THEY SAY THAT everything is stardust. That every atom that you're comprised of is from the heart of star. And from that star, came you, your parents, even the town you live in. Maybe even the planet. According to Carl Sagan, the cosmos is within us. So, why did Solomon feel so voided? Empty, even.

This all started after Solomon found Virginia Nez's body. She was one
of his classmates and had been missing for about a week or two before the
school year started. And to be honest, the only people who were truly
concerned about her in this desert town were her own parents. Because, like Solomon, Virginia Nez was an outcast.

Virginia was overweight, with plump fingers and hands that seemed to fumble even at the simplest of tasks. Her hair always had this black, too greasy sheen that seemed to contribute to the growing number of acne scars on her face.

She had a pug-ilke nose and wore heavy, coke-bottle glasses; and wherever she went, the smell of decades old grandma perfume and mothballs would follow.

It was obvious. The girl was shark chum to the feeding frenzy of what would be Middle School up to the ninth grade. The only thing that seemed to calm her down was her walks. Her family raised and sheared sheep, so it was only natural that she'd wrangle up the ewes and their lambs whenever they went too far.

Sometimes, it'd take her a weekend to get back home, under the watchful eye of her dad, but according to the Nez's, "Our Virginia was a responsible, smart girl," Her mom would choke through in tears, "She always found a way to come back and she was adjusting bein' on her own out there just fine!" mama Nez would wail.

The fluorescent light of the black & white tv screen left a blue sheen that engulfed the entirety of his family's kitchen. Solomon rode home from the tribal police on the back of a squad car some hours ago. His mother was called and his grandfather was already there, waiting for them. "My God," his mother said as she entered, her purse slung over her shoulder and her black-brown hair still half-held in that bun she wore it that morning. "I was wondering if they had finally found her," she said as she left her car keys on the kitchen table, "I just didn't want them to find her like that."

Just then, it had dawned on her that they weren't alone, the police officer that had waited with Solomon and his granddad cleared his throat once he entered the small kitchen and tipped his hat, "Miss Dinétsfósí."

According to what Solomon said, this is how he found Virginia Nez.
It was around 3 and Solomon had told his grandpa that he was going to hike around the foothills for a bit until an hour before dinner. "The foothills?" his grandpa questioned, his eyes barely lifted from the paper in his hands, "Take some water. It's hot up there and be careful, remember what happened to those tourists some months ago?"

"I'll be fine." Solomon shrugs, but not before taking some bottled water from the fridge. It was the least he could do, after all. The foothills were a steep walk, but he had been travelling there more and more since school went out. By the time he reached August, he was a natural at scaling the rocks, his legs had even gotten a little leaner as a result.

Still, he also wished his grandfather had reminded him to not wear black. He may have liked, even loved the color, but he hated having to sweat all over his clothes in the dry heat. It just wasn't cool.

Once he made it to the top of one hill, he stopped to breathe and recuperate.
His thoughts went back to school, he would be a sophomore, which meant that he was another year closer to graduating.

And then his thoughts began to run wild. As he sat there, visions of a blood red sky covered in chalk patterns seemed to dance around his head. The images seemed to twist and contort, as if they were taunting him, and as soon as he had realized that he was having bad daydream, he came to his senses.

The sky was no longer red.

The wind no longer blew.

And at the edge of the foothill, he saw Virginia Nez's body, all bloated and grey. The flies have already taken care with the skin on her back and arms; maggots had already chewed holes through her chubby fingers.

And at a second glance, he noticed that her eyes were still open.

"We have yet to determine the cause of death. But we believe that the victim might've died at least a week prior to her discovery."

"I see." his mother, half-stunned from the revelation and half-exhausted from work had only this to say, "So, what will this mean for my son?"

A collective brown gaze zeroed in on Solomon, who sat at the dining table. His own gaze fixated at a half finished plate of lima beans and steak. "I realize that he's been through a lot, Miss, I'll see to it that he won't be counted as a suspect." His mother glanced down at her son and frowned, "Thank you, officer."

That night, Solomon had no worries. He had told (most of) the truth.
He also had no dreams.