The World the Goddess Only Knows

A star was falling from the sky.

"It's beautiful!" I told papa.

"Yes," he said, reaching down to tousle my hair, "It is. But sometimes beautiful things are dangerous, like your mother."

"Mm," I bit my lip, "What's it called?"

"People are still arguing about the name," Papa said, turning back to look up at the bright star in the sky, "But I think Wormwood is the best name."

"Wormwood?" I said, cHarukling my nose up, "That sounds kind of nasty for such a pretty star."

"It is," Papa said, "But sometimes people do nasty things, when they're dealing with something pretty. Petty about pretty, you could say."

"Papa!" I said, reaching up to smack him like I'd seen Mama do so many times, "Puns are naughty!"

"Maybe," Papa said, reaching down and pulling me up onto his shoulders, "Some of us think they're funny. Punny."

"Grrr!" I growled, biting down on his hair, but Papa just laughed again, so I scowled and spat it back out, "Why 'Wormwood?'"

"Because it's part of the end of the world," Papa said with a sigh, his voice getting sad, "And because a lot of people are probably going to die before it even gets here."

"Like Mama?" I asked quietly, feeling the sadness coming to get me, like it already had gotten Papa.

"Like Mama," Papa said, sighing as he picked me up and put me on his shoulders, before turning back to head inside the complex, "But worse. Mama was sick, and we didn't know how to make her better. If a lot of people die because of Wormwood, it will be because they didn't want to do what they had to, and because they decided to fight each other for things instead of work together."

"That sounds dumb," I said, wrapping my arms around Papa's head and clinging tightly, "Why are people like that?"

"The same reason you want to eat too many cookies," Papa said, some silly mixing in with his sad, "Even if they'll make you feel sick."

"There's no such thing as too many cookies," I shot back, thumping him on the top of his head.

"What about when you threw up last week?" Papa asked, tugging on one of my legs pointedly.

"I should have just saved some for later," I said, not sulking, "I'm sure if you let me exercise my cookie-muscle, I'd be able to eat a dozen all at once."

"That's not how exercise works," Papa said with a laugh as he walked us up to the closest door into the complex, "Your stomach doesn't get stronger just because you eat the same thing over and over again."

"You said that's how it worked with your pushups though!" I retorted.

"Muscles and stomachs are different things," Papa said, shaking his head, then harder to force me to let go, "And they work in different ways, but they're both important to the body."

He swung me down onto the ground so that we could get through the door.

"Now come on, it's time for bed."

***

"A lot of people didn't really believe it before," Papa said, "That Wormwood was coming to Earth. But now that everybody can see it, even when they're not looking for it, they're starting to realize that it's going to hit Earth, and so they're scared."

"If they're scared," I said, wrapping my arms around one of Papa's, "Why are they fighting?"

"A lot of people try to hide fear with anger," Papa said, sounding very sad right then, "So they try to attack something to make it better."

"That sounds dumb," I whispered, feeling squirmy inside as I watched people on the TV screen attacking the police.

"It is," Papa said, surprising me; he usually didn't talk about people like that, "But if people let it, fear will make them dumb. Anger can make people dumb too, like when your mother and I used to fight sometimes."

I shivered a little. I didn't like those memories; the only good thing about Mama getting sick was that they stopped fighting.

"I'm sorry," Papa said, squeezing me a bit, "I wish you hadn't had to see that either, but as much as I wish sometimes, and your mother did too, neither of us are, were, perfect."

I squeezed Papa back; he got really sad sometimes talking about Mama.

"Anyway," Papa said, "People are lashing out, because they're afraid of dying, and by doing so, they're making it so more people will die. If people would think, would be willing to help each other instead of hurt each other, we could probably save almost everybody."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything, just held on to Papa. Papa didn't say anything either, and we just held each other for a while. The news changed what it was showing, and I started to get sleepy.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" I eventually asked.

"That's my girl," Papa said, that little bit of pride in his voice that made me feel all warm and squishy inside, "The other scientists and I, we're working on a project to try to help as many people as we can."

"How can I help?" I asked.

"Right now," Papa said, sighing a little, his tone of voice changing in the way that meant he wasn't telling me everything because I was 'too young,' "Study hard, eat well, grow up big and strong, and most importantly, remember the Golden Rule, and why."

"Jesus said 'treat other people how you want them to treat you,'" I recited, glancing over at Mama's Bible on the coffee table, "And Love people because he Loves us and them both."

"We're made for Love," Papa said, hugging me tight again, "To give it and receive it. Remember that, and you'll help make things better, rather than worse."

He paused for a moment, and when he continued, his voice was thick, like there was something in his throat.

"You know I love you, right Haru?"

"I know Papa," I said, squeezing him tighter again, "I know."

"Good," Papa said, picking me up as he stood, "Let's get you back to bed."