Vitality flows from broken skin in the form of crimson extract and seeps through the white sleeve of a uniform shirt. Strands of hair the color of precious silver metal drip with water and cling to brown skin. Iden clutches the wound on his left arm and begins to curse himself for being too careless.

His father is irritable as of late; Iden knows this, but he finds himself unable to stop himself from checking on his well-being from afar.

Of course, he becomes enraged after they lock eyes.

Against his wishes, Iden’s legs give in beneath him just as he enters the living room from the back door, his father stumbling in after him. An empty wooden bucket soars over Iden’s head and smashes into a clay sculpture of The Silver-Star Goddess Taji.

With a grunt and a flare of his nostrils, his father takes a couple steps forward and demands to know what business Iden has here in his home.

Not their home, like Iden remembers his father saying last week now that his mother has “officially quit” on the two of them. He doesn’t understand the recent obsession with his mother, as she’s been gone for years, but he does know his father has not slept since the New Moon.

 Right now, The Moon wanes, fastly approaching her Third Quarter.

  And in that time, Iden remembers seeing not a single star.

Iden doesn’t blame his father, however. The lack of stars hurt all who reside in the Astral Paradise. Even though he understands, Iden still yearns for eternal slumber. This way, he doesn’t have to live with the wounds his father inflicts on him; a child who knows not of his father’s current spiral towards the unknown.

A child who still rises to his feet and reaches out towards his father in good will and peace, only to be swatted away like an insect. 

Only to be told that it is far too late for forgiveness now that he’s walked out on his father all those years ago. Maybe Iden looks too much like his mother nowadays for his father to stomach. He thinks to hold his head down, to try not to stare at him much. 

Iden always looks past his father and treads through the home lightly. He spends more days outside whilst gazing into the windows of the home longingly.

But no matter what precautions Iden takes, his father always finds a way to seize him by his hair and mutter all types of insults at him. Insults that perhaps his mother endured. Or perhaps his father wants to say all those things to her but now he’ll never get his chance. She’s never coming back.

The thought likes to sit with Iden at night, right before bed. It also likes to visit him in the heat of the moment, when familiar calloused fingers tighten around the strands of his hair. Of course, when he finally gains the courage to fight back and strikes his father in the face, The Authority rushes into his home to pull the two of them apart.

The neighbors must have complained about the noise, Iden thinks. Otherwise, The Authority wouldn’t be going out of their way to respond to the problems of poor insomniacs who, according to the commissioner, will usually work themselves up and pass out.

Stars above know that isn’t true.

Iden doesn’t like that his neighbors meddle in his private affairs. He doesn’t want to be judged by The Authority. Any issues with his father, he can solve on his own.

But after his adrenaline dissipates, Iden fades off into a deep sleep.

Blue eyes flutter open, and the blurred, sterile white ceiling comes into focus not long after. He finds it strange that The Authority never visits him in his hospital room. Instead, two gentlemen in lab coats approach him solemnly. Iden doesn’t catch all their words, but a few of them hit him with the force of Taji’s shooting star.

Insomnia. Rare. Incurable. Death.

Iden sits up in a cold sweat suddenly. The doctors are not here. The men in lab coats are not here. His eyes dart around the room, frantic, until he spies a business card on his nightstand.

In desperation, he snatches the card and holds it with trembling hands. It reads:

Lunar Labs

Cyrus Callahan

And it confirms his worst fears; the men in white coats are as real as the hands that hold the business card out in front of him.

A rare sleeping disorder — how did he not know? The average person doesn’t sleep for a few days while suffering from insomnia. His father goes weeks. Then, his father becomes aggressive.

Iden knows his father isn’t himself. He knows his father doesn’t make his life miserable on purpose. But admittedly, all these accidents are taking a toll on his mind and body.

Iden flips the business card over, revealing the gentleman’s contact information. He rubs his left eye and wonders if he’s been wasting time praying for The Stars to come out.

The Descendants of Stars are tasked with that job, yet they struggle to complete it.

Deeming it his only option, his fingers hastily dial Dr. Callahan’s telephone number. A phone call leads to a follow up. A follow up leads to meetings with scientists who study the dreams that plague The Astral People.

The scientists examine his father’s brain. They ask Iden personal, intimate questions about his family. They weasel their way into the crux of his pain and coax him to bare his soul for them to see. Iden prays that information does something to help his father.

When the scientists find no explanation, Iden grows tired of prayer. Hopelessness wraps around his body like ribbons of thread until he’s fully entangled in it. It tightens and digs into his skin until the torment is too much, and consciousness slips from him.

A feeling of warmth tickles his stomach. He can smell morning dew and the faint scent of rosemary. The crisp sound of plant shears cutting into stems echoes faintly.

He sees his father’s smile behind a thick beard. He feels his mother’s embrace from behind.

Iden opens his eyes and the light peeking from behind the blinds makes him recoil. He sits up, rubs his eyes, and inspects his hands. Tiny clumps of golden sand stick to the outside of his index finger. 

He writes it off as unimportant at first but starts to make the correlation to a good night’s sleep once his father pats him on the back and wishes him a good morning. Iden can see a bit of golden crust in the corners of his father’s eyes.

Newspapers introduce Iden to his savior, The Sandman; the cloaked magician bringing sleep to the Astral People in the form of pleasant dreams.

The Sandman brings peace to Iden and his father. For the first time in a long while, they tend to the plants in the garden together. The sounds of crisp shears and the faint smell of rosemary brings a smile to his face.

The picture isn’t complete without Mom, but it’s okay. Iden is content to have his father back again.

But life is forever moving, constantly changing.

Iden, like many of the Astral People, realize this when The Sandman leaves for the next city as bouts of insomnia begin to arise. Vitality flows from pierced skin in the form of crimson extract and drips onto the metal shears in his father’s hand.

This time, Iden doesn’t attempt to run. Instead, he wonders which one of them will be present for The Sandman’s return.

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