Maya

16

The sun rose and everything fell in its path. The stars fell into the ocean, slipping in one by one. It was cold, but they all jumped in, even the troublemaker stars in Orion's Belt because they had been adorably twinkling the whole night and "needed a rest from that sentimental shit".
The sun's name was Hank and he was a real bad boy. Hank, as he ascended into the sky, was feeling pretty good about himself. He was wearing a new pair of kicks and was even sporting a dark sunspot on his left bicep. Hank passed the moon, who was sliding leisurely down, and said, "sup?" The moon yawned loudly in response, and Hank was sure he could see something inside its open mouth. It looked like a man. Hank shrugged and continued rising. On his way he saw a pair of geese flying together. 'That's sweet,' Hank thought wistfully, then quickly said, "eww," aloud, to anyone who might think he was soft. Hank wasn't soft. If he was a person he'd be the leader of a biker gang and drink Goose and have full-sleeve tattoos and in his free time watch My Little Pony. You know, if he wasn't a supreme celestial body with RESPONSIBILITIES and OBLIGATIONS and a MINIMUM WAGE JOB. 'I didn't choose the sun life,' Hank thought to himself plaintively, 'it chose me." Hank sighed but lit up when he realized it was noon. "It's getting BRIGHT in here, baby!" he crowed, and began doing the Macarena. He was pretty high. A fighter jet passed by the dancing sun and Hank saluted it goodnaturedly, saying "make love, not war". He was a pacifist sun. The jet was duly impressed. It was a North Korean make and as such did not have a very developed sense of humor, being composed primarily of re-runs of The Interview. "You're so cool and funny, man. You're like the B.J. Novak of the sky," the jet said (The Office is also quite popular in North Korea).
Hank was enjoying the compliments but as he tried to slip downwards (it was evening) the jet flew right down with him. Now Hank was getting annoyed. He didn't need groupies, he was already a star! "Will you please leave me be?". But the jet followed, spouting strange advice all the while:
"Don't do drugs, do mascara!"
"Be kind, wipe your behind!"
"A friend is the best flavor of ice cream!"
"Go away," grumbled Hank.
Still the jet followed.
"I just want to be friends!" the jet said earnestly.
"I'll get a restraining order!" Hank threatened.
"Nobody wants to be friends with fighter jets!" the jet cried, weeping profusely. "It's not my fault that I carry three armed missiles, bioengineered viruses and small sweaty men! I NEVER WANTED THIS!"
The jet's tears seemed to be made of gasoline, as they soon caught fire. The aircraft shuddered and gasped as the flames crept over the entire vehicle, encasing it. "NOOO–" the jet cried, but was cut off by each of the missiles exploding in turn. Ba-dum ba-dum ba-DOOM, and the annoying jet was gone. Hank was relieved for the silence. And then he realized what he'd done. He had killed an airplane. That was involuntary manslaughter! He knew he would get caught– the sheriff would find him and he would be done for. Hank wouldn't survive in interrogation– he was tough but even he couldn't hold up against the big gas giants, Jupiter and Uranus. They would pry the truth out of him. He would be sentenced to being a moon, or an asteroid, or a bit of worm poop. It had happened before. But it couldn't happen to him. And Hank realized he knew the way out of this mess. He would reincarnate! He didn't know what he would become, but it would have to be better than becoming a second-rate space rock, a nobody. The once-proud and majestic sun closed his eyes and when he opened them he was a star no longer. Hank became a 24th century 5 year old boy named Alex. Alex was in his bedroom, waiting for his favorite old hologram show to come on. He rubbed his tiny hands together in anticipation. Oh, how he loved My Little Pony! But there came a knock at the door. "Pray tell, who comes a-rapping at my door?" Alex asked, hoping it wasn't his parents. They didn't like him watching vintage shows, believing them to be overly sexual and violent. Alex's parents were very conservative: they spoke in 21st century dialect and dressed only in white overalls.
"Little Alex, why, I have come to check on your well-being and sanity. Also to bring you some vittles. How do you feel about grilled cheese?" That was Alex's father calling from the hallway.
Alex hated to be interrupted, but perhaps it was for the best. He was rather hungry. Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.