When I think about life, I cannot help but think how tiny it all is. Maybe a tenth of planets are inhabitable, and even they are tiny compared to the stars they orbit. The Galaxies which house the stars dwarf them, but even the mightiest galaxy is dwarfed by one thing: space. Most of the universe is literally constructed of absolutely nothing. The empty space between worlds and suns stretches on beyond mortal comprehension. Somehow, with all of this free space, people still are fighting over it.
Our lives are also dominated by space. The space between our smiles often ruled by frowns. The space between ourselves and our loves. The space between the desire of our hearts and the place where our feet stand. All of these distances are vast, much like literal space. The space between what we want and what we have is just as mindboggling as the space between one edge of the universe to another.
I am Aranu, and I have seen more of space than most, but still very little. I have traveled to so many worlds. I have fought in a war which brought ruin to a galaxy. I have loved, I have lost, and I have recently arrived on a new world, a primitive planet called Earth by its inhabitants. Though they lack the technology of advanced races, they have all of their aggression. The Earth cries out for every drop of blood the spill on it. Every life I see seems to be shards of glass broken by cruel fate, can they help that they cut each other? I really don't know, but they do not know war like I've seen. And I do not want them to. Some of them speak of going to the stars, but the same rules of fate govern life in the far reaches of space. They will only find dissapointment if that is their hope.
The universe is largely empty, and it gives us no promises. Whatever life we have in this universe, we must make it ourselves.
Author's note: This was the first thing I ever wrote for Aranu. He awoke on Earth somewhere between twenty or sixty years ago (not really important yet) and has been keeping to himself for most of the time.