(This is R rated)
The biting winter wind rose again, making a renewed assault on my exposed face as I walked down the city’s lit downtown, the night’s cold making it all the worse. Under my shoes, fresh white snow crunched and fell apart under my uncaring footsteps, being nothing more than a layer between the sidewalk and my feet. My scarf itched; I adjusted the multicolored wool, felt respite.
The Christmas decorations were everywhere: groups of people going about singing carols, wreaths and candles and decorated trees everywhere, the sound of Christmas songs on radios and jingling bells just background noise for me. They did not irritate or soothe me, just remind me that more has passed since I started this inner voyage, another of time’s landmarks to look at as I pass, eyes on the destination I may never reach. A few other people were out and about too, hurrying to reach their cars or cabs, or else get into a building for warmth and a place to rest for the night. Yes, December 24th was a busy time of the year. But for me, every day was the busiest. I had only my obsession to satisfy.
My hand reached under my coat and into my back pocket, and withdrew my leather wallet. I opened it with my gloved fingers and after a little fumbling, managed to remove the most important item inside: a small picture of a smiling woman, the most beautiful I had ever known and treasured beyond anything else. I held the picture up, holding it against the star-studded sky, mourning silently. Why had she been taken? Why vanish into the void, escorted by Death’s hand, hardly even turning back to say good-bye to me with her lovely voice? It was not her fault; it was not mine, either. She had simply been lost, taken by fate’s cruel and wicked hands, not caring who it hurt and what hearts it broke. She and I had been so happy together, nothing standing before us and a wondrous life. And then this.
I gave a sigh, my breath appearing before me as a cloud of white vapor like it always did in cold weather. I lowered my arm and slid the picture back into its place in my wallet, then replaced it in my pocket. A few years separated her from me, my life bearing on while hers had stopped behind me, watching me go on, unable to join me. I had realized, after my time of mourning, that nothing I did would ever bring her back. I had refused to succumb to the madness some people felt, trying to bring a loved one back. I knew better. That’s why I had my objective before me. That’s why I had one last thing to reach for, among millions of duds beside it, a single star that shone brighter than the others.
Star Snatcher. That’s what I called myself. I had explained my intentions to friends soon after my wife passed on: I sought a new, perfect star in my life, one I would never want to lose. But they laughed. I had found the only one for me, and she was gone. There would be no replacement, no matter where I looked. You can’t reach for the stars and snatch one from the sky, they told me. They are many and visible, but distant, impossible to reach out and take. The only things you can have start off beside you, and you embrace them, love them, cherish them, knowing what can be yours and what cannot. But I reached! The nearby comforts were taken; I had nothing left except opportunity. The stars were there; I had arms with which to reach. I snatched, I reached, and many times, my hands closed on nothing, the stars silent but seeming to laugh at the impossibility of what I wanted to do, what my heart cried at me to do. Even a part of my heart knew it was futile, but the rest refused defeat, to sink into the black depths. I had to find the star! I could, and would! No life can be ruined like this. I reached! I would never stop snatching!
Another picture had to replace the one in my wallet. Yes, the past had to be left, to be replaced by something else close to me and warm, a star taken from the sky and pressed close, a healing balm. Many pictures taken, all discarded. I abandoned all companionship once I set out on my voyage of finding that star, everyone else being mere distractions from my ends goal. I would not give up. The sky had to have a loose star. There had to be an end in sight. I knew it.
At last, I found a good place: a filled pub, lively as could be. Warm, heart-touching Christmas songs played and filled the air, decorations of green and red and silver everywhere, a tall tree with many gifts underneath, dozens of laughing, eating, merry people within making the most of everything. This would be where my star lay. It had to be.
I pushed on the metal handle, and the glass door swung open, allowing a bit of the cold, snowy wind inside. A few people recoiled and laughed from the sudden mild gale, instantly forgiving me for the intrusion. I smiled back at them, melding right into the lively atmosphere. I was not a bad person. I could easily connect with others, make friends overnight, even though I never did.
My hat and coat were removed and hung on the large stand in the corner, revealing my dress shirt and warm vest underneath, my formal attire somehow pleasing in its setting. I made many smiles, spoke to many people, had a few drinks at the bar, gave and received many Merry Christmas wishes, even with the plump, balding, and merry bartender. Within only a few minutes of my stay, she appeared. The star. She was easily the one, the most delightful woman I had ever laid eyes upon. The picture in my pocket was forgotten as she met me, we exchanged hellos, and she took a clear liking to me.
I met friends of hers, liked them, but only one star was shining brightly in this room. Not even the fire in the fireplace could blot out its radiance, and it was by that fire that we talked, amazed at our rapidly deepening intimacy, her love. I knew we both had love at first sight, something precious. I offered to take her picture and she accepted, my Polaroid flashing its white light, the small printed picture sliding out from the slit, her pleasure at the quality of the shot.
