RAIN HAD FALLEN for a year. From the heavens, from the stars, drilling earthward incessantly, as if trying to drown out civilisation with the uncomfortable permanence of a misspelt tattoo.
We wanted H2o, and by god we had it, on the only habitable planet other than Earth, itself a distant intergalactic memory, that only the weak of heart lamented for, their salted tears an unwelcome addition seemingly competing with the downpour.
Only once a calendar year, the sun visited us.
Today was Sun Day, and they would cry no more.
As soon as the sky glowed orange, every single person rushed from their homes, crowding the streets, standing still, heads tilted upwards, eyes closed, absorbing the rays in euphoria.
As if in a trance, every man woman and child stood motionless, comforted by the intermittent star, drowning in happiness, knowing its next visit would be too far away.
That sensation, of sun beams warming the skin, was the best feeling anyone experienced on planet S2, and only strict law prevented us from stripping naked.
We remembered Sun Day by taking pictures and video, but no device other than the mind could bring back its warmth, the feeling of life we all felt, and so all day we stayed outside swimming in the glory of each moment, luminous in smile, phosphorescent minded, rejuvenated by each second as if we might break from our bodies and reach the star itself. Such was our peace of mind on Sun Day.
It may only be in the mind, but who says I can’t time travel?