Happy New Sun

by Myriam Havel 

I rifled through the cupboard, letting faded confetti fall into my lap. 

“Have you seen–” I started, 

“Behind our helmets,” she finished. 

I rolled my eyes, reached behind the helmets and– bingo. Two dusty champagne flutes in hand, I floated over to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

“Happy New Sun,” I sang, scurrying to give her the glasses and grab the bottle off the counter. 

I joined her on the couch and giggled, overfilling our cups and spilling foam on her velvet pants. Impatient, she ripped the bottle out of my hands and brought it to her lips–she kissed me, filling my mouth with bubbles. 

“I love you,” she whispered, smiling against my lips. 

“I know,” I said, eyes crinkling like candy cane wrappers. 

I got off the couch and extended my hand to her, fluttering my fingers in excitement. She took it and we glided over to our cabin’s window. It was our first New Sun together— everyone’s first New Sun on the Ship. The last one had happened over 200 years ago, before the oldest of us had even been born. Tonight, we were celebrating a change in trajectory: the beginning of a revolution around a new star. 

I pressed my nose against the window and basked in the feeling of the cold glass on my skin; my excitement mirrored that of a human child seeing snow for the first time. When our new star came into view, I gasped– the enormous sphere burned so hot it glowed purple, and flecks of glittering lava erupted intermittently from the celestial body, making fireworks reflect off my partner’s eyes. I turned to her and thought: 

I am so lucky to be alive at the same time as this— at the same time as her.

by Lily Inskip-Shesnicky