A Short Scribble on Stars
Aug. 22nd, 2003 12:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
So, I'm a member of
storyseeds (a nifty community run by my friend
griffen and today's storyseed grabbed me so hard that I had to stop what I was doing and write down the idea that formed in my head.
(You can see today's storyseed at http://www.livejournal.com/community/storyseeds/9895.html )
Maybe I'll turn this into a short story. I dunno as yet.
The viewscreen lit up with orange fire, and suddenly everyone on the bridge was busy. The astronomers typed furiously into their consoles, recording their personal impressions of the supernova even as their instruments recorded data at top speed; the captain and crew, meanwhile, monitored the ship's instruments fiercely, prepared at any moment to remove the Sothis from any danger. A star undergoing its catastrophic death throes was not exactly a safe environment.
And what was I doing during all this?
What I should have been doing was furious scribbling into my own notepad, or filling up the photo-cards I'd brought with me, as the star's expanding, shimmering image, dimmed a millionfold and shifted in spectrum to protect the puny carbon-based observers, filled the viewscreen and every console on the bridge. What I should have been doing was taking copious notes for the article I was going to write, the article I was going to amaze everyone with, the further proof of the talent that had won me a coveted slot as a Junior Science Reporter on this ship during my greater school break.
What I was doing was staring slackjawed.
We forget, even though we fly among them, how large stars are. We forget that Terra's own Sun is over a hundred times wider than Terra, for example. This star had been fifty times wider than Terra's Sun, back in its Main Sequence days; now it had been an immense, unbelievably vast red giant.
Then it shrank. And then it exploded. And its incandescent death-throes filled all the viewscreen, all my vision, all my mind, as the star died in a blast of light and nuclear chemistry that was brighter than this entire side of the Galaxy, that was creating carbon and iron and gold even as I watched, elements that might one day form some young slack-jawed, awestruck sentient even as I stood there now, formed of and clothed in the ashes of eons-dead stars, amazed by the death-throes of this massive star.
I don't know how long I stood there gaping, before the captain, hurrying from one side of the bridge to the other, paused to pat me on the back. "Impressive, isn't it?" she commented, and was long gone before I could make my mouth work to form any words. Not that I had any, really. What words could hold such a huge, amazing event?
I know you're going to tell me that if I think this, then I should send this letter in as my article. I don't know, though. I used to think I could write about anything, but this...no matter how I write about it, nothing comes close to the reality of that star, exploding in front of my face.
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(You can see today's storyseed at http://www.livejournal.com/community/storyseeds/9895.html )
Maybe I'll turn this into a short story. I dunno as yet.
The viewscreen lit up with orange fire, and suddenly everyone on the bridge was busy. The astronomers typed furiously into their consoles, recording their personal impressions of the supernova even as their instruments recorded data at top speed; the captain and crew, meanwhile, monitored the ship's instruments fiercely, prepared at any moment to remove the Sothis from any danger. A star undergoing its catastrophic death throes was not exactly a safe environment.
And what was I doing during all this?
What I should have been doing was furious scribbling into my own notepad, or filling up the photo-cards I'd brought with me, as the star's expanding, shimmering image, dimmed a millionfold and shifted in spectrum to protect the puny carbon-based observers, filled the viewscreen and every console on the bridge. What I should have been doing was taking copious notes for the article I was going to write, the article I was going to amaze everyone with, the further proof of the talent that had won me a coveted slot as a Junior Science Reporter on this ship during my greater school break.
What I was doing was staring slackjawed.
We forget, even though we fly among them, how large stars are. We forget that Terra's own Sun is over a hundred times wider than Terra, for example. This star had been fifty times wider than Terra's Sun, back in its Main Sequence days; now it had been an immense, unbelievably vast red giant.
Then it shrank. And then it exploded. And its incandescent death-throes filled all the viewscreen, all my vision, all my mind, as the star died in a blast of light and nuclear chemistry that was brighter than this entire side of the Galaxy, that was creating carbon and iron and gold even as I watched, elements that might one day form some young slack-jawed, awestruck sentient even as I stood there now, formed of and clothed in the ashes of eons-dead stars, amazed by the death-throes of this massive star.
I don't know how long I stood there gaping, before the captain, hurrying from one side of the bridge to the other, paused to pat me on the back. "Impressive, isn't it?" she commented, and was long gone before I could make my mouth work to form any words. Not that I had any, really. What words could hold such a huge, amazing event?
I know you're going to tell me that if I think this, then I should send this letter in as my article. I don't know, though. I used to think I could write about anything, but this...no matter how I write about it, nothing comes close to the reality of that star, exploding in front of my face.
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Date: 2003-08-22 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
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