#space spider

I make the stars for her, y’know. I chisel the shapes and work my hands to the bone for her. In the hopes that one day, she’ll visit me—see me. 

I came to live on the moon with one single purpose, I make stars. My father, and his father before him and even before, all made stars but none of them for the right reasons. 

Stars started to disappear one day and—it’s been so long—I don’t think anyone remembers when it first started happening. The light escaped the sky, one star at a time. A great darkness started to descend on the world. 

At first, there wasn’t a reason to panic but then the world began to notice a change. Some stars and celestial bodies began to connect with fine silver strands that were naked to the human eye. The bright lines pulled and twisted whatever was in them and brought them meticulously together. They created strands of the cosmos, intricate spider webs of planets, stars, and space dust. Whatever stars that were trapped at the center of these webs were eventually snuffed out. It was a pattern. 

The webs in the sky began to creep closer and closer. Once thin lines became thicker and thicker, reaching the outer planets of our solar system. The sky was coated in a luminescant cat’s cradle and the world shook with an unknowing fear. 

Then, we saw her. Her hands crept towards our small planet, sharp and needle-like, wrapping and twisting threads around us. She was beautiful. An astral orb-weaver, covered in flecks of plasma that blended her into the night sky. She stretched her body across our solar system, one leg touching the outer reaches and another reaching towards the star at the center. Some say you could almost see the celestial salivation coming from her fanged maw as she got closer and closer.

That’s when we started to craft stars for her. The first offering was the last effort of survival. A hope that she would be pleased with little snacks enough that she would leave the largest meal alone. 

It worked. We carved star after star until she was satisfied and then she left. Her threads in the sky slowly dispersed. It’s been so long that some don’t even believe that she was ever here, to begin with—the fools. 

I still have a job to do. My father, and others before him, were tasked with making more and more just in case of her return. They flew up to the moon and were hidden from the rest of the world. Those below didn’t need to be reminded that she was still out there but we were ready anyway. 

We have plenty of stars—had plenty of stars. I want her to come back, of course. I did what I had to do. I tossed the stars off the moon like little bread crumbs for her to find, to lead her to me. I still make them of course, for her. One day she will pick up the scent and descend upon our solar system once more, wrapping us in her web of stars and lights. With every star I release into the sky, I can feel her getting closer. Her heavenly body warping space itself around her to get to me. She knows that I want her. It was how it was always meant to be.

With every star I send, I make a wish. She and I, together, floating in the infinite expanse of the universe.