Voog

Before I met her I'd never known anyone who had a favorite star. To me, and most of the western population, they were all the same. Blinking or stagnant they were specks of light that were consumed by the neon of the city, only visible during power cuts or trips to the country. But to her they were friends. The things that kept her from being consumed herself, by the darkness as she shook beneath a cold cloudless sky. She said her favorite star was the one that hung directly above the Senqu river. She said it was the one that she concentrated on most as the rough stones in the shallow waters scraped themselves against her legs. She was so thin I wondered if perhaps the stones she remembers so vividly were even as large as she recollected, or whether - like the princess in the story - the smallest pebble felt huge under her malnourished flesh.

She had come so far from the tragic princess whom was once lain on that river bed. She was a woman now. Her bones no longer protruded from her in their childish manner. Instead her curves hugged them, the muscle and fat of age protecting them in a way they never could when she was a child. She still winced as she ran though. Certain injuries never quite heal right, especially without the right medical attention. But she ran through the pain nonetheless. I asked her a few times why she put herself through it. To me it seemed unnecessary. She barely looked at me when she answered, she just continued to lace up her bright trainers. 'Pain is a small price to pay for strength.' she spoke. I never understood at first but the more we ran, the longer I knew her, the more obvious it became. No physical pain would ever beat the torment she endured. But not even the most revered work-out routine in LA could help her with that.

The pain had hardened her. As if her entire existence was an infinitely advancing threshold - a kind of callus against the horrifying predictability of the human race. It took me years to see behind that thick skin, to the frightened child she was beneath it. It was only when she told me of the stars that I saw her fragility. When she spoke of her life in South Africa initially all I got were rehearsed descriptions of landscapes and culture. Even when she spoke of murders, soldiers, hate - she spoke of it in composure. It wasn't until I asked about her friends, on the night after she became my wife, that she softened. She called her star 'Voog', to mean guardian. She said although it never could protect her from him it made it easier for her to disappear while he raped her. She lay naked as she told me. Her nudity her way of boldly screaming that she was stronger than him. That she had won. I felt so privileged to be in the company of her titanic bravery. She said that by distracting herself she could ignore the pain he inflicted on her. She could pretend her and Voog were playing in the sky, that they were chasing angels together. Her friend kept her out of her body and allowed her to fly away from the reality of her childhood, so that when he eventually did cum she could smile at him. As she was a thousand miles away, in the company of all that the Heavens could bless her with.

I traced the lines between her brows as the scowl returned to her face. Knowing the vulnerability that lay beneath that scowl made me so much more grateful for it's existence. It allowed her to leave South Africa - allowed her to find me. A hardened shell for a beautifully damaged vessel as it crossed an ocean. As she fell asleep I looked at the orange haze that hung above our tranquil marital bed in the contemporary city of Los Angeles. The light drowned the stars in the way the darkness had once drowned her; but resilient in their nature they were both still breathing through it. I leant out the window and quietly I thanked Voog for saving my wife, for protecting my favorite star - I like to think she heard me.