by Landen Morris
The vast emptiness of space resonated as the moon shone bright over the valley of Miras, beaming through the unidentifiable wood of alien trees that made up the foliage. Deeper into the valley, where the moonlight could not reach but the stars and planets appeared blissfully in the sky, where the nature of the universe truly was made, was an astronomer’s dream they longingly awaited for.
Those who dream of the stars rarely get to study the stars. Those who dream of planets rarely get to feel the dust and the ground anywhere other than Earth itself. Those who dream of venturing into space, exploring the emptiness that brings them their desires in life, never leave the confines of an office, reading off the screen, communicating to those lucky enough to be chasing their dreams and succeeding in doing so.
Deeper into the valley, an observatory dome—small, nearly swallowed by the alien foliage like a snake devours its prey—lay hidden from most maps and known only to those handful of dreamers that not only escaped their lives on Earth, but who dream to die away from Earth.
The observatory stood with its glass panels dusted with decades of sand and pollen, its instruments long powered down, abandoned by all forms of sentient life. Vines of an iridescent purple had grown through the cracks of the foundation, waving and curling gently around the rusted railings, matching the breathing of the distant stars as they shined and flashed.
As the celestial alignment strengthened, dust on the ground lifted in gentle spirals, rising as though gravity itself were reconsidering its hold on this isolated place. The shadows warped, stretching and trembling, all from the shift of the moons flying by at a rapid pace. Broken lenses scattered through the underbrush flickered and glistened with reflections of lights beyond this world they rested on, showcasing the outreaches of galaxies, echoes of planets, and beams from distant stars.
Something inside of the observatory hummed faintly; electricity surged through the cables and briefly flickered as the moon went by. The electromagnetic field disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the brief life of the observatory was met with a swift end.
With the absence of people, the valley seemed to breathe, as if relieved to finally be alone with the universe it was built to commune with. And as the starlit pattern reached its completion, and the sky shifted, the light intensified, not from above but from within the valley itself. The iridescent life pulsed as if they had their own heartbeats.
The stars above gave their own response to the light, shifting not into a pattern, but into a colossal eye, gazing down as if the universe itself had turned its attention to this forgotten vale. The eye stared, the fauna glared, and the celestial pupil shifted in every color known to man—the eye of the universe, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-revealing.
Author Bio
Landen J. Morris lives in Cumberland, Kentucky. He is an undergraduate student at Morehead State University studying English and plans to pursue an MFA in Creative Writing after graduation. He serves as a juror for his university’s literary and visual arts journal, Inscape, and is the president of the university’s writing club. In addition to exploring the imaginative realms of fantasy and science-fiction, he is an Appalachian writer at heart, seeking to encapsulate the beauty, complexity, and spirit of the region within his work.
Instagram – @landenwroteit
Substack – https://substack.com/@landenwroteit
