There’s a wee lady on the moon.
She sits all day and crafts tiny black holes out of moon silk, unused gravity and dead atoms.
Whenever aliens approach Earth, she’ll snare them in her black holes and spaghettify them and keep us thinking we’re all alone, just like her.
Earth got swallowed by a planet-eating space whale.
In the belly, it spun and disco-balled with the other planets, like new friends in a new city.
Back in The Solar System, the moon circled the gap where Earth used to be, like a widow slow-dancing at a wedding.
I got told to count my lucky stars. The sky was clear, so I did.
As I got to four billion and one, my soul became aligned with the vastness of the universe.
I was brought back to Earth by a man, who threw a handful of coins into my cup. Enough for breakfast.
Four billion and two.
Neil Clark is a writer from Edinburgh, The Universe and everywhere between and beyond. His work is published in Okay Donkey, The Molotov Cocktail, Five:2:One and other cool places. Find him at neilclarkwrites.wordpress.com or on Twitter, where he posts a new micro fiction most days @NeilRClark