Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.

The old nursery rhyme played through my head every time I looked up at the ceiling of the auditorium. Small twinkles of light, arranged to replicate the constellations seen in the night sky, littered the black paint above. It reminded me of someone taking a needle and pricking black fabric to hold over a light source.

Other than the sky the auditorium was quite similar to every other college auditorium. A giant hall with two floors of old rickety chairs with outdated fabric from the 70s, and its convergence point is a simple wooden stage in front.

Despite the aged style of the seats, they were quite comfy and they did their best to lull me into a sleep. They were nearly successful, the old man who spoke to us introduced himself as Doctor Bruce Carlson. An elderly man who sported an eye grabbing yellow cashmere sweater.

Noises came from the man at the podium, however I had no clue what the fuck he was saying. My attention found itself mesmerized by the dazzle of the ceiling above.

Every time my eyes drew close to casting me to the sweet embrace of sleep, Brad’s subtle snoring would draw my eyelids up in alertness. If Brad’s snore failed to stir me, Sergei’s arm twitch acted as the perfect fail safe.

Sergei has always been on the huskier side since we were young, in spite of this he had some hidden muscle that packed quite a hit. Each time his arm attempted to beat me of its own volition, Sergei would look at me with wide eyes and mouth the word sorry.

I did my best to fight off falling asleep by using my eyes to connect the stars above into constellations of my own desire. A human being bored out of their fucking mind, with nothing to do except play connect the dots with the stars.

Why?

The simple question always came to mind when I saw some configuration of cosmic light. Why are they named that? Why are there stories associated with them? Hell, why constellations? Who the fuck came up with the concept, or invention, in the first place? Scholars and experts may argue it was some advance knowledge of the ancients that gave them insight to the movements of the bodies of the heavens, or some other sort of forgotten knowledge. But, if you ask me, I think someone who was just as bored as me sat down one night and looked up at the night sky. He may have been drunk. He may have been high. Hell, he might have been both. While looking up, his mind wandered, acting on its own accord, and began weaving stories, with inspiration drawn from the observer’s psyche. More questions follow these branching lines of thought that could lead any man to madness. Regardless of what people believe to be the case, I think any insight or grand reasoning that is attributed to them was discovered in hindsight. If you ask me, they are just another example of humanity making a vain attempt to define the limits of the world around them.

Above me, eight dim sparkles of light shimmered down upon me. In the dead center of my view, directly above my seat, shined the brightest of the eight. Four dimmer lights created an X, with the marveling orb of white serving as the heart of the shape and symmetry. Beyond these four dimmer lights were lights that I had to really squint to see. In combination with the dim lights that made the X, they created large Ls spurting from the white light at the center. Two pairs of Ls, one on top and one below, had the tips in each pair a handful of inches from touching. These eight lights by themselves were just small specks in a black ceiling peppered by lights of all shapes, sizes, and levels of brightness. However, isolated in my mind’s eye, these lights formed a spider.

Sergei’s arm hit me while I admired the new constellation I have discovered, unlike the others, this one didn’t quite have the strength or intention of beating me awake. It was lighter, as if he was trying to get my attention.

“What is it?”

His eyes grew wide, and before he could get the words out of his mouth, something stabbed me at the base of my neck. The old man on stage began to distort like a mirage, my field of view began to become consumed by a void of black.

I need help.

No thinking, my body began to act. My tunnel of vision grew smaller as I stood up, I couldn’t feel my legs doing so, my shift of orientation was my only indication.

“Addy, you need to sit down. You aren’t looking too good.” I must have woken Brad, even though it sounded like he was shouting at me underwater, I could make out some concern in his voice.

No feeling, no problem.

Under the sea, every sound came in a wave starting at one extreme of pitch and tone, and naturally flowing to the next state. Other drowned voices came at me, some, like Brad, had hints of concern in them. Whereas others made it clear that they were not too pleased with my actions.

“Ouch! Watch it!”

“What are you doing?”

“Sit down!”

“Where do you think you are going? You do know how rude it is to up and leave when someone is in the middle of talking to you?” The questions came like a tsunami, slamming into my ears and nearly causing my brain to rupture. Such force. Such energy. I could feel the crackle of electricity and static that accompanied them. My brain felt like someone dumped a whole pack of pop rocks in my head and gave me a good shaking.

Fuck.

I forgot Dr. Carlson was talking.

FUCK.

It is only my first day of college, and I have already managed to embarrass myself...in front of the whole class.

FUCK!

I CAN’T SEE!

My vision was engulfed entirely in black, so I had only my hearing to rely on as I tried turning to face Dr. Carlson. Despite all that I have done so far, I’m trying my best to salvage what I can of the situation. The sound was far away, demanding I spin to meet it. However, when I did spin, it relocated and demanded I spin again.

And again…

Am I spinning or does it only feel like I am? A breeze of wind blasted my face.

And again…

That air feels nice, Dr. Carlson’s voice traversed the murky waters again in attempt to reach me, “Someone catch hi-”

And again...

The wind halted in tandem with Dr. Carlson’s words, as a hard object connected with my head, and the moment it did, sleep piledrived me into submission.