cosmic / wanderer / fin

She’d had a different name before she ran away. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now. She had always been Cosmic in her heart. She was a child of the galaxy, born of stardust, beamed down to Earth in the fragile form of a human. It was a cruel fate, and whatever aliens that had birthed her must have believed she could be an agent of change. If she’d had a choice in the womb, she would’ve stayed among the stars, living as a glowing soul with her true family.

Her human parents, so they called themselves, had been average workers from District Five. Her father worked in one of the many oil refineries, and her mother was a receptionist in the mayor’s office. There was nothing special about them whatsoever. Cosmic had grown up feeling as if she didn’t belong among them. She was their only child, as her mother was unable to conceive after having her— a result of her alien DNA infecting her mother, she reckoned.

Making friends was out of the question. First of all, there was nobody on this planet who could understand her struggle. Second, human relationships were a nuisance, and would surely interfere with her mission. Because she’d come down to Earth as a human infant, her knowledge of her mission had been wiped. It was too much information for a baby’s brain to comprehend. The knowledge slowly came back to her as she got older, and by thirteen, she had a full understanding of what she needed to do.

The first step was to make people like her. Not be friends with her, just like her. It was easy to start making her way into people’s social spheres. All she had to do was smile, crack a few jokes, and slowly, people began to warm up to her. She had people to sit with at lunch, and she would be invited to parties. People believed that she liked her. She didn’t, of course. They were just a means to an end.

Next, people had to know her name. It couldn’t be because of some grand gesture, not yet. Her reputation needed to grow gradually. She started attending the things she was invited to, and would get herself talked about by bringing extra drinks or holding back someone’s hair while they vomited. When flyers went up around school advertising auditions for a play, she was the first to sign up. It seemed like the most natural move— after all, she’d been acting her entire life.

The lead role was hers. She hadn’t been expecting it, but she wasn’t going to refuse. She put her all into that play. She focused harder on her script than she did on her studies, but the results were worth it. On opening night, her classmates stood up and gave her a standing ovation. The director was so impressed with her performance that she was more or less guaranteed a lead role in every other play she did.

Her mission was progressing perfectly. She continued to immerse herself in her social life and her acting. When she graduated high school, she took a job at a daycare so she could attend rehearsals at night. The home she moved into after leaving her parents’ house was within walking distance of the community theatre. This was her life now. She wasn’t mad about it, not at all— there was something addicting about the sound of the applause.

On her 30th birthday, 12 short years after she joined the community theatre, they threw her a surprise party. During the party, they informed her she’d been promoted to a director. She’d been so overjoyed that she nearly cried. After thirty years on this Earth, thirty years of agonizing over her mission, she had finally worked hard enough to complete it. Her first order of business was to organize a one-night only one woman show. She was well known enough around the district that tickets sold out an hour after they were released.

People were coming. She was ready.

There was no show. There was, instead, a building doused in gasoline, and a theatre full of people. Cosmic had a message to send to her true family— she had come to the conclusion that this Earth was not worth saving. Once they received the message, they were going to come down and take her back home, to her real home, not the material one with her false parents. When the curtains rose to reveal an empty stage, she was standing behind the building with a lit match between her fingers.

When the Peacekeepers found her, she was calling up to the sky. Nobody had died in the blaze, much to her dismay, and they all knew she was the one who’d done it. It couldn’t have been anyone else. They took her into custody, but her parents posted bail. As they walked her back to their house, she hit both of them over the head and took off. The Peacekeepers searched all over the district, but she was gone. She’d escaped far past the district borders and was already deep in the open forest.

Adjusting to life on the run was easy. She figured this was how her ancestors had onced lived, before they’d become the rulers of their planets, so she invoked their spirits to guide her. It seemed to be taking a while for her family to respond to her message, but she had faith they would. Seven years passed and she still had faith.

It was surprisingly easy to find others on the run who had the same passion for acting. Sometime along the way, she’d assimilated into a group that put on performances of scripts stolen long ago. Since her mission was over, she allowed herself to partake in this human concept of friendship. It was nice. Even though she felt no remorse for what she’d done— it was her purpose on this Earth, after all— it was nice to be around people who didn’t know she’d been burdened with such a mission for so long. It was just them, their human bodies, their penchant for acting, and their shared crime of escaping Panem. When her true family came down to get her, she would ask if she could take them with her.