When the sky fell, the adults screamed. After all, they were hit the hardest. Stock prices plummeted and soared as they crawled around on all fours collecting their papers, adjusting their spectacles, and trying to make bear or bull of it.
The children, on the other hand, quite liked the way it fell. It made a wonderful whooshing noise as it brought everything within reach. The clouds were exactly like cotton candy, despite everything they had been told. On piggy-backs, they could graze the stars and even rotate the moon. They assured it that it was pretty there too upon seeing its other side. With lassos, they rearranged the planets, making Tycho Brahe stammer in his grave. But he stayed put and wiped the spittle off his noble Danish mustache, because they paid him no mind in their fit of playful laughter.
The children’s collective growth pushed the sky back up, though it never did return to its original height. And so the people lived in a world without billboards, one in which the trees snaked around like vines and the biggest problem that faced humanity was which lampshade to put on the sun in the evening.
Alex Grejuc is a Romanian-American writer who lives in the Pacific Northwest. He recently graduated with a bachelor’s from Oregon State University, which means he now has to pay general admission prices at movie theaters and museums. His sole publication is a poem in his alma mater’s student magazine, Prism.