I live in a planetarium. I don’t have a story or a past. Suddenly, I’m here, hatched from an egg. I didn’t ask to be in the world, but here I am. We watch from a hole in the ceiling. A nest that is full of my kind. Stars and planets whirl around us in the planetarium. It’s pretty fascinating and I’m luckier than most. Then I get bumped and fall into the black void, right by Saturn. I land on a seat cushion and scuttle along the floor to the green EXIT sign.

I walk down the hard surface. It is an aggregate of stones and oil. Later I learned this is a blacktop street. The lights of the street remind me of the planets, except they are in a row. The summer air is warm, and I continue, with a little giddy-up of excitement in my six legs.

A large animal goes clipping by me. I hide in a paper cup. The wind catches it and I spin around and around, down the street. My sticky feet hold on to the cup and I watch the world as if I’m in a laundromat dryer.

The cup lands in a mud puddle. I look from the top of my paper boat. Antennae peeking out like rabbit ears on a TV. The shores are distant lands, and I have no choice but to ride this out. I suspect after falling from the stars on the ceiling in the planetarium, my body is light and could float, maybe I could even walk on water? I also learned a tremendous thing. I can fly. I didn’t even know I had wings until I lit off the edge of the cup and I am looking down over the glimmering puddle. The joy of this moment astounds me, soaring under the stars. I land on the white slickness of a candy bar wrapper, like a buggy space shuttle. It has smears of brown and it is so sweet! I have found my calling—chocolate!

I eat my fill, and sleep overcomes me, and I dream of flying. It’s magical, soaring in the dark sky. Unbeknownst to me, the wind actually has me flying on the wrapper. I wake up and, unlike my old view of the planetarium’s black space and red planets, sunlight glares into my eyes. I am inside a roof’s eaves-trough.

I eat another trace of chocolate off my foot, licking all six of them. The candy bar wrapper is jumping across a lawn. I see from the roof’s perch, a tall, monstrous figure. It is so repulsive that I feel disgust shimmer down my attractive brown shell to my legs. It has a bulbous head, giant blue eyes like one of the planets, maybe earth, but so ungodly ugly. A log of fire is between its red lips. Its enormous claws are stringing dripping rags, which obviously fit its gruesome body, onto a long green cable.

The hideous sight causes my wings to flutter, and I am in flight. A window is open and I buzz through it and land on a kitchen counter-top. I run from one end to the other. I am quick, a real track star. Opaque, hard granules are scattered by a towering black coffee cup. I lick one—so sweet—perhaps the essence of all sweetness. SUGAR!

The monstrosity comes through the door and doesn’t see me. I am large and very handsome, but I crouch under the toaster. The beast lumbers around the kitchen. A wet rag glides by me and the sugar is gone. It moves the toaster, but I saw this coming and cling to the underside. I feel the weight of a tin world shifting as the wet rag swipes at the rising toaster, and it clangs down. Bread crumbs cover me.

I watch her from secret holes and sometimes hide in plain sight on top of the curio cabinet. I stay stock-still, not even twitching my antennae. They are getting very long. A strange tide-pool of desire is rising inside my loins. I have a terrible urge to procreate.

One evening, I scuttle out to the Jacuzzi and find a mate under a tarp. She is in heat and lets me mount her.

Now my lady and I both watch the hideous smoking monster from the top of the curio cabinet. It is loaded with ceramic dogs, salt & pepper shakers from Wisconsin, and even a sparkling glass doorknob, which reminded me of a star flashing at the planetarium. Once our babies are hatched, we should all go back to the planetarium. I miss seeing the worlds’ spinning, but my lady refuses. She is a country roach and cares nothing about worlds aligning and the Milky Way Galaxy.

In this world, she is laying eggs under the dripping kitchen sink. Already the little ones are crawling everywhere, like an alien invasion!

Christopher J. Ananias

(Photo of CJA and a Dear Friend)

The streets of Marion were one way, even the alleys. If I went past the address, it would be a hassle. My GPS led me with its robotic commands like I was its mindless servant. That’s about the way I felt driving the Medicaid Taxi van, old No. 4, that smelled like a dirty laundry hamper. The so-called clients, “The Riders,” gave me a hard time if I showed up late for their free ride.

“They’re a bunch of deadbeats, Cal.” I said on our daily bullshit call.

Cal, who was always ranting about them, suddenly said, like a big company man, “Hey, don’t talk about our riders like that.” He was a fanatical Trumper too, hounding me to vote for the orange man. I almost did, thinking Trump was for Christian values, what a crock. Now I’m wondering about Biden and his senility.