tom was a boring yet shapely old man, at least mentally.  he woke up In the mornings, he went to work, he came home.

every once in A while his engine came on, he sputtered and served his purpose and then his switch was turned back off.  Most of the time he sat in the corner idle.

he sat down after a particularly greuling day, cleaned the mud off his Boots and cried.  it had been years since he had been able to do this.  ever since he saw his best friend torn to shreds Right in front Of his eyes by that machine, he couldn’t seem to bring his eyes to even water.  the worst part was that he had no reason to cry, he wasn’t suffering and wasn’t extremely emotionally injured by anything that happened that day.

the moth flew into the darkness and he ended up staring at the stars which Kept him captivated, at least temporarily.  he noted all of the important constellations, big dipper, little dipper… they were so bright, brighter than he had Ever noticed before and at this moment, starstruck, weak, crumbling he slammed his face into the soft wood paneling on the side of his house and started bleeding.  this Night was one he would remember, but weren’t they all?