The Fallen

It all started in the middle of the night. The brightest star in our sky suddenly shattered. Pieces came shooting down onto our land, leaving behind trails of fire and smoke in their midst. Burning with colors of gold and violet, they glowed like coals. Every piece of the fallen star burned with pure energy. So hot that anyone who dared to step within a foot would suffer. They would be branded with the symbol of the devil, then day after painful day, their bodies would slowly start to deteriorate into dust. Starting from the branding, slowly spreading like a disease through their body. This is where the term star-dust came from. When the branded ones passed away, their ashes were saved in their memory. Whenever a teardrop fell into the ashes, they would sparkle and sizzle, leaving behind a sensation like no other. A sensation of pure acceptance and love for the universe and everything in it. As weeks passed by, our moon began to bleed. It bled for our family, it bled for our friends, it bled for the war that created more sin. The moon turned from a bright cerulean blue to orange; from orange to a carmine red--so dark that it disturbed even the strongest of us. Once it was fully discolored, the clouds began dripping. Almost like rain, the blood came. Softly at first, then progressively it came down harder and harder. We all stayed inside, no one left their homes until it was over. Those were the nights of my childhood, the nights that left me still screaming and shaking in terror at night.