To Change A Lightbulb

This story is about a boy named Atlas. A celestial being who was born out of the sky to take care of the stars all by himself. Alone but never lonely, he wanders the earth and eventually gets to know what lonelines, happiness, anger, among other feelings, feels like.


2. A Small Shooting Star

The first ever shooting star was a young boy, one who had emerged from the biggest and brightest star. He was a live star on two feet. His body, matching the human race. His skin was white, his hair a shining silver, eyes glowing the most beautiful golden color you ever did see. He was much more beautiful than the beings already living on the planet he was gonna use as a home.

He could've landed anywhere; but landed on earth. He was gifted, unlike the flawed human beings he found roaming the earth, maybe he was god-given. But never once did he look down on them. He could see what they were capable of on their own. They worked hard for survival, something he didn't need to do.

On a distance, he would watch them, copy their behavior and their languages. Of course, he practiced these things alone.

But he couldn't approach them. The stars had warned him about them and how destructive they get when they come across things they don't understand. He was content. The stars kept him company. The baby stars in his bag kept him warm in the winter. He knew not of what wonders happen when you befriend someone, anyone.

Warmth and occasional sleep was what kept him going. He never needed to eat. He could and was allowed to, but it wasn't required for his survival at all. So he didn't do it. It felt like unnecessary work on his part.

On rainy days, he would fly to the stars, sleep with them until it ended, as to not get wet. Then they'd send him back, to spend time on the ground. He wanted to stay up there, communicate and spend time with them. He could do his job there, just fine. But he wasn't allowed. And he became content with this.

At days he would look up at his family and wonder. He knew he was safe. With his powers, the humans would be powerless, correct? But to cross the stars and their warnings, their order, wasn't on his mind. But oh did his childlike wonder ask all kinds of questions about the beings. 

Nevertheless, he did his job. Made constellations, putting dead stars to sleep and replacing some with newer, smaller stars as he saw fit. All without fail. He had never once been taught, it was natural to him. Like how natural it is to cry when hurt. He just knew. From the moment he emerged and landed on this green world, he knew.

He was a content, live star. 

Time after time, he told himself this. Because he really was content. He was allowed anything as long as he stayed away from humans and did as he was meant to do. So he traveled every country, and learned a few languages along the way. A few languages, he was fluent in. Others not to much. But he was intrigued, regardless of how much or how little he could speak it. It felt weird having to use the mouth, given to him. Talking to his parents was more a feeling. He expressed himself like so and they would answer the same way. But as time passed and with practice, talking felt almost just as natural to him.

He was taking a break in the middle of the field, lying down and staring up into the sky. Having a lighthearted conversation with one of the newer family members of his. They were talking about the sun to earth, how problematic it might become to change it out once it burns out. Not for them, but the humans. And that's when his ears picked up an unfamiliar sound; a pattern, like when he walks. He sat up to look who it could possibly be out here.

"Are you okay?" It was a girlish voice, from what he had learned on his journeys over the years.

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