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Summary
Specks of dust swirl in the gold of sunlight pooling through the break in his curtains. Philip watches their listless dance, listening to the hum of silence. It was a game he used to play with his mother. Day stars she used to say, smiling like she could see the universe painted across blenched wallpapers. It hadn't occurred to Philip yet, she probably was. They'd chase constellations in the lazy descent of things shriveled and dead. It was one of the first pictures he had taken.
A pale hand rises beside him, pointing towards the cavalcade of dust drowning in light. Looks like stardust, Lukas says.
Philip closes his eyes.
Series
- Part 1 of Deja Vu