When a star is depleted of its life source, its centre collapses in upon itself. This is inevitable.

Some burst and scatter. Some leave in their absence a black hole. To understand their nature, one must study the bodies in its orbit – because light cannot escape, they are invisible. They don’t prowl the universe for methods of expansion, though their pulling force is irresistible. If you’re close enough, they can swallow you whole.

Click.

Sunlight breaks through gaps in the heavily-barred windows, fighting the artificial lighting for dominance over the visitors and inmates. She waits in a dark booth, alone. Her breathing is erratic; her gaze is fixed on the guard by the door.

Her right leg shakes, making frantic clicks against the shiny epoxy floor.

She has as much worth as a novelty piggybank, she’s sure of it. Stuff promise down its throat, crack it open, then bank the rain cheque for a cloudy day. Penny for your thoughts?

She clutches her silver crucifix.

She takes an instinctive hit of asthma spray.

She twists her sapphire engagement ring. The doors open. Out he swaggers, towering over his escort like a brute, in a vibrant orange jumpsuit. Traffic cone orange (stay away, be aware, be careful).

She places her hand on her chest to regulate her breaths; she stops breathing, altogether.

The words “FATE” and “HATE” sit prominently on his face, replacing the thick eyebrows she once adored. He sits with a smirk, hands wild and lips twitching, skipping the formalities. Through the thick glass, he goes straight into an animated discussion about something “oh so interesting, you’ve just got to hear about it.”

Click.

 

 

Krystal Nicol is an Australian-based university student with an overwhelming passion for animals and writing. She is currently double majoring in Creative Writing and Spanish and dabbling in Screenwriting and Editing. When she isn’t reading or writing, she’s probably daydreaming about what she’s going to read and write next.