On the moons of the gas giant Kalderon in the Greeckganss star system, a tiny part of the vast phosphorescent glow on the edge of the galaxy that is the Scarcity Nebula (named so because the chap who discovered it was heavily scarce in terms of imaginative names), a hothead rose form the ashes of the body that was his late fathers.
His father was late for many reasons but one thing that he could not help being late for was birth of his own son. He didn't know much about his father yet, that would have to wait until the seeds of his creation amulgamated in his head to form a brain capable of unlocking the mental capacity of his forefathers, stored in the ashes of their passing and passed on to the rising new generation. He could count himself lucky the air was still, he could probably look forward to a fully functioning brain in a couple of centuries.
Wind activity, indeed, is greatly attributed to the demise of the Hotheads' once brilliant intellectual capacity, it was a wonder in itself that they had evolved intelligent brains at all, given the fragile dependence on still weather for successful and prosperous offspring. The ochre stillness of the upper reaches of their scorching atmosphere may have helped, and most expecting hotheads took a veritocraft to the birthing platform on click 45.
Giving birth in itself was not easy, it was like going supernova, but you couldn't go all wild and scream in defiant rage and anger (like they did in the cinegraphs) and actually try to enjoy spontaneous implosion, no you had to painstakingly ensure that every single molecule of yours was safely within the two metre radius required for healthy offspring (as per Dr. Mopod Greandalupus - Modern Parenting; Fire it up With Care).
No one actually knew if giving birth was tough. The various cinegraphs depicting scenes of death/birth potrayed various versions of it. Some heroic and brave, others painful, some simply ecstatic. But each hothead found out for its own in the end. The various training courses and self help programmes giving all sorts of advice never really prepared you, and you were always nervous during the last days. There was no such thing called a peaceful death on Meepus. It was the most important moment of your life.
This hothead looked around, it breathed in the trepid, thick, almost slimy air of click 45. The birthing platform was hot. Approximately 6000 degrees. He felt cold though, and confused. he may have felt alone if he knew what alone felt like, but he didn't. He was a mere baby. It would take him at least another one hundred Kalderon years to learn to talk coherently.
There was a whizzing noise. The wormhole opened up right behind him. Some ash, not yet properly formed on the right side of his head, blew away. If he'd been listening, he'd have heard distant voices from the other end of space screaming the following;
'Jayasinghe, shut that thing off!'
'I can't sir, it's stuck!'
'You moron, i told you not to mess with.. what in Gods name is that?
'Some kind of lunar being sir'
'M-m-meepus 45 sir'
'Meepus for.. WHAT?
Youdickhead! Its moving! Ohnoohnoohnooo Professor Gunasinghe is gonnakillme'!
'Sir, its reaching for the wormhole!! what do i do sir? sir? SIR!!.....fuck.
Chapter 2 anyone? Rules: continue the story, link back to the previous chapters. You can make anything you want to happen, happen. Tag one person to continue it.
okay, Tag; Jerry. I cant wait.