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“Raise your eyes to the skies, boy,” he said. “If you are scared, if you are scared raise your eyes. Don’t talk, don’t touch, just listen. Just listen and wait.”

“Sir.”

“And when you get there, hold out your palm,” he said with his palm in the air. “Hold out your palm and await your reward. It’ll come.”

“Sir.”

“And do not be afraid, boy. For we are with you, we are with you always.”

“Sir.”

“Now, ahead with you, boy. Ahead with you and may this God be by your side.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, boy.”

And he released the hatch and sent my body into the never-endingness. My hands clutched tight at my chest. My eyes squeezing tears. The rhythmic hiss of the oxygen tanks on my back. The fear in my breath that fogs my mask. All of these things are with me as I float in the black, slowly gliding on a three week journey toward that place that we go for a rendezvous with whomever.

And uncertainty is my partner. My co-pilot; faith. My dreams; my map. My words...

My words...unavailable.

And I landed.

And I waited.

And three weeks turned to three months turned to three years turned to...

...to now.

I've walked this world and it hasn't happened yet. Back and forth and back and forth and it's yet to strike me. He said to wait. To open myself and expand my heart and my mind and my me...and it would happen.

It hasn't happened yet.

The loneliness. The pain. The drifting. The walking.

The change.

The change in me. In my appearance. In my way.

I've become one of them. One of those things. Those things that were already here. The whomever? Not sure. They leave me be. They leave me to myself.

Myself.

Myself is all I am. And I'm changing. And I'm scared.

And I raise my eyes to the skies. But there is nothing. There is nothing but the walking.

And the walking.

And the walking.

And the waiting.

When will it come? He said it would come. He said it would happen.

It hasn't happened yet.

And so I walk. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait.

For the story to come.

Science fiction. Ingenuity. Echoes of my world. Reflections of familiar.  The fiction. The fiction will come. When my real is asleep. When this real seeps in. When this world is part of me. When I'm ready.

I must not be ready.

When my mind is open. When my heart is open. When it comes for me. Then I'll be ready.

When will it come for me?

When?

The skies tell me nothing.

But I'll wait. And I'll walk. Until it comes. Until I'm ready.

And I will.

And I will.

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