Orbiting

I know everything that happens here, not because I’m nosy.
Because I’m made of it.

I am the pavement beneath Ellie’s boots.
She walks quickly, keys between fingers like claws.
She’s not afraid of the dark.
She’s afraid of what it might contain.
She passes the corner shop.

Upstairs, a man sips tea and watches.
He’s very good at watching.
Less good at blinking.

Inside the shop, Marianne buys wine.
She doesn’t need it.
She needs something.
The boy behind the counter doesn’t ask.
He’s young enough to think silence is polite.
She’s old enough to know it’s sometimes cowardice.

Jamie is behind the bins.
He saw something fall from the sky.
A light. A vibe. A promise.
He holds his torch like it’s sacred.
He whispers to it, or to himself.
He needs this to be real.
He needs something to answer back.

Callum is standing near the bus stop.
Lena is there.
She is scrolling.
He has rehearsed this moment.
Not the words.
Just the courage.

“Hi,” he says.
She looks up. “Hi.”
“I like your jacket,” he says, as if complimenting outerwear is the key to romance.
“Thanks. It’s my brother’s,” she replies, which is not the worst response he’s ever received.

Ellie walks past them.
She doesn’t trust boys in hoodies.
Or men in windows.
Or the way laughter sometimes sounds like mockery.

Marianne steps out of the shop and pauses.
She sees all of them: Ellie walking, Jamie crouching, Callum trembling, and Lena laughing.
It feels like she’s wandered into someone else’s story.
It’s true what she’s thinking.

Jamie runs toward the woods.
The trees open like theatre curtains.
There’s something there.
Sleek. Silver. Vibrating.
Or maybe it’s moonlight on a shed.
Or a van.
Or nothing.
He sits cross-legged and waits.
He believes.
I admire that.

Callum watches Lena board the bus.
She waves.
He waves back.
His hands are still shaking, but less than before.
Success!

Ellie reaches her door.
She fumbles with the lock.
She steps inside and leans against it like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Marianne walks home.
She drinks.
She watches the stars blink through her window.
She thinks of Jamie.
She hopes he finds what he’s looking for.
She hopes its real.
Or real enough.

Jamie is still in the clearing.
The ship pulses.
Or doesn’t.
He doesn’t mind.

The man upstairs turns off the TV.
Another body found.
Another theory spun.
He folds his hands.
He prefers stories where he gets away.
He watches the street.
He watches them flicker.

I hold them all.
Ellie’s fear.
Marianne’s silence.
Jamie’s wonder.
Callum’s nerves.
Lena’s laugh.
His shadow.

My streetlights hum.
My stars blink.
And somewhere, maybe,
a ship waits.