On further reflection, it seems horribly pretentious for an unpublished author to post about writing. Why don’t you read this short story of mine instead? I’d love to hear comments, if anybody has them. It’s a short riff on gravity, love, and the music of the spheres, informed by a little research on comets and atmospheric formation.
A Planetary Romance
Now hear this: before everything we know, there was Yriah.
She was young, and there was no memory in her of anything but the fire that kindled inside her when first she was formed. The deep swirl of heat was her life in those days, and upon her face nothing yet lived, for she rode endlessly alone in a void chill and dark, warmed by the sun on first one side, and then another. Nothing spoke to her, and nothing heard her lonely song, though afar off she saw other lights great and small. Long and long she sang it, watching the spheres turn about her, for though she heard their music it was at a great distance. Her own molten heart was in harmony with it, but when she tried to join it her voice was swallowed by everything else, and no one even knew that she sang.
Yriah wept. There was more in her, she knew, more than the desolation on her face, more than the magnetic pulse of each secluded turn. And when great Iunder streaked past with his white-hot hair blowing behind him, he heard her.
“Dear lady,” he sang to her, most politely, “why do you weep? I would not have thought one so lovely and round capable of any dissatisfaction.”
Yriah sniffled, and the sniffle cracked her surface. “Oh, kind sir! You need only look upon me to see that I am naked and alone!”
Iunder felt the drawing force from the heart of her, and he desired her greatly. “But a moment, my darling, and I shall be with you! This may sting you a bit, but once, only once.”
“Yes, you must come to me,” she sang. “I am certain it will be quite agreeable after a moment or two.” And indeed, in a very little time, they were joined in a cataclysm of steam and fire. From that first meeting, a child was born straightaway, torn from the very body of Yriah by Iunder’s potent entrance. He did not go far, that child, but remained close by his parents and drew himself into an orb like his mother, and even when he cooled, still they heard – every so often – a thread of song from him.
But the substance of Iunder cleaved unto Yriah, embracing her always. He was in the clouds that covered her face, now, and in the rain that caressed her. In every crack of her he collected, still heated from their passion, but cooling, and in a very little time, as the lovers reckoned such things, he lay upon her as the seas and rivers, all the lakes, every pond and spring. From the moment he embraced her, Iunder protected Yriah. His was a jealous love, and everything that thereafter happened upon her and was drawn to her, he burned, so that the vapors of their passing became one with him and her.
Of them together was everything green that sprung up from Yriah’s face and under the blue expanse that Iunder became. They began to taste the fascinating chemicals of life and the changes it wrought in their substance, what the plants took from the soil and air, and what they gave in return.
The length of their time together cannot be numbered in years. She held him close and they were as one, all through the generations of invisible, wiggling things, as fish began to swim in the sea and every thing that creeps or crawls was born. As from their union Yriah brought forth things that went on six legs, on four legs, on two, still they were together, and they are together still, cradling each other by the love that also draws everything down toward the heart of Yriah. And whatever moves, whatever breathes, whatever breeds between Earth and Sky is of them, and in them, and made of their substance, so that we are all of us their children, even the smallest ant, and all of the things we make with our hands. A rock, a streak of light, and together they are all that we know.
Oh! Do not forget, my love! Apart we are only. Together we are more.