I have no stories today for they were devoured by the sun annoyed that writing was deemed more important.
It poured its light upon my words and burned their voices to ashes. Tiny English words cowered in fear while their longer, more elegant, German cousins simply stood brave and waited for their doom. The Japanese words just sighed and hoped that the next leg of the journey would be interesting. Once finished with its vengeance the sun went on to other things bored of the blackened mess it had made. The wind, which was really just a breeze, laughed gently at the sun's folly and on a whim scatted the ashes wide.
Once the sun had decided it had done enough work for the day and left the sky to go read a book, the stars blinked alight one by one, their never ending game of hide and seek with the moon at a standstill because it was that time of the month and was the moon's turn to hide. The moon, being contrary, never came out of hiding when called out so the stars simply left well enough alone and bored, they amused themselves by telling each other jokes. Their laughter made them twinkle.
As the blanket of darkness fell upon the cooling earth, the ash, remnants of the once potential stories, drifted on the singing breezes, falling upward as contrary paper burned is wont to do. Ideas broken into slivers by the day's wrath latched on to what ever they could find and journeyed into the vastness of the great black on the tail of a passing comet. As the ashes of the stories rushed through the universe they whispered their fragmented tales in the ears of the bored stars. As each star was told a part of the story as the great comet went by they danced in delight. Nothing remained of the pile of ash that was once a series of words but dust.
I have no stories tonight for they were swallowed by the stars greedy for new words and who did not wish to share.