x
"There’s a man on the Moon, with a smile and a hat,155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQvcpd0pL0C
He’ll whisk you away, just imagine that!155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJxpvqVIeiz
With parties and cake and adventures galore,155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwmvhk5Z53V
He’ll take you where worries are nevermore."
—J.B. Marlowe.
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY7bpddb6IU
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4p2wGQ3DK9
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlcNPmPZMSq
The Randall household was a place where childhood dreams had no room to grow. For Tommy and Sarah, their days were filled not with laughter and light but with the heavy thrum of their father’s anger. Frank Randall was a man whose temper could fill a room, a constant storm of frustration and fury. His voice, always too loud, rattled the windows and sent the children scrambling to hide behind the walls, hoping to make themselves as small as possible.
The house itself, though modest from the outside, felt like a trap on the inside. The air was thick with tension, as if every moment teetered on the edge of some new explosion. Their mother, Sue, moved quietly, always trying to keep the peace. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how careful she was, it was never enough. There was always something Frank found wrong: a missed grocery item, a poorly cooked dinner, the children being too loud, or too quiet.
At night, the walls seemed to close in even tighter. Tommy and Sarah lay in their small beds, the sound of their parents’ muffled arguments seeping through the cracks in the doors. The slam of the front door, the grating screech of Frank’s voice—it was a lullaby of dread that never seemed to end. Frank Randall’s frustrations with the world—the politics of the times, his dead-end job, the news he watched on TV—were always just fuel for the fire that would inevitably burn through their home.
But Tommy and Sarah had found a way to escape, even if only in their minds. When the shouting started—when the front door slammed, and their father’s gruff voice filled the house—their imaginations lifted them far beyond the limits of Earth.
In their quietest moments, they ran to the stars.
Tommy, lying in bed with the blankets pulled up tight, would close his eyes and picture himself in a spaceship, soaring through the endless black of space. The stars weren’t just dots of light—they were friends, shining brightly, guiding him and Sarah through the cosmos. Planets loomed large before them, their swirling clouds and glowing rings inviting exploration. There was always a soft hum beneath the fantasy, a warm sound that whispered of safety. Up there, beyond Earth, there were no angry voices, no slammed doors, no demands for obedience. There was only the quiet vastness of the universe.
For Sarah, it was the moons she loved best. She imagined herself dancing across their silver surfaces, weightless, free from the heaviness of home. Each moon was different—some large and cratered, others smooth and glistening under the light of distant suns. Sometimes, she and Tommy would imagine they were explorers, discovering new galaxies no one had ever seen before. Other times, they were simply alone among the stars, sitting quietly together, floating in the vast expanse of space where silence was not something to fear, but something to cherish.
Their galaxy was one of endless adventure. They could name the stars, give life to the constellations, and drift between planets that shimmered with promise. There were no rules, no constraints—only the feeling of endless possibility stretching out before them. And as long as they stayed in that world, they didn’t have to think about the sounds creeping in from the living room: their mother’s quiet pleas, their father’s booming demands.
In their world, they were the ones in control. The planets listened to them, the stars waited for their command, and the moons welcomed them like old friends. It was a place they could retreat to whenever the real world grew too heavy to bear—a place where the weight of Earth fell away, leaving only the lightness of dreams.155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7L8fMIir9u
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmXUlDM6fjB
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5YlMpFsJLX
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0YTSO2WrHl
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5oBj7BadV3
The Randall living room was a small, cluttered space. The wallpaper, yellowed with age, peeled slightly at the edges, and the sagging couch sat across from an old TV set, its rabbit ears twisted in every direction. A single lamp cast a dim light over the room, barely illuminating the mess of ashtrays, empty bottles, and crumpled newspapers strewn across the coffee table.
Tommy and Sarah watched from the cracked-open door, their small bodies tense, their breaths shallow. Their father, Frank Randall, stood in the center of the room, fists clenched, the veins in his neck bulging as he towered over a man slumped in the corner—a guest who had long overstayed his welcome. Tommy didn’t know his name, but that didn’t matter. To Frank Randall, this man was nothing more than a target.
“You think you can come into my house and mouth off about the president?” Frank growled, spitting the words with a savage grin, his voice thick with arrogance. “Not in my living room, you don’t.”
