Lights Off, Lights On

When it all went to hell, the grid was the first thing to go. We went back to candles and pitchforks, like the dark ages all over again.

Funny thing about that was, when the world went out, the sky came on. Stars hanging in the darkness like a glitter shower suspended in jello. Like a holy sneeze from the big man himself.

I asked Ernest what he thought of it all, staring up at the spectacle from the back deck.

He shrugged, taking another drag from his last cigarette. The stars illuminated the smoke as he breathed.

“’S about time we stopped thinking we were the brightest thing in the sky.”

Microfiction for you all this week! Fun fact from my writing class on Monday: there are actually specific names for super short stories. You’ve got six-word stories (of Ernest Hemingway fame), dribbles/mini-sagas (50 words), drabbles/microfiction (100 words), and flash fiction (1000 words). They’re fun writing warmups, if you happen to find yourself with fifteen minutes to spare.

Anyway. There’s this lookout spot I like to go write at in the summer—it’s a little parking lot at the base of a hiking trail, and when you park at the top you can see all the way out across the lake. It’s super pretty, but the valley is so stuffed with artificial light that you’re hard pressed to see any stars after the sun goes down. This piece is a little bit in response to that—losing electricity would be catastrophic in so many ways, but it’s interesting to think about what we might gain from it. What other wonders are we missing because modern life has made them invisible?

One of these days I’m going to make it to a dark sky park. Until then I will content myself with pictures from the Hubble Space Telescope.

Hope you all get a chance to look at the stars this week. <3

—Kira

Like what I do? Consider subscribing to my paid tier, or sharing this newsletter with someone you think would be interested. You’ll be helping me keep the lights on as I finish my degree. Thanks for your support!