Dark Star

by Oliver Langmead

  I call out again, rounding the last bend

  In the wide stairway, crunching across glass

  Reflecting red and the orange glowing.

  And there he is, Mister Cancer, bleeding

  From what’s left of his skull, gun still in hand,

  Sat in a chair along one balcony,

  Unseeing eyes watching the fading sun.

  Beside him is the source of the glowing.

  It’s a black chandelier filled with candles,

  I count six, all lit and shining brightly,

  Wavering softly, orange in the dark.

  I join him on the balcony. The sun

  Is nearly gone now, no more than a smudge

  Of crimson against the black, our dark star

  Turning dark once again, all light leaving.

  From my bag, I find the Heart replica

  And place it gently in Cancer’s free hand,

  Making sure he’s got a tight grip on it

  And removing the gun from his other.

  I weigh it in my hand, a heavy piece,

  Still loaded. I press it against my skull.

  Then, in one motion, I throw it away,

  Send it spinning over the balcony.

  Instead, I move a chair beside Cancer

  And rest myself on it, remove my coat

  And try to work out what it was he saw

  Up there in the sky when he killed himself.

  I roll my sleeve up and watch the last light

  Vanish from the sky, the last bit of red,

  That blushing, fragile, smiling, crimson red,

  As it fades and turns back to a blackness.

  I take my belt and wind it round my arm,

  Flexing my fist and biting the leather,

  Tightening it until I can see veins,

  Making the loop complete, dividing me.

  The brown paper bag contains three needles,

  But one is enough, glowing with pale light.

  I hold the needle tight between my teeth

  And stare at the sun until it’s gone black.

  Then, at that moment, by the needle’s light,

  I find that bulging vein and puncture it,

  Pressing down on the plunger and forcing

  The liquid light quickly into my veins.

  I loosen the belt, find myself gasping,

  The rush of the drug sudden, dizzying.

  I watch as my dull veins begin to glow,

  Only a low light, barely even there.

  I have moments before the high hits me,

  And I use them taking deep breaths of air,

  Filling my lungs with the city’s darkness.

  I can hear weeping and wailing below.

  The city has returned to its darkness,

  But not me. I found a way to escape.

  The high hits me and I’m made of glowing.

  I can feel the light coursing through my veins.

  The candles are no more than little stumps,

  Mostly burned away and looking ancient.

  I run my hand through the small, orange flames,

  Watch them dance and gush around my fingers.

  There’s an old legend told about candles,

  That if you blow one out, you get a wish.

  I take a deep breath and blow them all out,

  Fragile flames gone, and I don’t make a wish.

  ***

  ‘Virgil!’ She sounds scared, so I sprint to her,

  Almost tripping over labelled boxes

  And scattered bits of brand-new furniture

  To get through to her in the dining room.

  ‘What? What is it?’ She’s lit the bulb in here,

  And by it we can see the wooden beams

  Crossing the ceiling. She points up at one

  That looks scarred, like someone’s been chewing it.

  I take a breath and fetch the stepladder,

  Squeeze her hand before climbing it to see.

  I was right, something has been eating it.

  ‘Woodworm,’ I tell her. ‘But they’re long gone now.’

  ‘The ceiling’s not gonna fall in?’ she asks.

  I laugh, smile and put my arms around her.

  ‘It won't. Don’t worry. You're safe here with me.’

  She kisses me at the edge of my chin.

  May Phos shine upon you

  Illustration by Darren Kerrigan

  Acknowledgements

  With thanks to:

  Kirsty Gunn

  James Stewart

  Robert Dinsdale

  George Sandison

  The Making of Dark Star

  The sun has set on Vox, but the story doesn’t have to end there. Now delve deeper into Dark Star's world with Unsung.

  Read interviews with Oliver Langmead and get insights into his creative process.

  Find out more about epic verse and how the classics influenced his work.

  Delve into the real-life effects of living without light, and their use in Dark Star.

  Explore the pieces that influenced the author and this work.

  Follow the creative journey that inspired the book’s cover artwork.

  Discover more online

  www.unsungstories.co.uk/darkstar

  Keep in touch

  “Everything has to come to an end, sometime.”

  L. Frank Baum, The Marvelous Land of Oz

  Just not right now.

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