Stars

Betelgeuse blinked out. This happens sometimes. One moment a star shines and twinkles and winks and then all of a sudden it goes dark. That’s where the Star Man comes in.

He set up his ladder and watched it go up and up, through the clouds and to the skies above. He said goodbye to the rocks and sands and lizards and after a deep breath he took to the rungs and climbed.

The hardest thing was balance. Climbing was tiring, but it was a simple matter of repetition. The rungs did not change when a gust blew past.

He reached the clouds by midnight. They lazed about on high breezes, plump and satisfied. A few cloud nymphs trotted up to say hello. He bid them a good night and continued on his way.

With the clouds far below, the ladder reached its end. The Star Man balanced at the very last rung, savoring the last of Earth’s pull before kicking off into the night.

He rose up and up until he reached the great sky-jellies. Their heads were as wide as dinner tables and their stings as long as spears and they glowed with the hues of every flower far below. They floated past him, rippling in the currents of the aether.

When he reached the star, the eastern sky was nearly pink. He plucked the faded star from the dark curtain and breathed life into it. Betelgeuse was stubborn, of course. He breathed and huffed and blew until finally the star shone as brightly as all the others.

This is his favorite part. When the star is alight and the sun is growing warm and the world below is so big and round and so brightly blue. He closes his eyes and waits for the currents of the aether to carry him to sleep.