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bluedreaming) wrote in
writetomyheart2015-10-28 04:47 pm
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[team sonic] you be the moon
you be the moon
First words from Stay.
Title from Begin Again (HEALTH REMIX) by Purity Ring
Inspired by NASA’s Curiosity Rover that sings itself Happy Birthday alone on Mars.
"I'm still here," Jackson Rover says every dawn as he watches the sun rising over the rusty red of the Martian landscape. It's not a complaint or a victorious shout against the odds. It just is, a simple fact, a statement of the obvious that keeps him grounded, even as he does the same things over and over again, photographing and taking measurements and monitoring the weather and temperature and checking for signs of life that never appear.
"I'm still here." The closest thing would be a prayer, except he's not praying to any god in particular, just a kind of mantra he repeats in slow motion, one day after the other, one sunset, one sunrise, the red of the sky and the red of the ground and he starts over again.
"I'm still here."
Today is his birthday. March 28. Jackson Rover could count back easily, calculate how old he is, how long it's been since the ship dropped him here and kept spinning further out into space, but he doesn't. He wonders instead where his fellow brother Rovers are. Rovers can't cry, but he'd hugged BamBam before he left, whispered into his ear,
"Whenever you miss me, just look at the red spot in the sky and know that I've waving back, okay?"
And BamBam had nodded, words stuck in his vocalizer. He's probably on Europa, Jackson thinks, poor guy in the snow and ice, but there's nothing he can do about it.
It's his birthday, but Jackson Rover doesn't know how old he is, or have a cake to put candles on to blow out again and put away for next year. He can't eat cake anyway, just the wind and the sun that he processes to keep himself going. But he can sing himself "Happy Birthday", a signpost in this eternity stretching out before him, and so he does.
"Happy Birthday to me," he sings, his vocalizer a little rusty from disuse.
"Happy Birthday me," as the sun peers over the red hills and the sky blooms pink.
"Happy Birthday dear Jackson," and he stretches out his arms to the light.
"Happy Birthday to me."
The sun finishes rising, the sky pale and cold. Another year has come again. Jackson raises his head and looks out into space, at the tiny stars and duller planets twinkling, and waves at BamBam, wherever he might be.
"I'm still here," he says quietly. "I'm still here."
I'm still here.
This is for
lattelotus (only if she wants).
First words from Stay.
Title from Begin Again (HEALTH REMIX) by Purity Ring
Inspired by NASA’s Curiosity Rover that sings itself Happy Birthday alone on Mars.
"I'm still here," Jackson Rover says every dawn as he watches the sun rising over the rusty red of the Martian landscape. It's not a complaint or a victorious shout against the odds. It just is, a simple fact, a statement of the obvious that keeps him grounded, even as he does the same things over and over again, photographing and taking measurements and monitoring the weather and temperature and checking for signs of life that never appear.
"I'm still here." The closest thing would be a prayer, except he's not praying to any god in particular, just a kind of mantra he repeats in slow motion, one day after the other, one sunset, one sunrise, the red of the sky and the red of the ground and he starts over again.
"I'm still here."
Today is his birthday. March 28. Jackson Rover could count back easily, calculate how old he is, how long it's been since the ship dropped him here and kept spinning further out into space, but he doesn't. He wonders instead where his fellow brother Rovers are. Rovers can't cry, but he'd hugged BamBam before he left, whispered into his ear,
"Whenever you miss me, just look at the red spot in the sky and know that I've waving back, okay?"
And BamBam had nodded, words stuck in his vocalizer. He's probably on Europa, Jackson thinks, poor guy in the snow and ice, but there's nothing he can do about it.
It's his birthday, but Jackson Rover doesn't know how old he is, or have a cake to put candles on to blow out again and put away for next year. He can't eat cake anyway, just the wind and the sun that he processes to keep himself going. But he can sing himself "Happy Birthday", a signpost in this eternity stretching out before him, and so he does.
"Happy Birthday to me," he sings, his vocalizer a little rusty from disuse.
"Happy Birthday me," as the sun peers over the red hills and the sky blooms pink.
"Happy Birthday dear Jackson," and he stretches out his arms to the light.
"Happy Birthday to me."
The sun finishes rising, the sky pale and cold. Another year has come again. Jackson raises his head and looks out into space, at the tiny stars and duller planets twinkling, and waves at BamBam, wherever he might be.
"I'm still here," he says quietly. "I'm still here."
This is for
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