The guest, a scruffy-looking man with thinning hair, raised his hands defensively, blood trickling from his split lip. His black eye was already beginning to swell. “Frank, c’mon... we’re just talkin’. Just... talkin’ politics,” he slurred, his voice shaky, clearly regretting whatever careless remark he’d made about the state of the world.
“Talkin’ politics?” Frank sneered, his eyes wild with fury. “You know nothing about politics. You don’t even know what it means to be a man!”
With that, Frank’s fist lashed out again, a brutal right hook that connected squarely with the man’s jaw. The guest stumbled back, crashing into the side table, knocking over an ashtray and sending a bottle clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the tiny house like a gunshot, but Frank didn’t stop. He was a force of nature now, relentless, his knuckles already bloodied from the first blows. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him up like a ragdoll.
“You come into my house,” Frank growled, his face inches from the other man’s, “you drink my beer, you talk about my country, and you think you can walk away without showing me some respect?”
The guest gasped, half-dazed, his hands pawing weakly at Frank’s iron grip. He was no match for the raw power of Frank Randall. And Frank knew it. His lips curled into a smug, twisted smile as he let the man fall back to the floor in a heap, coughing and groaning.
From behind the door, Tommy and Sarah stood frozen, their wide eyes locked on the scene. They didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare make a sound. They had seen their father angry before—heard his voice boom through the walls, watched him slam his fists on the table. But this was something different. This was bestial. Primal. Frank Randall, their father, was no longer just a man. He was something else entirely—a predator with his prey in sight.
Sarah flinched as another crash rang out, her small hand gripping Tommy’s arm tightly. They exchanged no words. None were necessary. The violence in the living room was so thick it seemed to seep into the air, into their skin. It was a force they were powerless against. They could only watch.
Sue Randall, their mother, rushed into the room, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. She had seen it too many times, but the shock of it never quite wore off.
“Frank, stop!” she shouted, her voice shaking but determined. She placed herself between Frank and the man on the floor, her hands outstretched, pleading. “You’ve made your point! He’s done, Frank. He’s had enough.”
Frank sneered down at his wife, the muscles in his neck still taut, his chest heaving with adrenaline. For a moment, it looked as though he might strike her too, but he stopped himself, breathing heavily. He let out a long, frustrated grunt, as though she had ruined his fun. He ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair and took a step back.
The guest lay there, groaning in pain, one eye swollen shut, blood trickling from his lip onto the carpet.
Frank wiped his knuckles on his shirt, smirking as he stared at the man beneath him. “Get up and get out,” Frank said coolly, no longer shouting but just as menacing. “And don’t come back unless you learn some respect.”
The guest, barely able to stand, staggered to his feet with Sue’s help. She ushered him toward the door, her voice soft, apologetic, whispering things Tommy and Sarah couldn’t hear. The man muttered something in return, but it was garbled, his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition.
As the front door slammed shut, the house grew quiet again, save for Frank’s heavy breathing. He stood there for a moment, surveying the wreckage as if it were a badge of honor, a testament to his power.
Tommy and Sarah didn’t move. They couldn’t. The terror that gripped them held them like statues. Their father’s violent rage had always been a constant, but to witness it like this, raw and unfiltered, left them hollow. There was no way to escape it, no place safe enough to run.
And that was when Tommy knew. They had to leave. Not just the room, not just the house. They had to leave this world.155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUILvOokTHx
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV9NtfFuyL0
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGQThI19ClI
155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgtBMClruYk
Later that night, Tommy and Sarah lay in their small bedroom, the faint sounds of the evening filtering through the cracked window. The creaks of the old house and their father’s heavy footsteps moving across the living room floor reminded them of the tension still simmering from earlier. But in this quiet space, they had their secret—a world far beyond the walls of their home, where no one could follow.
Tommy broke the silence, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars they’d stuck to the ceiling. “Do you think... maybe someone’s out there? Watching all this? Like... actually out there in space?”
Sarah shifted in her bed; her face half-hidden in her pillow. She always took these questions seriously. “Watching us?” she whispered back, her voice soft in the darkness.
“Yeah,” Tommy continued, turning his head to look at her. “You know, like the people we always imagine in our world. The ones who fly around the planets. Captain Star... and Nova.” His voice brightened as he spoke. “Maybe they’re out there, somewhere. I mean, if Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk are flying around in the Enterprise, why not Captain Star?”
Sarah smiled faintly at the mention of Captain Kirk, sitting up a little in her bed. “Yeah, Captain Kirk’s always exploring strange new worlds, and Spock... well, Spock would probably know if someone was watching us. He’s logical, right? He’d figure it out.”
