Submitted for the March 2025 prompt: Begin at the Big Ending

After the last of the malevolent sentient stars had burned away, there was not much left for the trio to do. Not much — but begin the rebuilding of the universe.

 

“I reckon the first thing we do is party,” grinned Fidget, spilling booze from the bottles he held in his four green hairy arms.

 

The three sat at a picnic bench after midnight in a park they'd visited often when there used to be four of them.

 

“Oh yeah?” smiled Cindy, raising one eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, a right crazy shindig. With all the dudes left standing.”

 

“Don’t forget the dudettes.”

 

“Of course. And when that’s done, maybe then, we get down to business. After the dancin’, booze and—”

 

“Are you guys serious?” Dave demanded. “You’re acting as if everything isn’t over. As if more than half the universe hasn’t gone up in smoke and stardust!”

 

“Buddy, I think you should chillax—” said Fidget, slapping Dave’s back.

 

“And get wasted like you? Is that how you deal with being the last of your species? And you, Cindy, don’t you care about your sister? The Star Saviour, who—”

 

“Should have been here instead of me?” snapped Cindy.

 

The three froze, their faces fallen.

 

“Cindy, I—”

 

“No, David, I know. It’ll never stop hurting. But look up. The stars that are left are a testament to her sacrifice. When you gaze up at them, you’ll remember her story.”

 

“Our story.” Fidget said, putting one hand on Cindy’s shoulder, another on Dave’s. “It’s been a wild ride. And more crap to get done. And I tell you Dave, why we should party. For those like Cindy’s sister, whose light got ripped out. For the stars we lost, the good and the bad. Grab a bottle Dave, drink up. It’s the least you could do for the fallen.”

 

Dave looked at the bottle held out to him, and his eyes narrowed. He shook his head, stood up, and began the slow walk up the hill.

 

“Waste not, want not.” Fidget shrugged and chugged his bottles.

 

* * *

 

Cindy found Dave standing at the top of the hill, looking up at the stars.

 

“Hey,” Cindy smiled, her right hand gripping her left arm.

 

“Do you feel cold? I feel cold, I’m gonna…” Dave moved away, but Cindy caught his sleeve.

 

“I think it’ll get warmer. The night, I mean,” Cindy said, letting go.

 

Dave’s lip curled. “I can’t see that happening.”

 

Cindy took a deep breath. “Dave, don’t you think it’s beautiful? The sky, it’s beautiful tonight.”

 

“Yeah, I guess. What remains of it.”

 

“The war is over, Dave.”

 

Dave flinched. “Is it? Well, that’s good. Very good. All thanks to her, I know. Never mind what we did. Tell me, Cindy, do you think when it happened, she thought about us at all? Or other less important people, like—”

 

“She loved you. She wouldn’t have done all of that if she hadn’t…” Cindy bit her lip.

 

“She did it to save the universe. To save each worthwhile star. Because that’s what she was. A hero. When I close my eyes, I still see Melissa jumpstarting that black hole. Letting it devour all the shadow galaxies, including herself. Well, you know what, Cindy? That wasn’t even the worst part.”

“David, I don’t think you should—"

 

“It was all the things that could’ve happened instead. The adventures we should’ve had. Dammit, even the parties. The promising future, now empty as most of the sky.”

 

Dave wiped his eyes with shaking hands.

 

Cindy put one hand on Dave’s back and with the other pointed upward, “Do you see that constellation, Dave? The brightest? That was created when we spared the life of that rogue white star. When we showed mercy.”

 

Dave sighed. “You’re right. Thank you. I guess now… now we have to move on. But Cindy, what do we have left?”

 

“All we have left,” smiled Cindy, her eyes glinting with starlight, “Is hope.”