musings..agian

Stretching out a hand, she touched the stars. Peaceful, guileless in their spherical dance, alive, but not aware. Awake, but not conscious.
{Why bring to the fore half forgotten cruelty?}
Her ship without power, like a monument to man’s vast un-tolerated, unforgivable arrogance, drifting slowly to its demise. Curled at an ice-sheathed window, fingering stars she’d never be near, she shed her last tears. It was in the end unfair, to the last unjust. Space never forgave; errors were magnified beyond all reckoning, and to risk it all was to lose more in time.
Daring to spread her Icarus wings, she’d gained the heavens, and paid for her fascination with her life. The story never really changed. In the end the universe would plunge on without heed, never minding the small radar-blip of the last human crusader.
Her slim fingers…extending in a half crescent-shape of longing, index pointed out, thumb askance to the cause, others grouped in small extensions of confusion and ignorance, sheep-like. Touching the frosty glass, at first glance a courtier’s hands; pale, slim hands; at closer interrogation, the spacer’s calluses and rough hewn nails came to the fore.
She watched her tears fall softly on the seat where she was to die. She leaned foreword and kissed the cold, cold glass, leaving behind her lip’s signature when she withdrew. She would love to her last struggled breath those unsympathetic stars, and see that last breath gasped towards the lights that now filled her tear-glazed eyes.
“Never, now nor after, will I regret my journey.” She said softly to her derelict ship. “Touch not the face of God, and take not the hands of angels. Bring forth from your past the strength for tomorrow, and gain from that the wisdom for now.” So leaving her last pearl for her ship, she again turned her face to the window.
Reaching out once more with those slim fingers, she gently pushed the airlock button. She heard the doors swish softly shut behind her, and heard the ship reseal itself. Once more the pale, careful hand reached out and pressed a jewel-hued button. The hand returned to the lap of the one it was a part of, to lie with its companion, crossed soft as two pale doves at rest.
As the airlock blew, as she was flung ruthlessly to her beloved stars, as her lungs screamed; her face remained composed, her gentle smile still in place, and her eyes still full of stars.