The Magic of the Meteors

By John Barber

“Shush, Abigail! I’m just getting to the good part!”

I sigh and lean back in my ancient rocker. To my right, blasts of heat from the open fireplace roll over me like the flames of Hades. Toasty, Jack calls it.

I feel like I’ve been here before.

Across the room, my brother Jack leans forward in his chair, propping his elbows against the massive oak slab we call a dining table. His handsome face glows in the flickering light.

“There I was,” Jack whispers. “Hidden beneath the floorboards, barely breathing, listening to the dull thumping of the creature’s footsteps—”

I resign myself to the nonsense spilling from his lips. A childish narrative. The vast majority of his various fairy tales proclaim his title as a hero. The giant slayer, he calls himself.

I used to find it adorable. Lately, though, it just makes me feel… weary. Like I’ve heard it too many times.

The fireplace crackles fiercely at my side, and my skin begins to itch. It’s too hot here.

I scoot to the edge of the rocker and force myself to stand. My legs shake pitifully as I hobble across the weathered floorboards to the window and peer outside.

Rolling hills, thick with overgrown grass and blanketed in the nighttime darkness. The sky is clear, and quiet.

I lean both hands against the window, then press my forehead against the cool glass. How long has it been since I’ve stepped outside? How long since I’ve touched nature’s vibrant green carpet with my own skin? The desire for fresh air threatens to devour me, and I gaze longingly at the door, just a few meters away.

Quiet footsteps pad across the floorboards behind me. “Are you sure we’re going to see meteors tonight, Abby?” Jack’s curly blond hair falls over his eyes like a mop, and the smile he offers me is tired, but hopeful. It’s well past his bedtime already.

My cracked lips stretch into a grin. I turn away from the door to tussle his hair. Wide green eyes fixate on mine. “Of course we are.”

His mouth gapes in a giant yawn, and he slumps against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his slender frame and stare out the window, searching for a first glimpse.

A fiery spark glitters across the black sky.

“Jack!” Frantic with excitement, I shake his shoulder. “The meteors! I found them!”

Jack rubs his eyes and peers out the window. “I don’t see anything.”

“There!” I point as another speck of light blazes past. “Upper left, about a hand’s-length down from the window frame. Keep watching. There’ll be more.”

Another meteor streaks by. I stare as the flickering heat trail vanishes into nothing.

“I see it!” A small, content smile spreads across Jack’s face, and I can’t resist grinning in return. “How did you know they’d appear today?”

“Uncle told me. He called them the Perseids and said they fall to Earth every August, without fail.” I nudge Jack’s shoulder. “Do you like them?”

“They’re great. Magic is great.”

I frown. “Magic?”

“Yeah.” Jack looks up to meet my gaze, his eyes filled with wonder. “The meteors. They’re trapped in time. They fall to Earth every year just to appear again in heaven the next summer. Like an eternal sled ride that God offers them. Isn’t it magical?”

“No, it’s not.” I squeeze my lips together, hard. My head begins to pound. This had been going so well. I’ve explained this before, and Jack should comprehend it as well as I do by now. “I’ve told you there’s no such thing as magic,” I say through gritted teeth. “Whatever you claim, William’s death was just an accident.”

I can still see my little cousin William, striking a ridiculous pose by the roadside, seconds before the gravel quaked, the sky darkened, and a boulder rolled off the cliff above him.

“These meteors aren’t magical either,” I continue. “They’re debris. Trash. Rocks in space that crash into our sky, burst into flames, and, eventually, burn away into nothingness.”

The silence stretches between us, and my skin begins to crawl. My breath catches in my throat like a gumdrop. Why won’t he understand? I can’t go through this again.

“If they’re going to burn away,” Jack asks, slowly, “how do they escape?”

Rage bubbles up like a geyser in my stomach, and I scream. “They can’t get out, Jack! Don’t you get it? They’re already dead!”

Jack jerks away from me. His head slams against the window frame and he collapses.

“Jack?” I edge closer.

Slowly, he tucks inward, curling his body like an infant, hands wrapped around his head.

“Jack?”

“You’re not,” he murmurs.

I suck in a heavy breath, my lungs aching with relief. He’s still talking. He’ll be fine. “Not what, Jack?”

“Not dead. You can still escape.”

I crouch beside him. Pain flares in my knees, and my shaking body threatens to collapse at any time. But it doesn’t, not yet. “What do I need to escape from?”

Jack finally turns to face me. Tears roll down his cheeks, and his lips quiver. I run my withered hands through his hair, feeling for an injury. Swelling, blood, anything. But I can’t find it.

“Jack? What must I escape from?”

“The magic of the meteors,” he whispers.

Heat prickles in my neck, spreading to burn across my back. I’m hot. So hot. How did I not notice before?

I gaze around the room. When did it grow so dark?

I turn back to Jack, but there’s nobody there.

“Jack?”

I stare into the dimness, barely able to discern my own hands. My heart jolts frantically inside my chest. But after a few seconds, waves of fiery light pierce the cabin once more, and I recline in relief, easing against the wooden back of my rocker.

That’s not right. When did I return to my rocking chair?

“Jack, what’s going on?”

“Shush, Abigail! I’m just getting to the good part!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Barber is an amateur writer with high hopes of becoming a genuine, published author. He loves God and strives to put Him first. When he’s not contemplating his future or brainstorming for new world building possibilities, you can find him flailing in the grass at a weekend volleyball tournament.