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    The Stars Will Guide Us Back
    The Stars Will Guide Us Back
    The Stars Will Guide Us Back
    Ebook140 pages1 hour

    The Stars Will Guide Us Back

    By Rue Sparks

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In The Stars Will Guide Us Back, thirteen short stories encapsulating the elements of speculative fiction and magical realism travel the themes of mental health, loss, mortality, self-confidence, and finding hope through difficult circumstances. Explore the immersive worlds within, along with a range of peculiar, distinct, and queer characters.

     

    Sometimes confidence comes from knowing we have no other choice, and the ones who rescue us come from the strangest places. Dark and light collide in this collection that highlights the liminal spaces of the human experience.

     

    Praise for The Stars Will Guide Us Back:

     

    "Rue Sparks uses their writing to do exactly what science fiction and fantasy is supposed to do -- hold up a mirror to our reality that startles us out of complacency and makes us see our world in new and profound ways. While only a few pages each, the stories in The Stars Will Guide Us Back are tender, terrifying, and at times heartbreaking. They will cling to you long after you finish reading."

    - C. Vandyke, President and Editor-in-Chief of Skullgate Media, Author of Postcards From NeoTokyo

     

    "This is a collection that dances between the sublime and wonder found in the mundane spectacularly. Sparks' characteristic poetic prose and ability to blend whimsy and reality frames the narratives perfectly, and lures the reader into always reading just a little more to indulge further in the rich imaginative tales they craft."

    - Rory Michaelson, Author of Lesser Known Monsters

     

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    Content Warnings:
    Apocalypse/End of the World Scenario, Brief Mentions of Toxic Masculinity, Depression & Anxiety, Cosmic Events, Domestic Violence (Off-screen/Implied), Gaslighting, Grief & Loss, Homophobia (Verbal), Mentions of Unsupportive Parenting, Terminal Illness

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRue Sparks
    Release dateJun 22, 2021
    ISBN9781737166429
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    Author

    Rue Sparks

    Rue Sparks, Writer | Artist A widow, disabled, and a member of the queer community, Rue Sparks traverses the equally harsh and cathartic landscape where trauma and healing align to create stories that burrow into the hearts and minds of their readers. In addition to The Stars Will Guide Us Back, Sparks has authored the novella Daylight Chasers, writes the web serial The Dragon Warden, and will be releasing the contemporary mystery novel The Fable of Wren later in 2021. They live in Noblesville, Indiana in the USA with their sweet senior support dog and still draw and paint when they’re physically able.

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      Book preview

      The Stars Will Guide Us Back - Rue Sparks

      1

      A New Color of Sunrise

      A sun

      I’ve been staring at my account for half an hour, but it doesn’t change. No matter how much I will it, no money magically appears.

      There’s a new color. They say it is best viewed during sunset, though the sunrise is a close second. Like nothing anyone has seen before, they say.

      They said that about the last color too, I say to no one. It echoes off the rusted metal walls of my workshop, taking detours around crowbars and hammers, finding its end in the heat of the furnace.

      They also said it about the last smell. The last touch. A few colors before were described as ‘life-changing’ and ‘the greatest discovery of the millennia.’

      Isolated in my shop, pounding away at wares for the fortunate and famous to decorate their lavish homes, I’d missed all of them.

      The last color I missed because I got sick and lost several weeks of pay.

      The new smell before that I missed when my brother broke his arm and needed a cast.

      Before that, it was a leaky roof.

      Before that, my bike needed repairs.

      I blink three times in quick succession to close my account window, pull the NuSight glasses from my face, set them on the table.

      No point in dreaming today.

      Clients come and go, their chatter an abrasive staccato.

      Did you see the new color? one asks. Breathtaking, isn’t it?

      Can you paint it the new color? is met with an unsatisfactory ‘No,’ costing me a consignment.

      Why ever not? she asks, and I don’t have it in me to explain about copyright and proprietary data.

      When the bevy of clients evens out, I’m able to forget about the new color for the next several hours. It’s a hot day, hotter still near the furnace. The sweat creeps down my face, my neck. I’m sure I’m covered in soot and dirt by the time the sun sets.

      I allow myself to watch it, cooling myself off in the now-frigid air. I watch my normal sunset with the normal colors and try to not feel bitter.

      New color or no, it’s still beautiful.

      I feel wrung out and sore when my alarm goes off the next morning, the sound grating. I’m brushing my teeth, still in a daze when I hear the high-pitched beeping of the glasses. I figure it may be a new client. I spit out the foamy toothpaste, go back to the bedroom where I’d left them.

      It’s from an address I don’t recognize but takes up the whole screen. The message is one line, a sans serif font in red: "See What They See."

      My head tells me to swipe it away, but my gut tells me to click on it.

      I notice nothing new at first until I turn towards where the curtains block the window. There is a sliver of color, a halo around the reds and oranges peeking through the curtains.

