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Life was a circle; a cosmic merry-go-round.

When he died, he came back to live the same life over again.

He cried over those he had lost; friendships that had fallen out, all his failures and foibles.

Then, he looked back at Christmas as a child; how Santa Claus had magically appeared sometime in the night.

He recalled dreams; magical and fantastic when in their midst.

He thought about his first love; his first kiss.

The pain grew in his chest.

He remembered, looking forward to the good things that were to come.

At his feet he saw a two by four with a 6 inch nail.

Smelling its rancid breath he turned and sunk the nail deep into the clown’s left temple.

It exploded with a flatulent pop, covering Jimmy with glitter and colored makeup.

He went home and tried to wash himself off, but his efforts only caused the dust to run and smear.

He giggled maniacally as the clown makeup covered his face.

“Part 1: Moonchild”
History would call it the spermiad meteor shower.

Fortunately, for those that lived on the earth, all of the meteors that would have struck our world burned up on the atmosphere.

The moon had no such defense against the cosmic rapist the rained down upon her virgin surface.

Luna sprouted limbs, arms and legs, such as they were, and a face, of sorts.

Most observers agreed that the child was, most probably, a boy.

On cloudless nights the denizens of earth avoided looking up at the moon, which howled in agony, at the wolves that lived so very far below.

“Part 2: Sunflower”

A gravitational spasm from outside our dimension sent the comets spiraling towards the sun.

For a short time, history recorded the spectacle of the comets passing the earth on their way to their solar destiny.

Hundreds of tailed comets filled the night sky, and one found its way to the sun first.

Newspapers printed the solar flower that bloomed in the sky. “A Beautiful Spring Rose” ran as the headline around the world that day the sun blossomed in the sky.

By autumn, there was no one left to see Sol go to seed and spread pollen across the galaxy.

Over the years, what once had been taken for granted as simple tools had developed a sinister aspect. As if the arms of the people that once had protected the village, were now plotting against the townspeople themselves.

They all began to dream the same dream, of the towns arms rising up on their own, wreaking their terrible strength and deadly force against every innocent and undefended man, woman, and child without mercy.

Every morning, as each of them dressed, they looked with suspicion at what should seem so normal, knowing that the very weapons of self-destruction were carried willingly at their sides.

A council of the town elders gathered to discuss the situation. To decide what, if anything, could be done to stop the slaughter of all who had lived here, so peacefully, for so long.

There was argument and differing opinions shaking the walls of the town-hall that night. “Our arms are what keep us strong, defend us, and allow us to live in peace and be prosperous here these many years passed.”

An old woman cried out, “We’ve all had the dreams, you fool. We all know what’s coming for us. “ her voice hushed to a whisper but all in the hall hung on her every word, “We all heard them whispering at night, plotting in the darkness. We can all feel ‘em, waiting.”

It went back and forth this way into the night, but in the end, the old crone had swayed the majority. Together, they decided that they must cast off the arms of doom. They would destroy and bury the weapons of their coming downfall.

And so they did. All in the town were disarmed. All of the arms were cast into a pit outside the city to be shunned for all time.

Too late, the townspeople learned they had fulfilled the dire prophecy themselves. They gathered in the town church that final night, all together to comfort each other, as best they could. They would have hugged one another, if anyone had still been able to.

They listened to the arms of the town, as they crawled through the streets, then arrived, banging and clawing at the church doors.

“You look wonderful, dear. Just perfect for your special day.”

She reminded him each year, since they first met in the coffee shop.

She brought him cherry pie.

He’d only ordered coffee.

Her hand touched his and she smiled and said, “Today is your special day.”

Today she placed a flower in his pocket, kissed him at the door and told him to enjoy his day, his special, special day.

It was a beautiful day, even if it was the day he was going to die.

On the sub-atomic plane they would flatten probabilities to a linear distribution.

They moved on to the realms of geometry.

Triangle was ripped wide and bent to one hundred and eighty degrees.

Circle was pierced, torn, and drawn taut.

Mighty Hexagon was crushed.

They came to the macro universe and found more curves than they ever imagined could exist.

They were appalled, but delighted at the work ahead of them.

To honor his work in fractals, they chose Mandelbrot to start their task of straightening our world.

They straightened his muscles.

They straightened his bones.

Patterns formed and emerged; intelligences arose, history and memory began.

Systems to monitor, store, and analyze the universal information flow came into being.

For lack of anything better to do, they set to task; cataloging, sifting, recording all of existence.

When their work was done, they sent the results to a focal point of contemplation.

It considered the stories of all the possible universes, and awoke.

Opening his eyes, the boy looked down and picked up a stone, then slowly and methodically carved his initials in the sandstone wall.

“I don’t understand why. What have I ever done to you? I’ve always been here for you.”

“Because you’re stupid and vain. You think that you’re so much better, so much prettier than me.”

“That’s so not true. I love you,” Toshie answered in sadness.

“Liar!” she screamed, hurling her hairbrush at Toshie’s face, and with a crash she shattered into countless, jagged pieces to the ground.

In the mirror, her lonely reflection cried, and mourned the one who could never be replaced.