Shingling the Roof of the Sky
By Emmie Christie
Luce wiped sweat from her eyes. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the skyroof, nailing shingles where the clouds had fallen through.
Sounds of happy splashing came from just a few lightyears away. Young cosmics played in the coolness of the space sea. Luce clenched her jaw and tried not to think of the refreshing cold, of the stimulating plunge into the water. Here, the sun had heated the space sea to an uncomfortable degree.
The humans who lived in her grandmother’s house depended on the sky. Without the protection of the shingles, the space sea would pour in and burn and drown them all. A little leaked through, now, from the void she tried to patch up.
“Want some lemonade?” Her grandmother called to her, a few lightyears away.
“I’m just gonna finish patching this, I’ll have it later!”
She nailed another shingle in place. The sun flared a little, a few vines reaching to touch her side, nosing for the bag of forest jerky at her waist. She hissed in pain and welts rose on her skin. “Buddy. You know it’s not dinnertime yet.”
The sun blinked at her as the moon crossed its path. It couldn’t help being what it was. Carnivorous stars gave off lots of heat and light. Her grandmother had grown it there to help the humans thrive, but it would need to be re-potted soon, to give life and brighten a different, bigger world.
She turned back to the hole in the skyroof. Just a few more and she could join the younger cosmics for a dip in the space sea.
Another flare of heat at her back, and a slap of pain on her shoulder. “Hey!”
She tried to pivot, but something had caught her wrist. A vine tendril from the sun, burning into her skin. She jerked at it, slipping away, but two more vines wrapped around her ankle and waist.
“Grandmother! The sun!”
Her grandmother didn’t answer. She must have retreated to her home, far enough away that she couldn’t hear. Luce kicked at the vine, stripes from the heat sizzling into her. “Get. Off. Me!”
The sun drifted closer, out of its orbit, and the space sea heated to a boil. Her grandmother’s house shimmered. It opened its maw and pulled at her foot, trying to stuff it inside.
“By the Bang, I’m not a forest!” Luce grabbed a tendril and yanked.
The sun shot around her like a sling, blinking in surprise as it crossed the moon’s path again. Her hand burned from gripping the heat vine so tight, but she did not let go. Her foot ached from being so close to the carnivorous star. She whipped the sun around and around her grandmother’s house, three, four, five times.
When she did release it, she reached into her bag, grabbed a piece of forest jerky, and tossed it on the other end of its orbit. Then she bolted out of its reach, into the coolness of the space sea.
She’d let someone else patch the rest of the hole in the skyroof. Now she just wanted lemonade. And for her grandmother to re-pot that sun.
Emmie Christie’s work includes practical subjects, like feminism and mental health, and speculative subjects, like unicorns and affordable healthcare. Her novel, "A Caged and Restless Magic" debuts February 3, 2024. She has been published in Daily Science Fiction, Infinite Worlds Magazine, and Flash Fiction Online, among others. You can find her at www.emmiechristie.com or on her Facebook page @EmmieChristieFiction.