Does the universe need a big bang to begin, or can it start with the stroke of a brush ~ one star, one constellation, painted into existence from a single point of view? One may not know until the explosions of pulsars occur in one's ear...
The pulsar explosion, when it came, was a voice shredding the silence of her world.
"SLIMEKO COME OUT! YOU'LL MAKE US BE LATE FOR THE LANTERN FESTIVAL!" The voice belonged to Arare. Her routine never changed: gather the girls, devise the scheme, and execute their favorite performance — making the alien feel real.
The alien would hurry in anxious breaths, taking no time to focus on one's constellation lantern piece in her hand. The alien worked in a faded indigo kimono, her sleeves secured back with a plain cotton cord. A grey apron, dotted with old constellations of ink and paint, protected the fabric. The only hint of the universe she loved was a thin, silver thread she'd secretly woven into the edge of her sleeve ~ a tiny, shining secret against the dark cloth.
Her routine was a loop: paint, hour after hour. Blues, blacks, purples — flecks of them dusted her pale skin like misplaced stars. She wished for a quiet corner of the universe, far from threatening comets. But her deepest wish was simpler: "It's Emiko," she breathed into the silence, a sad, given-up sigh. "Not Slimeko." She just wished someone was listening.