For you.

I'm looking at the stars.  I can see the closest arm of the Milky Way staring down at me.  There must be someone looking down at us, same as I'm laying here looking at them.  How are things for them?  I assume that if they're technologically advanced, they must have emotions to govern their progress, right?  Perhaps not.  Do they feel fear, anger, sadness, same as us?

I think I must be hungrier than I thought.  I can't help but wonder what they must eat.  What kinds of fruits, begetables, meats do they enjoy?  What do they have that we do not even have a category for?  Would we even be able to enjoy them or would they just kill us as quickly as arsenic?  A delicacy for them, the sweetest of their fruits, might calcify our livers, or make our hearts explode from our chests.  Maybe ours do the same to them.  Perhaps our greatest weapon in the coming alien invasion is the humble potato.

I bet they love as fiercely as we do.  What else could drive them?  Or maybe that's just the naivete of the human condition speaking.  Hatred, I suppose, can be every bit as efficient as love, perhaps more so, in motivating people.  Or maybe hatred is just a manifestation of a different kind of impassioned love.

Either way, I love you and I'm glad that we live on the same planet.  One where love is tangible and real, where it is socially acceptable to chew on your lip and hold your hand and one where a baked potato fills our stomachs, rather than liquifying them through our assholes.

55 Word Story

The century old buildings clustered around the town square leaned upon each other like old friends who'd had too much to drink.  They had weathered the onslaught of war and the continuous red tide of plague.  It wasn't until a century after the tracks had been laid that the shiny steely derailment proved their undoing.