Fallen Star

Crying in the Rain by Kezzi Rose from Deviantart

But there is a story they had forgotten.

My story. My name is Merope, I am the seventh star.

I look up. Tears in my eyes.

Right there embedded in the deep purple sky they were. My six sisters. Glittering. Diamonds.

I am the seventh. Unseen because I have fallen.

I love the rain. The words she, Maia, used to boldly say in the good old days. I did not know if I did, but I loved her. Her brown eyes were soft, deep, and her black hair flowed, like a river, a deep river on a dark night, shining in the moon.

We used to walk the streets, in the rain, in our barefeet. And we used to laugh. Things were bright. Red yellow and blue. Sugary sweet, we had them ice-cream in cones too.

She painted bright pretty things outdoors. Once it started to rain so I ran to cover the pretty painting. The rain would wash the colour away, I said to her. But she smiled and said, that is good, that means I can start all over again. A prettier picture.

Now I lie waiting for the rain. So I can start over. So I can laugh again. Laugh. How I long to laugh.

I remember my sixteenth. I do not know who called it sweet sixteen, for it was far from being sweet. It was cold and stormy, and I heard the front door click. The storm rolled, and thunder called. He called my father home.

Mother fought, and the angry seas rolled. The Gods roared, the sky and the sea that were one broke.  Union to be enjoyed, only once, when the year turns to a new one rebirthed.

So they broke.


Each year, Mother and her seven daughters walked through earth into the sky. Where we for one day will bask in father’s love, before a new sunrise.

At dawn, mother will flip, and the seas will turn. As she is separated from her love. Yet again. And we the seven stars will descend to the seas. Orion pursuing us, relentlessly.

That was the story, as grandmothers tell the children as they look up into the skies, and pointed at my sisters.

But there is a story they had forgotten.

My story. My name is Merope, I am the seventh star. But if you look at the deep purple sky, there are only six.

I, Merope, fell.

And if you see, that star with tail on its ends.

That is Maia stretching her hand.

To catch me.

I sit entangled, in earth’s grasp. Moaning, gasping, trying to break free. On one ascend, the brown man, he was strong he captured me with a song. Laughing, salivating, he licked me. He pierced me deep with phallic limbs. Consumed me, ate me whole. A painful pleasure, shameful, shot through me. His arms, they broke through me.

Unwillingly I sit in his grip.

We are one, he sang, we are one.

I choked and sat in the rain and waited.

As Maia called out to me.

I replied in silence.

I could not break free.

He sits. His limbs, wrapped around me, guarding me.

So each night I look up longingly at the stars above me. Calling out to the rain to wash over me, to save me, to set me free.

Then Maia would call out, and stretch out her hand to me.


And as I shed my tears, his limbs piercing would remind me.

I cannot go back now.

I do not know, I do not know how.

Then the rain would fall, as the Ocean and the Sky call out to the fallen star.


This is my story.

(inspired by the legend of Matariki)