Orion's dad had a belt, too, I bet. I'll teach you to shine so right, I'll teach you to twinkle you faggot. After that how could he not light the way? How could he not be history?
He probably worked at a faraway moon near a black hole, Orion's dad. The outskirts of the galaxy, millions of miles past where most stars worked. Where only re toughest, the bluest, the most desperate of stars worked. He probably trudged to work every morning, the prospect of being sucked and collapsed into nothingness on his mind. He probably saw a lot of good stars go out that way. Imagine that thought greeting you each cosmic day.
Orion asks him too many questions. What are we made of? What do you do? Where is all of this going? And his dad gets tired, gets more tired, gets angry. When I grow up I want to be a constellation. You think you can just be a constellation? You think that's how this shit works? You have to kiss some stardust to get ahead in this universe. It's goddamn difficult, and it's difficult every day. And there's Orion, just shining and shining, growing brighter and brighter, having stories written about him. And off he goes to work, knowing that if he died no one would know for years.
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