Tommy grinned, the idea of Mr. Spock knowing about them somehow making everything feel more real. “Right! And maybe Mr. Spock’s using those scanners of his right now, keeping an eye on us. And Captain Kirk... he’s always ready for a rescue, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll show up right here, in this house, and say something like ‘We’re here to help.’”
Sarah laughed softly. “Yeah, but Kirk would probably ask for coffee first,” she joked, her voice still hushed. “Then he’d punch Dad in the face, just like he does with all the bad guys.”
Tommy chuckled, imagining Captain Kirk’s swagger as he stormed into the living room, standing tall against their father’s fury. “I bet Kirk would win, too. He never loses. And Spock... Spock would do that nerve pinch thing, and Dad would just... drop.”
Sarah giggled again, her eyes brightening at the thought. “And after that, they’d beam us up to the Enterprise. We’d be flying around the stars with them, visiting new planets.”
Tommy’s smile widened as he let his imagination soar. “Yeah! We’d be up there with Kirk and Spock, exploring galaxies. And then, once we’re done with the Enterprise, Captain Star and Nova would be waiting for us, and they’d take us even further.”
Sarah leaned back against her pillow, the glow of the imagined adventure lighting up her face. “Nova would be showing us the coolest places—like that moon we always talk about, the one with the craters we can jump over. And we’d have those jetpacks, just like hers.”
“Don’t forget Cosmo Cat,” Tommy added, still grinning. “He’d be with us too, fixing the engines and making sure everything runs smoothly. He’s smart like Mr. Spock, but funnier.”
Sarah nodded, her voice softening. “Yeah, and Cosmo Cat always knows how to keep everyone safe. Just like Spock, but... he’d probably make us laugh more.”
For a moment, the room grew quiet, the imagined world pulling them both far away from the sounds of their real life. They could almost feel the hum of the ship, the weightlessness of space, the calm that only existed in the distant stars. Here, in their fantasy, they weren’t small or helpless. They were explorers, adventurers—safe in the company of heroes who could protect them from anything.
“Do you think,” Sarah whispered again, her voice filled with that same quiet wonder, “that maybe Captain Kirk and Spock... or Captain Star... might actually come? Like, to help us?”
Tommy turned onto his side, staring up at the ceiling full of glowing stars. “I don’t know,” he admitted, though the hope in his voice betrayed his doubt. “But someone’s gotta be out there. Watching, right? Someone who sees what’s happening. And maybe they know it’s not fair.”
Sarah bit her lip, thinking for a moment before she spoke again. “Maybe they’re waiting,” she said, her voice almost too soft to hear. “Like... watching from up there in space, waiting for the right time to beam us up. Maybe Spock’s already figured out a way to get us out of here, and Kirk’s getting the ship ready.”
“Yeah,” Tommy whispered, clinging to the idea. “Or maybe Captain Star and Nova are already on their way, flying through the stars, getting closer every second.”
Sarah smiled again, this time a little brighter. “And when they get here, they’ll take us far away. To a place where we don’t have to be scared anymore. A place with no yelling, no slamming doors. Just... space. And quiet.”
Tommy nodded slowly, his mind drifting back to the moon they’d imagined—the one with the deep craters and purple-tinted sky, where they could leap between the stars and never worry about coming back. “That moon we made up... with the floating cities and the purple trees... maybe they’ll take us there.”
“Maybe,” Sarah whispered, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, as though wrapping herself in the comfort of the thought. “And we’ll get to stay as long as we want. No more fighting. No more bad days. Just... peace.”
Tommy looked over at her, his voice quieter now, more serious. “I wish we could just leave now,” he confessed, the weight of the wish hanging heavy in the air. “I wish we didn’t have to wait for someone to come. I wish we could just... go.”
Sarah sighed, sinking deeper into her pillow. “Maybe we will,” she whispered back. “Maybe someone’s already watching. Maybe they’re closer than we think.”
And with that, the room fell into silence once more, the only sound the faint creaking of the house around them. Tommy stared up at the stars on the ceiling, imagining Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock, their scanners turned toward Earth, watching the Randall house from some distant galaxy. He could almost hear the hum of the Enterprise, the quiet whir of jetpacks, and the gentle pull of the stars.
Somewhere, out there, someone was watching. Someone was waiting to help.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
