I met him last August. And no, our eyes didn't meet across a crowded Times Square, or one of those hipster coffee shops as he helped me pick up dropped quarters. He wasn't playing guitar in central park, or wooing me from my bedroom window. It was a lot less cliche, but twice as memorable. Or at least, that is what it became.

I'd landed a job as a fairly back stage reporter, living in the shadows of the higher-profiled. Nevertheless, it was a dream for me. Something I'd always wanted to mount to but had never taken the first step. To be able to call myself a journalist felt as surreal as becomming one, and I could finally make the world aware of me, and myself of the world.

And I had shadows of my own, but I had never looked back to notice them. It wasn't until my first case, that I looked back for the first time, to be met with the stare of someone I was soon to know. I just hadn't been aware. They say that to make headlines, something big has to happen. And so, it did.


2. Stardust.

Juniper Marsh was the high rising journalist you'd least expect to achieve. She never stuck in at school, or bothered to make much of herself. Never found any aspect of life fulfilling. She was a dull, hopeless prophecy, and her parents weren't optimistic. Just nine years of age, and already a quitter. It was a wonder no one shot Juniper Marsh.

But then, Juniper caught a druglord.

The neighbours farm had been harbouring cocaine trades. Smack dab in the farmhouse, amongst the chickens you could almost smell the white gold. Being only nine years old, and even in America, you wouldn't know what cocaine was, despite what the media would have you believe. But Juniper found the farmouse, and juniper found the drugs. It's a story she'd pride herself on to this day, if you were to ask Juniper about her farmhouse, her bright, auburn eyes would light up in reflection of her former self, and someone else's recognition of it. Her former glory. She'd tell you, with a big tooth-bearing grin, that she found Farmer McGuire's stardust. 

Because in essence, that's what it was to Juniper. She pulled out her daddy's old flip phone, and she dismantled an elitist tradesman's career. She wrote a little statement, to. In scrawled, distorted handwriting, rushed with anticipation. It read: (in the most rough translation)

'Farmer knows where the fairies live, because there is stardust in his barn. I found it, piles of it. I found the stardust, yes I did. He protects it very strict, because there were men with rifles. I saw them, and I was scared.'

Like I said, it was a wonder no one shot Juniper Marsh. She was a lucky kid. 

The story blew up like a snort of coke. McGuire and hundreds of associates were apprehended, and Juniper got a little medal. Juniper went back to school. Juniper went to college, where she wrote papers, blogs and magazines, where her dream to be a journalist blossomed with every article.



Juniper may not have found stardust that day, but she was soon to be a star of her own.

But, as science has taught us, all stars are born to die.

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