Constellations
By Robert Ren
On the first planet, we lost Francisco. We camped upon lush, verdant plains. The soil was dark and promising. But in the night, a wind arose full of daggers stolen from time and history. Krises and katars. Dirks and cinquedas. Qamas and balisongs. We took shelter in the thick forests, but Francisco stopped to look at the iridescent bloom of alien flora and so enraptured was cut down. In moments, nothing remained of him except vermillion darkening viridian.
On the second planet, violet streams cascaded from floating islands. The air was redolent with the mist of these falls. We tested the water carefully. It was safe on its own. But mixed with old world English breakfast tea, it turned Glen into stone from the Inside Out. He drifted upward as he died. A new island birthed.
On the third planet, sentient creatures swam cerulean seas. They brought us their lesser brethren, slimy beasts that, when prepared, tasted just like sushi. Like halibut, yellowtail, trout. We gorged to soothe our gastronomic nostalgia until we became aware that our hosts thought of us much like sushi. Delicacies, to be devoured raw. With slim tentacles, they dragged Susy and Lionel into the waters where we could not hear them scream.
On the fourth planet, sepia marshes lay Encrusted with cinereal asphalt. All around us, a dead civilization. A heat coalescing with the coarse, fetid smell from the swamps induced a self-destructive wrath in us. It was only when we saw Benjamin, the youngest, bearing a mortal wound upon his neck that we returned to our senses. We christened this lost world by lowering his body into the blistering, primordial swamps, and watched as flames turned wan flesh into titian ash.
On the fifth planet, frothy, opal whirlpools warped time and space.
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