text: From up on high, the star walker sighed, the pebble-muncher cried and the ladybug died. After the fact, per se, there was no trace, not a shred of tangible evidence. No snippets, no whippets, no crickets, no documents, no monuments, no power plants, no sour ants, no bar fights, no car lights, no head lamps, no street tramps, no beat vans, no light bans, no sport fans, no frying pans, no lying dames, no crying shame and least of all... There was no darkness. Not a droplet in the stillness. An echo of an intelligent species. Intelligent. This Maker chuckled heartily at the thought, for this maker had found the time. But not the thyme, as this rhyme grows with the limes on the stone baked crust of the blue pebbles lust. Yes, sighed the maker, it was a lusty place. A musty, fusty faucet of leaking prosperity and mindless calamity. Ha! Another laugh rippled from the Makers velvet laughing-box. It was not as if he had not thought long and hard about his decision, there was many-a-millennium spent pondering the ponderous, reaching into the gaping chasm of thought to purge the answers from his Wisdomus Tooth . He was unlucky to only have one Wisdom Tooth and this was a maker who needed answers fast. One Tooth would not cut it, he needed more. Fast. Faster than one can say fasterousnessing. Speaking of thinking, this was something the sentients of the Blue Pebble always fell short of doing and was one of the reasons for their Un-Making. It was strange, to the maker, when he thought about it, thinking didn’t seem to be a very hard thing to do. See! However, considering the creatures had installed a very large, specific muscle that was positively perfect for the job. Not to mention its many other wonderful functions. Including, but not limited to; Thermoregulatory balance, balancing, fantasising, speaking, pain, emotion, devotion, muscle motion, brussel sprout poaching, skin packet roaching, tassle twisting, hassle causing, music making, language breaking, barrier bursting, astral dreaming and last but not least... Consciousness expanding. It was an elaborate experiment to say the least; the maker did not dream the species would flourish into something so robust and intricate. But alas, the experiment was doomed to fail. To fall out of the broken sky, crashing into the flame scorched darkness of waywardness and heavy-handed brutishness. Was this The Makers fault? Possibly. Maybe. Unscrupulously. Or was there something else at play here? Was there, by any chance another reason for this catastrophe? Certainly. But it was a truth hidden deep within the depths of the cognitive cogs of one particular humanoid. Yes, the muscle named their species ‘humans’, Silly, I know. Now, let me take you on a journey to the blue pebble. My creation, my craft, my spherical raft adrift in the swallowing blackness. Let us first walk 1,391,000... I think the humans called them kilometres (and yes, you could just as easily walk 4 Yoctoargons if you happen to hail from the reaches of the Thumpingbumpingtechnotown in sector C of the Rinneganitis area of Deep Space) around what they now call ‘The Sun.