4.2 light years. Proxima Centauri. 7th period. Science. Not that great a distance it’s just 4.2 light years after all, and tonight maybe… just tonight all that I wish for will come true. One light year in one year that should be an adequate speed for wishes to travel. Or maybe one year for a stopover please not much I hate to wait please.
A tingle on my toe, it’s the curtain. The noise won’t let me sleep anyway; the dogs are always up at night. Even they keep odd hours. Where was the last place I saw my zippo, maybe kitchen. She always uses my zippo to light stove. Damn maggi maybe I will be in the news too, a bunch of maggi all coiled up like a baby in my intestine. Things are never in place laundry bags in kitchen, maybe next week. Its not too dark, refrigerator lights would do. The aspirin is in the fridge; as I sip on I notice a brown blob *whossh* out comes the aspirin with the kind of roach particular to an old second-hand single-door fridge. My cup has chipped off, I hate chipped cups would buy one this weekend. Tap water is putrid, at least no brown blobs, not those I can see.
I watch the blue smoke curl up like baby’s toe through the rusted grill, beyond building 25-A, and far beyond the rooftop into the sky, with millions of stars… Proxima Centauri…
I was so excited I could not wait for the last period to get over. I waited… waited for the sun to set and peep into the sky full of fairy stars, I remember stealing a look as the last ray died…my Proxima Centauri…just 4 years maybe 5…
Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
Make me happy and loved I wish on you tonight. Please my star bright.
I guess it wasn’t Proxima Centauri.