one day, my fifth grade science class, in the middle of our unit on astronomy, watched a television special on the life cycle of stars. we couldn't actually see much of anything in the sky at night, living as we did in the middle of the city, so computer graphics were the closest we could get to reality. i remember most of the class, in particular the boys, being so enthralled by the simulated clips of supernovae exploding in violent, colorful ribbons of vapors and flame that they couldn't concentrate on the rest of the show. i can't say i was all that different in that regard, really.

at the very end of the special, the narrator explained white dwarfs. after a star's burned all it can, cast off all of its excess mass, it finally shrinks into itself, like an old man in the last few years of his life spurning all of his material possessions and retreating into his shell. "eventually," the narrator intoned, as a giant luminous ball on screen slowly faded away, "the star cools down so much that it can no longer produce light, and goes dark."

it didn't really hit me for the rest of the day. i went home like always, walking together with my best friend until she and i parted ways in front of the train station. i ate dinner with my family as i did every night, getting into another fight with my brother over who would get the extra serving of fish. i took a long bath, just the way i liked to, and pulled myself into bed shortly after nine. peacefully, i fell asleep, and i --

the next thing i know, i'm standing on the surface of a distant planet, and i can see this giant bright white ball of gas, surrounded by an endless field of little dots of light. i turn myself around and around, craning my head to look at every nook and cranny of the sky illuminated above me. the cosmos are stretching out before me, the very embodiment of incomprehensible majesty and wonder, and i want to take all of it in. i reach my arms out as if to embrace everything i can see around me, but --

gradually, i realize that it's getting darker and darker, and as i look more closely at the sky, i notice some of the stars starting to grow dim and fade out, as if suddenly --

my uncle was an electrician. i got the chance to watch him work once, when i was about five, down at an old warehouse that was being renovated. it was a cavernous place, easily large enough to fit at least two or three copies of my childhood house inside its walls.

the ceiling was studded with a grid of halogen lamps. my uncle pointed them out to me as we walked around to the control panel. "before i start working," he told me, "i have to make sure to turn off the electricity, so that it's safe to touch the wiring." he then took a finger to the switches on the panel and shut them off one by one, letting the darkness encroach ever closer --

and finally, the sun, my own sun, gives its last gasp and flickers out.

i stand there in the endless shadow for some time, waiting for some light to emerge from it, for someone to flip that switch --

"mom?"

i call out tentatively into the void.

"dad?"

no response.

i panic. i yell for anyone whose name i can remember, and a few whose names i can't. i scream for someone to come find me, help me, save me. i cry a high-pitched wail of loneliness, tears streaming down my face, but nothing -- all of it just seems to be sucked into the black, and i know at that moment that i am utterly, totally --

alone.

i woke up that night in a cold sweat, my mother having heard my screams and come rushing into my room. when i came to, she'd already turned on the lights and was holding me tightly, whispering to me that everything was fine. she was there, she said, and there wasn't anything for me to be afraid of. i didn't know how to tell her what i'd just seen, how to tell her that she was wrong and that i'd found something that scared me like nothing else could. all i could do was stare out of the window behind her, my gaze swallowed by the darkness that i could see beyond.

from then on, i could no longer bear to properly look at the night sky.