by Avis Hickman-Gibb
He is soaring above with Angels; consorting with quasars; riding the solar winds from Antares, Aldebaran, Rigel; Andromeda.
Deep in the core of a blackness, spectacular gravity pulls sparks down through the nuclear fire, and he dwells amidst the eddies – revelling in the pull of the strange. Then on, and passing into the perfect null of the heart lying there.
This is a consciousness so real – he could touch the fragrant rings of Saturn; leap upon the fiery skin of Betelgeuse; dance within the inner ring of the frozen rim of a galaxy’s hub.
An existence more valid than the earth-bound body giving him thought; anchoring him tightly.
Eyes closed in concentration, in inner space – he is singing magnificent trills of perfect harmony; performing a ballet of fluid movement easily executed within the shells of the simplest energy form; flashing glorious colours through dark matter – trembling iridescence against an ink black void.
And always, seductive mathematical equations bubble through his mind – glowing in their clarity, radiant jewels of understanding rippling down to a meticulous recording of facts, theorems, hypotheses, and probabilities. The beautiful mechanics of the universe, laid bare at his feet.
Immortality is in the unravelling of a string.
Avis Hickman-Gibb is a new writer, living in rural Suffolk, England with her husband, one son and two cats. She’s had stories published in Every Day Fiction, Twisted Tongue, and Shine! and has up coming stories in Bewildering Stories and The Boston Literary Magazines. She is currently working on a book of short stories and is addicted to writing flash fiction.