scrap: in the infinite space that spans the world and toys
Family life has always been a sort of careful chorus of revolutions for the Sherman-Townshends; each little satellite has wandered within the range of each others' fields, and now gravity forms a shaky ring for them. Bright and tenuous, the kind they don't even have anymore on carousels, but then that's just as well. None of them are the type to go leaning out into space for that kind of insanity. They just keep on circling, arms outstretched and hands barely touching, their backs to a blackening sun.