Stars

Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter.

The rain cascaded onto the cottage in a torrential downpour, creating a subtle aura of anxiety and unease.

The fire flickered over Atlas’s chiseled brow as he studied his wife’s eyes. Theia stared blankly in the distance, lost not in thought, but in mourning. Her once golden irises had faded slowly through the years, first to a dull dandelion, then to a sickly shade of pale yellow. Atlas longed for the day when his wife’s orbs would return to their initial, shimmering hue. “My dear,” Atlas began, gently and with concern, “What bothers you this day? Your eyes belie your troubles.”

Theia sighed and rose, walking to the window to feel the cold rain on her sunken face. “I long for the days of my youth, Atlas,” she began, each breath pained and slow. “I long for our palace, our subjects, our jesters and knights. I long for the banquets, the feasts, the long tables lined with delectables from every corner of the earth. I miss our riches, our wealth, and our status. But most of all, I miss the music.”

Theia turned, tears streaking down her sallow countenance and criss-crossing lines in her dirt and mud. “I miss the lyres and panpipes, the guitars, the bands of bugles, the songs marking the merry times. And I miss my grand piano, resting always in the hall, awaiting the simple touch of my hand to release the most wonderful melodies. People would come from far off lands just to hear the sweet sounds I produced. It made me feel needed. Now….” Theia gestured around the humble cabin, “I am needed by no one.”

The former queen collapsed into the embrace of her king, sobbing and wailing. “My dear,” Atlas started, stroking Theia’s long, pale hair. “You have always been needed, and you will continue to be for the rest of time. I need you my dear, and that is what matters. For the many long years I have loved you, your body has served as the solution to all of my troubles. Seeing your frame from even a mile away provides me with more strength and joy than any feast or song could ever give me.”

Theia’s breathing began to slow as she felt Atlas’s heart beating slowly in his chest. “I appreciate your kindness, Atlas my dear, but is there not anything you miss from our old life? Do you truly have no regrets about the choices we made which led us to our current reality?”

Atlas paused and sighed. “Alas my dear, I would be lying were I to say there is nothing I regret. I miss the beautiful chandelier gracing our front hall. The golden flickering of each candle in the darkness of the palace made me feel as though I had tamed part of the sky. Each light shined like a shimmering star, with constellations of smoke weaving from flame to flame. Instead of resting on my shoulders, the starry night became less a burden and more a welcoming friend. I miss that feeling.”

Theia looked up at Atlas, his eyes dark as a starless night. “Well perhaps we can make another chandelier to grace our cottage.”

Atlas smiled but shook his head. “Alas, no new chandelier will ever be able to capture the mysterious grace of the old. The closest replica to the chandelier’s beauty rests currently upon your frame. The dress you wear now was designed by my great friend, who wished to merge my two loves into one singular being. I am eternally grateful for his kindness.” Atlas leaned down and kissed his wife. “Fret not, my dear. Your frame is the greatest decoration a man could ask for in his house.”

Theia smiled, but her eyes were still tinged with pain. “I fear I will not be able to grace your halls much longer, King Atlas. Every day without music drains my soul, dissipating my life into nothingness. I am near despair.”

Atlas’s face went blank, and he held his wife close. “My dear, stay with me. I will go out into the forest to look for something to replenish your soul. I will return in three days before the sun sets.”

Theia sighed. “Three days may be all I have left.”

Atlas left the cabin, entering the wilderness. He traveled the expanse of the forest, launching arrows with the skill of Orion, piercing the eyes of every animal he came upon, from deer, to rabbits, to squirrels. From each animal he took only the necessities: teeth and tendon.

Atlas slashed through trees, sawing and sanding until he had constructed a frame. By molding and fusing the teeth, he was able to create keys; from the tendons, strings. Atlas worked until he had finalized his creation: a grand piano, in the likeness of the one that graced his palace, but missing a single key, the middle F. Atlas scoured the forest, looking far and wide for any animals to harvest; alas, his luck had run dry, and every animal had already been slaughtered. Atlas glanced painfully at the setting sun, needing desperately to finish the piano before his wife succumbed to her madness.

He made his decision.

Atlas pulled his own teeth: 32 shining white molars, bicuspids, and the like, to craft the final key; with the tip of an arrow, Atlas carved inside his chest, pulling out the final string: his heart string, red and gleaming in his fist.

Gasping with pain, Atlas pushed the piano slowly back to the cottage, each step bringing him nearer and nearer to death. With the Grim Reaper circling like a flock of vultures, each movement was more difficult and painful than the last; yet Atlas pushed on, determined to see his wife’s eyes one last time.

When Atlas arrived at the cottage, he collapsed, and slowly began his final crawl towards his front door. The sun had set before he could turn the handle.

Creak.

The door swung open, and Atlas looked up.

Inside, hanging from the rafters, a noose around her neck, was Theia, her eyes bright and open, golden once again. She wore the same dress from days prior, shimmering and glittering like the stars above.

Atlas’s new chandelier.

He collapsed, the keys of the piano shining in the moonlight.

Pretentious Evergreen

Written by

An ostentatious tree