On a distant moon, a boy asks an empty crater what spectacular object made its imprint on this desolate space boulder suspended somewhere in a galaxy.
But the sand around the crater edge shifts & falls in waves, forming a collapsing mouth with dying twitches, refusing to say anything.
No sound. No words. Nothing would suggest any hints of life except for the dancing clouds of beige dusts that seem to perpetually float upwards, drying the boy’s skin & lips until they almost crack.
If only the crater could speak, it’d tell tales of how the the most brilliant celestial bodies once dominated the uninhabitable vacuums of space. Of shooting stars & chrome-clad spaceships. Angels & demons.
It’d tell tales of how they all fell one day, crashing downwards & leaving behind terrible concave imprints shaped to the outline of their once-beautiful bodies, now dead & decomposed to nothing.
It’d tell tales of how their legacy & magic ended, leaving behind voiceless craters, & out of that voicelessness they started to forget all the things they couldn’t say.