Light transfusion.
She sat looking out through the patio doors into the garden. Her blue eyes couldn’t hide the heaviness her heart carried.
Suddenly, the room changed. The garden was gone. Outside the doors there was only darkness, illuminated by nothing but a few distant stars.
One of the stars knocked on the glass.
She slowly stood and opened the sliding doors that once led to the patio.
The star—nothing more than a ball of light—somehow asked her to follow. She looked down into the depth of space and, terrified, gripped the doorframe.
The star drifted downward and tapped something invisible, like glass. Without words, she understood.
Carefully, she stepped onto it.
As she walked along the invisible bridge, she saw another building floating behind her—identical to her house.
Automatic doors opened as she entered, guided by the star. Inside, she lay down. The star took on a human shape, still glowing.
Awake and numb, she watched as the star operated on her heart. It wiped sweat from its brow as it sawed, hammered, and stapled—its tools made entirely of light.
To finish, the star drew light from itself with a syringe and fed it into her, while a second hose drained dark matter into a bucket.
She rose from the operating table and took the bucket. The star pointed to a random spot on the floor.
She poured the contents there.
The floor turned into space as the liquid passed through it. The darkness shifted, blooming into nebula colors as it froze in place.
Then the floor returned.
The star waved.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her moved rapidly, carrying her back into her house. She closed the sliding door, and the garden was there again.
She sat down slowly and smiled.