Little time passed before we and others were dancing to slow, heart-felt music, and the air no less jolly but now quieter, more difficult to express in words, easier to express in feelings. By close to midnight, Christmas day, we were enveloped in passion, many people cheering at our profound connection, our loving, gentle caresses and kissing much admired by the others. It was a thing not expected by the others, but praised all the same. Love could bloom anywhere, they thought, even though they did not know what soil my own love bloomed in, neither did the woman. And to all a good night, indeed!
It was inevitable that she and I would find our way to the rent rooms upstairs, our passion strong but excitedly drifting in another direction, prompted by our solitude. After a slide of the lock and a few knowing words, we found ourselves under the covers, clothes all about the floor, the only important thing in the room our shared love. Bodies shining with excited sweat, breathing heavy, connections deep. It was made clear that we were meant to be, that she was the only one for me, I was the only one for her. There was a new empty space in the sky above me, the missing star held tight in my hands, the light pressed close to my heart. At last, I had what I sought.
We slept after that, happy but worn by our activity. However, before dawn came, I woke, the dark still heavy outside. The clock read a little past 1 in the morning. I felt restless, wanting something more, not sure what. I gently ran my hands over the woman's body, enjoying her presence, my hand gliding over hers... when I saw it, for the first time. Her wedding ring. My heart clenched, breathing caught, eyes widened. It couldn't be! Here I had thought I had found her, found the star... when it was shattered. A married woman, clearly in a depression in her marriage, happily hooking up with a charming person like me. I dug through her clothing, frantic, in denial, and found a wallet in her purse, saw the picture of her husband there, a charming, smiling man.
The star, clasped and revered in my hands, vanished, leaving only cold and a few wisps of the vanished heat, and even they faded. The star winked once again in the sky, looking far down at me, laughing at my futility along with the others. My hands clapped together with the unexpected void, my heart aching once again. I quickly re-clothed myself, knowing what I must do. Once I was dressed again, I produced my tool from my pocket, bringing it closer to the woman, who was conveniently lying on her back. The long, slender point drew close.
I whispered words of thanks to her, for a short but sweet moment of joy, even just a hint of the star I sought. I could not ignore that; she was special. Even so, I went on to whisper my words of farewell, my poisoned needle sliding into her heart, injecting its lethal contents. The woman gave a gasp, a jerk, and lay still in a much more permanent sleep. I straightened, stretched, over to the window.
My own heart, poisoned beyond redemption, cursed into something vile and terrible but pursuing a noble cause, was the basis of the venom that took the woman's life. She was not the first one; every failed star I had found in my life had succumbed to my needle, a new torment in my life, a new rejection I had to strike out against. Many poisoned hearts, many pictures discarded. If life sought to poison my own heart with its cruel ways, why couldn't I do the same to others? She had a married life; it was going downhill, clearly, seeing how enamored she was with me and not caring what her husband would think. Besides, everyone dies eventually. It only seemed fair to me, even if it didn't seem so to anyone else. Oh, well. The voyage beckoned, and I heeded its call.
There was no doubt that the woman’s body would be discovered, like all the others before her, and everyone would know who did it. Unfortunately for them, I was like a vagrant ghost, impossible to catch, impossible to impound. I was a star to them, the one crook impossible to lay hands upon. My obsession had fueled me to take extreme and clever approaches to finding my star, and it paid off — no one would ever stand in my way. It seemed miraculous that it had worked until now, but perhaps the heavens were more friendly to me than I thought, giving me a second chance at getting the star. Or perhaps, they were toying with me, allowing me freedom to snatch uselessly at the stars, enjoying watching the pathetic, heartbroken, obsessed mortal reaching, never catching.
It didn’t matter. I would never stop reaching, snatching. I repeat this for emphasis. I am a sharpened edge, honed to a perfect cutting state to slice through the odds and allow the sweet nectar to gush forth. Would I achieve it? Of course I would. Of course I wouldn’t. I don’t even know which. All I know is that I can keep trying, never stop. That’s the least I can do. Otherwise, I may as well be dead. It almost seems that death would give me respite from this dilemma, but I rejected the idea; the potential gain was too much to ignore.
I opened the room window, leaped through like a cat anxious for the outdoors, squinting my eyes against the cold air. I closed the window again, and then worked my way down to the alley floor, landing lightly. As I walked, I took out the woman’s picture, now finding no beauty in its charming subject. A failed, burnt out star. Another leg in this insane voyage of mine. There was no need for it. I withdrew another necessary item of my trek: a lighter. The small flame at hungrily at the picture, devouring it and making it smoke and curl into black, charred remains. I tossed the ash across the alley, scattering it across the snow as I emerged back onto the street. Would I try to find another woman in another pub tonight? Would I rest, wrestling with the aches and dilemma in my head? I did not know. All I knew is that I would only keep moving. That was all I had.
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