Their Eyes Held Darkness

“See Tom, can you see the eclipse?” asked the boy's grandad, the boy on his lap as he sat on his chair in the garden.

“Yes, grandad.”

They both wore protective goggles, and when the moon was obscuring the neighboring blue sun, his grandad asked, “Did I ever tell you the story of when I saw the Monastery of the Definitive Star?”

The Monastery of the Definitive Star was on the planet my mum and dad had landed on to look for work when I was a child, and they told me to keep my head down.

“Why?” I asked them.

“Because they could do to you what they do to the none obedient planets and stars,” they said, and I nodded, not knowing the magnitude of what they meant.

Things became clearer one day when I saw their ‘definitive’ ceremony. The hundreds of faceless black hooded monks chanted and entered the monastery. I was far back enough on an overlooking hill to watch as the cathedral opened its roof, and outraised a black, twisted laser.

I couldn’t see that well, but there seemed to be a figure tied to the bottom of it.

I watched as the laser shoot a beam through the sky, blasting into the distance to the star.

The star exploded.

“Cool.” Said my newfound friend beside me, a jobbing mechanic like myself.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Some far-off civilization didn’t agree with them, I guess.” My friend put his hands in his pockets, “so they used the conduit to their advantage, once again.”

“The what?”

“Something to do with the bearer of dark matter. What do you care?”

“No reason.”

Now, I don’t have a problem with religion. I’ve heard for some they can lead to great light. Everyone is looking for the light through the dark. But some paths, I have found, just lead to even more darkness.

Some nights later I kicked a ball in the near-perfect dark near the monastery precinct on one early night.

Before I left for home, I spotted a girl in rags. She was small, pale, and hairless. I asked if she wanted to play ball with me. She agreed with a smile. We played, and we even laughed, and then I heard my parents calling in the distance. That girl, I never remembered her name. I will always remember her eyes though. Completely black, with a rim of indigo. And something struck me about them. They held darkness. They held all the darkness of the universe.

When the old man finished his story, he wiped away a tear and realized his grandson had slipped away into sleep. He smiled, and gave one last look at the eclipse, before carrying him into the house.