Bellyache
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.
Lucky Stars
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.
Spaghettified Rope
I found a black hole in my house.
I tied a rope to a table leg and abseiled down, thinking the rope would keep me safe.
But the rope became the black hole.
And black holes are too hard to grasp.
So my grasp became time itself.
And time slipped through my fingers...
Anniversary
We first kissed on our minus-one-hundredth wedding anniversary.
You were a duckling, I was a fish. We went in for the same crumb at the same time, as our future
selves sat in our garden, throwing bread into the lake and discussing reincarnation and rifts in the
space-time continuum.
Nae Atmosphere
When I emigrated to space, I was determined not to lose my angry Scottish accent.
But it didnae matter, because in space, naeb'dy kin hear ye screamin'.
Written in the Stars
My tinder profile said, "Know what pulchritude means (no looking it up)? Get in touch."
No response for 27 billion years.
Then a black hole ate Earth. Spat out our dating profiles as new stars.
That's how we met. You gazed at mine in the night sky and said, "Beauty."
Grounded
I passed up the opportunity to become an astronaut. Chose office work instead.
It's an honest living, not too demanding. Still, I often work late, tell my colleagues I have loads
of emails to get through.
Really, I just sit in the dark on my computer, running my fingers over the space bar.
Left in the Dark
You told me your party trick was to imitate a black hole.
You covered my eyes with your hand, and when you took it away, you were gone. As was
gravity. And time. And all the universe.
Bit of a shame, because I never got to show you how I can burp the national anthem.
Left in the Dark II
You asked me to watch your stuff while you went to the toilet.
As I said "yes," my espresso became a black hole. Sucked the whole universe into the base of my
cup.
But I'm a man of my word. I kept an eye on your stuff. It’ll be there when you return, albeit
dotted across a billion dimensions.
Left in the Dark III
The aliens use keyboard shortcuts at the controls of the mothership.
CTRL + X cuts the contents of a planet out.
When they cut Earth, they selected everything but me.
Now I float alone in space, the rest of my planet on a clipboard, to be pasted somewhere without
me.
The Gatekeeper
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.
The Perils of Dating
On my dating app, I put my location as Neptune.
You asked if you could visit me via Myanus. I said at least buy me dinner first.
We agreed to meet on Saturn. You joked about putting a ring on it.
Then we both died on route, of old age.
Saturn is very far.
Dating is hard.
Last Orders
At the end of the black hole, a tavern awaits.
They brew planets there. Serve them by the pint.
That's how we became extinct.
Somebody ordered a pint of Earth and downed it in one. Burped up 4.5 billion years of history.
Pissed out the rest.
Didn't even leave a tip.
Originally published by Soft Cartel 2019
Neil Clark is a writer from Edinburgh, Scotland. His work has been published by places like Wigleaf, Bath Flash Fiction, Jellyfish Review and 404 Ink. His collection of micro fiction 'Time. Wow.' came out in 2020 via Back Patio Press. You can find him on Twitter @NeilRClark, or visit neilclarkwrites.wordpress.com for a list of his stuff.