My father used to tell me stories from the night sky. He could go on for hours yarning beautiful legends of mythical heroes. “The stars tell us stories of our past,” He would say, “The archive of our collective memory.”
I listened to him with raptured intensity, but never truly believed. I wish to gaze upon the celestial tapestry, but all I can see is our impending doom. Only AG-1775, the Apocalypse Galaxy, is visible now. Ominously it approaches: the harbinger of our annihilation. Already it has erased our histories, giving humanity amnesia. I cannot fathom what comes next.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Thanks, as always, to Rochelle for the inspiration.
Word count: 100
Rafiki's Nikki 
nice, it was very real for me, honest
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Thank you
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your welcome
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Loved the first paragraph, but the second was a nice twist on the story.
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I remember the first time when I visited Africa. I stood there, looked at the night sky and felt so close to the stars. I live the first paragraph better and wish you would have continued in the same direction.Great take on the photo prompt
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It seems most people like the first paragraph better haha
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I love this. It reads like a fable and contains much truth. Beautiful writing, too.
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Thank you!
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The night sky indeed tells many stories if we listen, it’s ending would be so sad. Mike
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It would be! Having grown up in a place where I could see the stars, living in a urban area now is difficult on clear nights
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Lovely wee post, enjoyed it.
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Many thanks!
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Started as such a heart warming tale, then went bad pretty quickly! Good work.
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Thank you very much
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Nick, your first paragraph was a fine piece of writing. It had my mind and my heart. -Jennie-
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Thanks for the kindness
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You are welcome!
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