On the last world of a distant and lonely system, there was a circus made of light.
There were dawn-tamers, cracking shadow-whips. There were twilight dancers, grey and dim yet coldly beautiful, whirling and pirouetting. There were acrobats, burning like suns, swinging across trapezes of night.
This was so very long ago. The world now is dark and silent. Its sun has turned cold. The circus is only grey dust, without even an ember to light it.
But still people watch the circus, through telescopes and instruments, as the light of it travels through the dark between the stars.
Word Count: 99