Once upon a time, there was a young constellation named Trisarah. She was comprised of eight small stars and lived in the northeastern corner of the sky, far from her previous friends in the southwestern wings. Trisarah had spun off to explore the brighter skies because that’s what brave star-clusters do. Her old friends missed her, especially Dick13 (named by Richard Karp after a few glasses of red and a particularly difficult algorithm) who spent the lonely hours collecting moons and ignoring Orion’s advances. Dick13 kept promising to visit the far-reaches but she didn’t have enough AUs to make the billion-year trip. This filled her with much angstrom.
Now this wouldn’t be such a big deal except for the fact that it’s a fairly ugly picture when constellations cry. Meteors pour down and asteroids clank around and solar flares spike out and general mayhem ensues. I mean, everyone remembers when all seven of the Pleiades weren’t invited to Taurus’ big supernova blowout in 1054. But no matter, or anti-matter, Dick13 came up with a plan through her apocalyptic tears.
She would send a care package to Trisarah. So she gathered some bassalt, a Kelvin and Hubbles comic book, and a little extra space she had lying around (dusted with a few neutrinos of course), and wrapped it all up in the fluffy Aurora Borealis. Sending it via cosmic ray, it got there just on time.Trisarah, drunk off four shots of Plasma Bombs and Marstinis (ok, Trisarah didn’t know her Roche limit, WHATEVER), received the package and immediately felt the expansive love from her friend. It truly filled the universe. They blew each other kisses on the solar wind.
The End.
