My North Star, by F. E. Clark
Twinkle, Twinkle, Mr Spiffy
Star sparkles on his paws and a rakishly torn left ear, Mr Spiffy – for that had been his name always – gazed back at earth.
Stowed away on an intergalactic schooner, each day at 10.33 internal spiffy-time, he would press his front paws against a portal window and flash the receding earth.
Back on earth, the feline world wondered at Spiffy in the sky, while the human population conjured old prophecies and lies.
When he could see his home planet no more, he flashed at his appointed time out of contrariness. Sadness overcame him, he yowled to the darkness.
“What have we here?” Mr Spiffy turned and glared; the human had found him.
The human’s mission was a long and solo one, destination unclear. Hurtling through the cosmos, he began to unravel. Lamented his past, cried for his children, he settled into telling old tales, over and over to his captive audience of one.
As the twinkle star crossed the path of the Zeeper, an alignment was made, casting a spell borne of the deepest wishes of both parties; the silent and the dravelling.
“Curioser and curioser,” Mr Spiffy’s voice rang out, deep and rich. He had had it with the human’s tales, his dreams had been haunted by giant white rabbits and spiteful old clocks.
“You can talk!”
“Indeed I can. Off with your head.”
As they journeyed through the out there beyond, they became fast friends, talking of dreams and daemons, of longings and friends.
If you can guess spiffy-time, perhaps you might see, Mr Spiffy twinkling.
*
Stowed away on an intergalactic schooner, each day at 10.33 internal spiffy-time, he would press his front paws against a portal window and flash the receding earth.
Back on earth, the feline world wondered at Spiffy in the sky, while the human population conjured old prophecies and lies.
When he could see his home planet no more, he flashed at his appointed time out of contrariness. Sadness overcame him, he yowled to the darkness.
“What have we here?” Mr Spiffy turned and glared; the human had found him.
The human’s mission was a long and solo one, destination unclear. Hurtling through the cosmos, he began to unravel. Lamented his past, cried for his children, he settled into telling old tales, over and over to his captive audience of one.
As the twinkle star crossed the path of the Zeeper, an alignment was made, casting a spell borne of the deepest wishes of both parties; the silent and the dravelling.
“Curioser and curioser,” Mr Spiffy’s voice rang out, deep and rich. He had had it with the human’s tales, his dreams had been haunted by giant white rabbits and spiteful old clocks.
“You can talk!”
“Indeed I can. Off with your head.”
As they journeyed through the out there beyond, they became fast friends, talking of dreams and daemons, of longings and friends.
If you can guess spiffy-time, perhaps you might see, Mr Spiffy twinkling.
*
I wrote this piece, in response to the prompts given in this past week's Flash! Friday online contest - and was delighted to receive an Honourable Mention. You can read the judges' comments here.
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