BLARPY PUNGLES: Orbital XIX

Collapsible Star-Pot

After all there was finding a name for this thing I'd been given. Even nameless, it followed, happy in a wagon, baggy and a-burst with lights. It made the windy November sidewalk a party! It was no good repeating my name: no one could hear with the popping and the zapping, anyway.

How much can one say about a doohickey, vaguely lambda-shaped, that had arrived wrapped in clown paper? I want to make this perfectly clear: no gift had been expected, and the day was full of bright wind. Pumpkins rotted. All of us eagerly awaited the night sky and its load of constellations.

There is a vertical species of light, wont to sparkle and play.

... TO BE CONTINUED.