Sun was a few days away from retirement.
A catalogue of events. Years, seasons, months, minutes, moments.
Sun (our one) was Murtaugh to their Riggs. Sun was ready to kick back and relax.
Become a low watt bulb.
Sun had no idea if their replacment had the stones for it. Couldn’t care less, if the truth needed to be told.
A supernova was coming.
The galactic equivalent of ‘turning it off and on again’.
Sun looked about. There were good memories to be had here. If you squinted hard enough. But in reality, a Sun’s life was a solitary one.
Magnetics and heat ensuring that anything comubstible needed to stay far, far away.
Every few solar cycles there were notices sent out to the far reaches of the solar system: “Want to be the galaxies next BIG SUPER STAR?”, and thousands of wannabes would strike out leaving comet tails across the skies, terrifying the astrologists ever since Galileo, Kepler and Dee.
The locker room was a place where Sun had heard most of the ‘chat’...wwaaayy worse than anything Trump has ever said. So far.
Out on the training grounds the grunts were going about their routines. The hopeful ones looking to reach the pinnacle of such a career.
Reach for the skies kids.
Sun looked from the stands, watching the trainees running laps, kicking up dirt and breaking a sweat - them not the Sun.
Forget your G-Spot, The Sun is G-type main-sequence star that comprises about 99.86% of the mass of the Solar System.
An original G.
Too much Sun and the peeps sizzle and apply balms. Too little, and they rush to buy expensive jackets and burn fossil fuels.
Sun put on the badge, got ready for the day ahead.
Not long to go.
Just hang in there.
Better to burn bright than fade away.