      I move quickly, nearly tripping over last nights’ clothes in my hurry. I pull the curtains back. The sun is just making its way into the sky, surrounded by pinks, oranges — and whatever it was they called the new color.

      For a moment, I only breathe. My thoughts become dim, muted in the sight. There are no words to describe it.

      They said the sunrise was a close second?

      I can’t imagine a more beautiful sight than this.

      When the hack is finally caught by the manufacturers, long after the sun has risen, the color leaves my sight. There is still a smile on my face.

      Did you see the new color? a client asks later that day, and I shake my head with a crooked smile, the secret a precious thing reserved for only me.

      The memory of the color will fade. But for a moment, I owned the world.

      2

      Fear Not the Gods

      A fist clutching a lightning bolt

      I often wonder what the gods thought would happen upon their return. Maybe they thought we needed guidance, that their magnanimous but firm hand would turn the human race into a thing of universal beauty.

      They probably didn’t expect a war. I wonder how omnipotent beings didn’t see it coming. If there’s one universal human trait, it’s that we don’t like to be told what we can and cannot be. Even by our creators.

      But it’s not the gods I fear. It’s men.

      You cannot be serious? I say through clenched teeth. My compatriot grimaces at my tone, baring his teeth in his annoyance. He turns away and continues setting the charge.

      We’re three hundred feet below street level in one of the gods’ free cities. They’re utopias where humanity enjoys equanimity and safety … provided they worship the hands that feed them.

      You think I got time to joke? he says, straightening when the last one is ready and grabbing the roll of wire by the dowels on either side of the plastic base. He lets it loose as he walks backward. I follow behind him at a clip.

      I was told this was a reckon mission, not that we were going to blow up part of a city and all the citizens in it! I rush forward, grab either side of the roll by the dowels so he can’t keep moving away from me. I did not agree to this.

      Of course you did, he says with a sneer, face smudged with dirt and grease from our trip into the undercity. What, you think those people up there are innocent? They chose their side; now they can pay for it.

      He tries to yank the roll back, but I hold tight. My voice is steel. I. Did. Not. Agree. To. This.

      He jerks the roll out of my hands, glaring daggers at me. You didn’t have to. The tone holds no room for argument. You can do your duty or die with them.

      He continues moving back, and after a moment I follow him.

      I wait until we’re out of sight of the charge, nearly out of the undercity, when in a moment of trust, he turns his back to me to pick up the pack we’d abandoned.

      The shot from my pistol is muffled by the silencer. No echo to sound my betrayal, to sound the alarm for our troops nearby. The shot through his neck is an instant kill.

      His body drops. I catch it, wary of setting off the still active charge. I’m debating my next move when I first hear, then feel the rumbling ground beneath my feet. There’s a white-hot shot of fear in my chest as I remember the still active bomb in the undercity. I’m debating whether I have time to deactivate it before the earthquake sets it off, when the ground above my head is suddenly peeled back, as if the crust of the city were nothing but a thin layer of wrapping paper around me. I dodge rocks and bits of steel as debris falls.

      When the sunlight strikes my eyes, I turn my face upward and face the God I knew had found me.

      3

      Follow the Sun

      An open book with the sun rising from its pages

      Place the items on the cloth, the witch instructs. Align them with the heart in the center, the rest in a circle around. Let yourself feel where each piece belongs; they’ll let you know.

      Cienna is not so sure but does as she’s told. The heart is the gold-plated fountain pen she had been gifted by her father long before he died. The other supplies she spreads around it: a rosebud from her family’s garden where she grew up; her favorite childhood book, the pages yellowed, tattered, and spine creased; the last letter she received from her father; the obituary from her sister’s death when she was a child.

      With every item placed she closes her eyes and does as instructed, feeling where they belong in the circle. She places the remaining knick-knacks before letting out a drained sigh, surprised at how much effort it has taken to complete.

      Good, the witch whispers near her ear. Now, remember, I told you this part requires sacrifice.

      The blood, Cienna says with a nod. I’m willing to do what has to be done.

      The witch’s mouth twitches in a slight smile, her crow’s feet crinkling in amusement at Cienna’s eagerness. Yes, that too. But remember, these items will be sacrificed as well. As will a part of you. Nothing comes from nothing, you understand? Are you certain of your path?

      Cienna breathes in the scent of mugwort and rose that wafts from the nearby incense, gaze hazy on the circle of items.

      Yes, she says. My path is clear. This is what I was meant to do.

      The witch nods and picks up a dagger from a table next to the altar. She gently takes Cienna’s hand and makes a delicate slice along her finger. Cienna winces at the pain; for all that it’s not deep, it bleeds quickly. The witch draws the finger along her own palm, a streak of blood remaining on the witch’s hand.

      The deed done, Cienna watches with horrified curiosity as the witch turns towards the altar and wraps the cloth over the items, one side then another, folding it inward over and over again as

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