Wendell’s Diary: The Night the Stars Came Closer

A bedtime story from the People's Republic

It began on a quiet night, the kind that smells like sleep and feels like warm fur against your chest. The stars were out, scattered like breadcrumbs across the sky. Sophia was already curled up in her bed after a long day of justice. Wendell was plucking quietly at his lyre by the window, not really composing—just thinking in sound.

Then it appeared.

A bright, silent light. Not a star, not a plane. Just… hovering. Soft. Watching.

General Hot Dog was the first to notice. He sprang up from his trench of pillows with a bark that shook the blanket fort.
"Surveillance balloon!" he cried. “I knew they’d come for us!” He scrambled to activate the Code Mustard Defense System, but all it really did was scatter plush meatballs across the room.

General Zedbra trotted in half-asleep, his mane even wilder than usual.
"It’s a portal," he whispered dramatically. “To the Zed-dimensional realm. I must leap through it at once.”
No one stopped him. Mostly because no one knew what he meant.

Judge Bobo sat upright with solemn poise. He blinked slowly, adjusted his ribbon, and struck the bedside table with his gavel.
"An emergency tribunal shall be held immediately."
And so it was. Beneath the stars, all gathered—Zedbra pacing, Hot Dog saluting no one, and Wendell, still holding his lyre like it was a shield against absurdity.

Buff the Husky sat at the edge of the bed, eyes sparkling with reflected starlight. He didn’t say anything. He just looked up, serene.
When asked what he thought the light was, Buff simply closed his eyes and replied,
"A reminder. That we are already here."

Sophia, though, was the last to arrive.
Sleepy-eyed and noble, she climbed onto Wendell’s chest and stared upward. Her ears twitched. Her tail curled tighter.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t bark.
She just watched.

Eventually, the tribunal adjourned. The generals returned to their corners, the stars to their silence.
Wendell gently scratched Sophia’s head and whispered,
"Let them come closer, little one. We’ll still be here."

And as they all drifted off to sleep, the mysterious light remained.

Not to warn.
Not to call.
But simply… to glow.

And so it was recorded in the annals of the Republic:
“On the night the stars came closer, we remembered that some things don’t need answers—only company.”

Court was adjourned. The sky kept watch. And the Republic slept in peace.

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Sleep well, defenders of the Realm.