FALLING
                          by S. Hanken

   The snow fell in large quiet flakes outside, a few sticking to the 
window pane before melting out of existence. The world outside was 
slowly being swallowed by white, made blank. Empty. The way she felt 
inside, her breath fogging the window as she sighed. Shivering, she 
shook her gray and white tabby fur, fluffing it against the constant 
chill in the air. Her tail swished once as if practicing before lying 
still on the floor again, her clawed fingertips tightening in routine 
around the carved arms of her rocking chair. She missed him, but Joe 
wasn't why she felt this way. It was like her life was being swallowed 
up. Disappearing like the dead, dry grass from autumn was, being eaten 
up by the white of this first real snow. She was being emptied and 
blanked out for a reason. Something. She didn't know why yet. 
   She was dying to find out. 
   She waited for something. There, in the dark night of winter, with 
her only light the cold glow of moonlight off the snow. 
   She waited.

                          #     #     #

   She had no real idea why she decided to live at the cabin when Joe 
left her. The two of them had built it together, there on the hill 
overlooking the lake. Strangely, it gave her a sense of home, even if 
that belonging was tainted with thoughts of happiness lost. 
   The now-cold fireplace almost seemed to whisper with the heat of 
phantom flames, the chill of the stone floor cut by the shadow of the 
thick, warm sheepskin rug Joe had taken with him. 
   Her crocheted afghan was the only source of warmth in this chill 
house, wrapped tightly about her shoulders. She had to look around the 
room to remind herself the dream was over sometimes, the only furniture 
there the large, stripped bed and her grandmother's rocking chair.
   Joe, in his infinite wisdom, had left the too-large to carry bed 
but taken all the bedsheets. 
   She spent her days gathering food from the chill forest or watching 
the snow outside from her grandmother's chair. Rocking there, wrapped 
up in the afghan like an old gypsy fortune teller, wizened beyond her 
years with forbidden knowledge. Her nights were restless, spent in the 
loveless bed or by the window, rocking away into the night. Hopefully, 
there was a fitful sleep. 
   She could feel her feline eyes aging, older than the trees, 
forlornly watching from her face. The gray and white facing her in her 
reflection did little to dispel this illusion, the deep yellow of her 
eyes staring dully back.
   And she waited.

   Outside, the wind howled like a dying wolf, mournful, angry and 
defiant at the same moment. Clumps of ice and snow beat at the windows, 
the doors, and the very walls of her prison. The glow from a single oil 
lamp on the fireplace's mantle gave the room light, but no warmth as 
the wind wailed down the chimney. 
   In the eye of the furious storm, she had seen the full moon bathing 
the snow in her light. How long had she lived here, in isolation? A 
full moon brought her here, the light waking her the night after Joe 
went away... Guiding her, a cold, bright beacon for lost souls to 
follow. 
   She suppose she was a lost soul of sorts. It was hard, wrapping her 
personality around someone she loved. For when they leave, they cut out 
pieces of herself -- stealing her soul. 
   An evil business, loving without knowing how to keep her self 
separate from theirs.
   The moon called her here for a reason. And so, she waited.

                          #     #     #

   The snow was deep enough to snow her in through the next night. She 
was grateful for the canned vienna franks, picking the contents out 
with her clawtips or the blade of her Swiss army knife, one of the 
presents Joe forgot to take back. When she needed warmth, she used the 
blade to cook the franks, holding it carefully over her single flame. 
Their sauce burned her throat with its acid saltiness. 
   Outside the window, the moon took her place in the sky, the storm 
clouds banished. It smiled down on her as she opened the window, 
fishing a handful of snow from the bank and sucking the drops as it 
melted away in her cupped palms. 
   Her breath frosted away in a thin stream, rising in the cold 
winter's night air.
   And then she saw it.

   With a high-pitched shrieking, a single star seemed to come loose 
from its home, a tail of white fire streaming behind as it fell to 
earth. Standing from her chair, her spine popped with an audible 
complaint. She shuffled to the door and flung it wide, oblivious to the 
sudden slide of cold, white powder covering her hindpaws. The star’s 
tail winked out of sight into the northern part of the forest, light 
guttering out with a snow-muffled thump. Ignoring the pain of disuse in 
her muscles, she put on threadbare winter clothes and her too-worn 
boots. 
   She had her place to look.

                          #     #     #

   It wasn’t hard to find once she hit the trees, trunks broken and 
bent away, following the fallen star’s path. It had landed in a large 
snow bank, the snow hissing into steam against its surface. She tramped 
towards the burnt-black star, the only trail of footprints in the snow.
   The closer she got, she noticed the star was less a star or 
meteorite than... What? A spacecraft, or an egg? Whatever it was, it 
was still steaming in the snow, melting through to the dead autumn 
grass. She wanted to know what it was. Was it as empty as she, or was 
there more to it? So she sat and waited for it to cool.

                          #     #     #

   The sun was just beginning to finish graying the clouds to the west 
when it was cool enough to touch, the moon high and burning through the 
grayness. She explored it with her finger and clawtips, feeling the 
still-warm smoothness of its shell. It couldn’t have been a craft, with 
no seams or any sort of bolts holding it together. But it was too big 
to be anything else, almost as long from end to oval end as her hips 
were from the ground. She puzzled over this mystery and let her fingers 
linger over her exploration, liking the warmth against their pads.
   In a momentary impulse, she decided to take it back with her. After 
all, it was something new in her life; a curiosity.
   And she had been waiting.
   Carefully, she began to roll the egg-like curiosity across the snow 
on its rounder sides. It crushed her footprints out of the snow as it 
went, and she followed its smooth path back to her cabin.

                          #     #     #