame, its color as black as her soul.

She did not actually touch the frame, but her mind displayed the image for her anyway. A quartet of dreamers haunted her. All of them young and idealistic and full of promise. How could their dreams have betrayed them so bitterly?

Jack was on the left, handsome and smiling, one arm wrapped around her. The memory of his touch made her pause. They had planned their whole lives - babies, starships, and then a quiet colony world where she would treat bumps and scrapes and he would sculpt, and play music and love her and their children for eternity. They would have a cozy house with a dance studio for her and a workshop for him and plenty of room for the kids to play. She would teach them all about herbs and healing, and there would always be music.

Walker would visit them, stopping in from time to time, always looking just as he did in that picture. He was a charmer and loved nothing more than a good tall tale. He was destined for the stars, like Jack. But also like Jack, he knew it wasn't his life. He was a poet and a scholar and he had his mind set on teaching at Harvard one day, although she'd always teased him that he'd be far too bored in such a stuffy place.

Harvard was much more Jean-Luc's style, she was sure. He always looked stuffy, even in that picture, with the four of them dirty and mussed from a day of cleaning and painting the newlywed's apartment. They'd gotten roaring drunk that night on some local wine, but she'd always suspected he wasn't really drunk. His dreams were taking him to the stars and nothing, family, friends or lovers would ever interfere with his precious dreams.

The heaviness slammed against her chest again, making her sob just once before she brought herself under control. The tightness in her chest squeezed tighter and she turned away from the picture, physically and mentally.

What had happened to that woman in the picture, she wondered. When had she lost her dreams? Why hadn't she noticed they were gone?

There were no answers, of course. Of the four people in the picture, there was only one left with dreams. She found it in herself to wish him well, then, closed her eyes against the blackness and thought of nothing until exhaustion claimed her.

Nights are long for those with no dreams, and on a starship, there are no sunrises filled with promise.

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