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Farmhouse on a Dead-end Street

Sierra Napoleon

At the edge of the universe, they 

sat outside on their rickety steps, 

sipping raspberry rum and tapping 

their fingers to the hum of the near- 

by galaxies. They’d always been there. 

Too afraid to go inside and miss 

something. Too afraid to go off the 

final step and dissolve into dust. 


Luckily, a new constellation 

had formed a few seconds ago— or 

maybe some decades— that gave them some- 

thing to watch. It was a funny shape, 

a human man frozen in dance, his 

arm extended and forever wait- 

-ing for another hand to grasp his. 

They leaned back and inhaled the burnt scent 

of the vacuum, feeling sparks as it 

stung their skin. As they closed their eyes and 

drained rum down their throat, a blast of light 

seared their eyelids. They looked around and 

almost missed the constellation dy- 

-ing, his final flickers sizzling a- 

way to nothingness. They sighed and turned 

their head. How did they get here again?