No. 104: THE ROUGE ROBED LADY OF THE SKY

by Raji Singh

Our Founder, James Thaddeus “Blackjack” Fiction ‘Tell our stories, Raji. If you don’t, it will be as if we never lived.’ These whispering cries of joy and sorrow rise from the bookshelves and portraits in the Fiction House. I cannot refuse. (Artwork enhancements by: Joseph Rintoul)

Our Founder, James Thaddeus “Blackjack” Fiction
‘Tell our stories, Raji. If you don’t, it will be as if we never lived.’
These whispering cries of joy and sorrow rise from the bookshelves and portraits in the Fiction House.
I cannot refuse.
(Artwork enhancements by: Joseph Rintoul)

It is said that a recent show has become the most watched event in the history of humankind. The audience count is in the billions; viewers on almost every continent. The prime-time spectacular happens only once every 15 to 20 years or so. No on-off buttons to push, or screen to peer at. Whether you’re at the Giza Pyramids, Eiffel Tower, Great Wall, or on the Orient Express. Just look up at the night sky.

You’ll see my dear friend Luny Mum in total eclipse in her Supermoon phase. If you didn’t watch the most recent blockbuster, check out these EarthSky pictures.

Luny Mum was my imaginary childhood chum. Her crescent smiles comforted me through my bedroom window whenever I felt sad before going to sleep. I could tell her my troubles and shed myself of my ‘glums’. I could share childhood joys with Mum and feel the warmth of her glow within me.

She is still here for me, most every night, and often, during the day. Just take time to search the blue cloudless or nearly cloudless daytime skies and you may see her conversing with her celestial mate, Poppy Sol.

Of course the rouge robe that Luny Mum dons is her trademark. Watch. It is like invisible sky mice beginning nibbling the make believe cheese of Mum’s surface.

Luny Mun Entering Her Eclipsical Glory (photo by Amy Rintoul)

Luny Mun Entering Her Eclipsical Glory (photo by Amy Rintoul)

Her eclipse commences. Ever so slowly darkness begins shrouding our Mum. After an hour or so she seems to completely disappear for a moment. Then it happens. The night sky, no matter how many stars are out, seems to be overtaken by her suddenly fiery red orb.

Just watch in awe, relaxing in contentment and amazement at the sky’s grandness.

(Join me every Sunday night at the Fiction House, your place for short story, lark, whimsy, and merriment.  Meet the many residents as I archive their lives and centuries of adventures.  You can read of their origins in my novel TALES OF THE FICTION HOUSE.  They are completely different stories.  My novel is available at Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.)

©2015 Mark Rogers

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About Raji Singh

I am a writer, a foundling anchored by tale-telling and imagination. Read my history in Tales of the Fiction House, available at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble (This is a portrait of my great-great grandfather. He's a handsome devil and I am his spitting image.)
This entry was posted in archeo-apologist, Fiction House Publishing, humor, Short stories, Uncategorized, whimsy, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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