The clouds drifted slowly over the face of the moon, dust trails reminiscent of the old American west as the bots plowed through dust in order to build the new international space base.
A rumble, and the moon heaved.
Aaaaa-choo!
On Earth, Pierre wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close. “Shooting stars! Isn’t the sky beautiful? Make a wish, darling.”
***
I’m a bit wrecked, so just a snippet this week, but I still had fun with Becky Jones‘ prompt about clouds drifting over the face of the moon. We traded, so I’m looking forward to seeing what she did with a white tiger using an ATM!
