The air in the medical bay was especially still.
The head surgeon performed at a speed that suggested he moonlighted as a time machine operator, but even at eighteen thousand incisions per minute, his slender piano fingers could not create a breeze.
I approached a humanoid that I had not seen in years. I presumed that he had been absorbed in a black hole. My left optical sensor, being practically useless, transformed his face into a blurred and pixelated mess.. I recognized him by the color of his sparkling red hair: a supernova that resembled a cosmic bong or a wood burning stove in orbit.
Relative to our galaxy, the humanoid was very small and only occupied five feet and nine inches of vertical space.
Compared to me, he was not as small and implied significance. The humanoid greeted me with such vigorous life that I felt the sun pressing against the earth.
The head surgeon stood by the operating table and stared.
His expressionless face studied me, then lingered for twelve billion years like a star that burnt out.
Then he let go.
Being that close, I could see the humanoid’s face.
His features shattered like glass.
Mucus ran down his body to form a dry, yellowed cocoon.
I wanted to slice the husk off with the bladed side of an asteroid.
The humanoid’s bloodshot eyes closed and planets started to collide with his tears.
There went Pluto.
The head surgeon was from an auxiliary exoplanet. At last inspection, the region served one occupant. The Bureau has the outpost registered under the name “Bliss.”

There was no need for head surgeons.

The only sound in the medical bay was the heavy bellows of patients sighing. I thought I heard praying, but it was only the door closing.
On Earth, there was too little space to breath. On my exact coordinates, there was the end of something wonderful. It was not enough.
There went Jupiter.
There went Planet X.
There went Keplar-10b.
The end was not exciting enough.
It was too far away.
I brought this planet closer
and closer
and closer
and closer
until it was more than a possibility.
For half a moment, the head surgeon raised an eyebrow.
I attempted to steal the stars from the sky,
but could not,
because one hand wasn’t magic and the other was encased in meteorite.

Mitchell Garrard