Sea

I will never forget the day my father first saw the sea. Born on a mining colony on a desolate world in the outer reaches of the Xerxes arm of the Galaxy, he’d spent his childhood knowing nothing but grit and iron. When he was a young man, the slaves around him revolted in a great tide of fury. He speaks little of the event, aside from that it happened and that he rode its current to freedom.

What he speaks of most often are the stories the other slaves would tell. These were tales of sailors and captains, of oceans as vast as the desert and ships as large as the mines. These were the stories they told while they planned their escape. These were the dreams that filled their sails.

Yet, when they managed to burn through atmosphere and tear a hole through spacetime, they found little more than what they’d always known: desolate worlds and cold stars and little between them but dust. Many lost hope. Many more starved. But every night, my father dreamed of water.

When he finally set his feet on fertile ground, the few who remained got to work. They hunted and foraged and farmed and they built a world of their own. This was the world i was born into. It was the place where my mother died.

I left as a young man, to pursue some kind of fortune. I did not find that, but I did find a small house at the edge of a wide sea. My father touched down just past the mountains. His hands shook on the ride from the landing pad.

We crested a hill, and there it was. His eyes widened as he took in its shine. I pulled to a stop and switched off the converter. He fumbled with the door handle, unable to look away. When he pried it open he stumbled out into the sun and damn near ran to the surf.

I took my time in following, to be sure he had some time to himself. When I reached him, I found tears on his cheeks. I asked him if he was okay, and he nodded dumbly. I put a hand on his back, and then he began to weep.

His shoulders heaved, his breath spurted out in gasps. Tears rolled over each other to reach the gentle waves. We sunk to our knees. I held my father’s head to my chest as the weight of his life poured out of him. He asked if he could stay.

“Of course,” I whispered. “As long as you like.”