By L. Stevens
I enjoy writing, and participate in a fiction writers’ group that sends out monthly “prompts”, (suggested topics), challenging the members to compose short pieces accordingly.
Here’s a recent example; it left me without a clue.
8/02/21 This month’s prompt:
The Dog Days of summer are named for the rise of Sirius in the night sky this time of year (known as the “Dog Star” by the ancients). Write a story in which the night sky, and stars you can see in it, figure prominently. This can be science fiction, but does not need to be. Make your story 500-600 words long.
I know nothing about the stars, except they’re nice to look at. Beyond that, how was I to write a story with not less than 500 words about the stars I see in the sky on a cloudless summer night? Even with unforgivable repetition, it was a stretch.
My best effort started out like this:
It was a warm summer night in North Florida when my wife called me to our outside patio, where she exclaimed, “There’s not a cloud in the sky. Would you look at the stars out tonight!”
“Amazing,” I agreed. Judy was right. That day, at the Planetarium, she’d learned how the “Dog Days of Summer” got their name in ancient times, from the rise of Sirius (the Dog Star) in the night sky this time of year.
With the moon and the stars all lit up, even our property was illuminated. A person could walk around on the street and see where he was going. That’s what I decided to do. “I’m going to take Spot for a walk,” I said.
“But you took him already, before dinner,” my wife reminded me.
“Yeah, but the stars weren’t out then. Don’t forget, it’s his “Dog Days”, too. And besides, he’s already done his business…I won’t need to bring a poo-poo bag.”
My story had gone from the Dog Days to dog crap. My heart wasn’t in it. I had to stop there, to toss in the towel. Maybe, next time, the ‘prompt’ would give me something to work with.
Then, I met with my friend Chuck, and everything changed. What follows is my submission to the group.
* * *
8/14/21
“So, it’s over, you and Ginger?” From our recent phone conversation, I’d been aware things were rocky between my buddy Chuck and his fiancée. He was down; I’d stopped by his apartment to check on him.
“She accused me of putting off tying the knot, taking her youth, no commitment, yada, yada. Same old story for the last ten years, like a broken record.”
I blinked. “You’ve been together that long…”
“And she’s hocking the diamond, not giving it back. She handed me this instead— heartless.” He reached for a framed certificate and passed it to me.
“Global Star Registry. Ah, so you got a star named after the two of you. Heavenly Ginger-Chuck. Neat.”
“For our fifth anniversary.” Chuck shook his head.
“Of your engagement, you’re saying.”
“Yeah.” He groaned. “What am I supposed to do with this thing? It’s an embarrassment. Now, there’s a Ginger-Chuck floating around out there. Forever, for God’s sake! You sure can’t pull it out of the sky, can you?”
“Not really,” I agreed with a sigh. Heavenly Ginger-Chuck…
* * *
I’m a problem solver, and a serial entrepreneur. Thinking out of the box is my forte. So, I researched the Global Star Registry.
The company began the sale of naming rights to stars some fifty years ago. In a news article I found, the firm claims to have named and sold one million of them since. “Ours is a seasonal business,” explained Morris “Mo” Lester, it’s founder. “Strong at Christmas, but even more around Valentine’s Day. And the month of June, as bridal gifts.” With that, I realized how countless other parted lovers shared Chuck’s predicament.
Each year, on average, 20,000 new astronomical dedications inhabit the firmament. Often, in honor of couples, as a sign their love is eternal. Until it isn’t.
Because about half of all marriages end in divorce, engagements like Chuck and Ginger’s die, and thus, the heavens fill with sad, painful memories. There could be 100,000 or more stars fitting such description in the skies. Neither the couples nor the galaxy are any the better for it.
My stroke of genius came by way of a radio commercial. “We will get you out of your time-share, or you owe nothing.” That’s it! People like Chuck need a recycling service for the stars that bear their names, forever stigmatizing their dashed hopes and broken hearts.
For a small fee, my new company will assume responsibility for such humiliations, and extend re-naming rights to the public at ‘used star’ prices. Planet Exchange, “the place where stars are re-born”, will assist humanity and the planet in brightening the atmosphere of outer space. Shark Tank, here I come.
* * *
Chuck was my new company’s first customer, and though my hopes for Shark Tank hadn’t come through, soon Craig’s List had produced a steady flow of business, from all over the country. The healing of the heavens had begun.
Then, six months later, I confronted the Achille’s Heel of the business model, the thing I should have anticipated. Chuck got a marriage license and went with Ginger to City Hall, where a municipal judge pronounced them man and wife. Then it was off to the Bahamas for their honeymoon.
“What am I supposed to tell Ginger?” Chuck pleaded, when they got back to town.
“Your Heavenly Ginger-Chuck was my first transaction,” I explained to my disheartened friend. “It’s now named after an Ocala boy’s dog that got hit by a car—Patches in the Sky. There’s no way I’m going to that little boy…”
Tears welled-up in Chuck’s eyes. “What did I do, Arthur?” he cried out. “I’m an idiot. I should never have been in such a hurry.”
“We can handle this,” I assured my friend. “I have plenty of inventory, and I’ll do a new Heavenly Ginger-Chuck. As a wedding gift.” Chuck looked doubtful.
I added, “Probably best we don’t let Ginger know there’s a new edition.” Then inspiration struck again. “And someday, if the two of you get a dog, you might want to name it “Patches”. See how it all fits together?”
