The Chocolate Comet Conundrum

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes, three-fingered hands, and a tattered silver spacesuit, stands at a round porthole window inside a cluttered observatory ship, staring out at a dark gap in a candy-colored galaxy of spiral planets and glowing lavender and gold moons. In the background, the interior of the rickety star-observatory ship with mismatched metal walls and shelves of glowing jars filled with captured starlight.

Something was wrong in the Swirl, and Zibloo felt it before anyone else did. The candy-colored galaxy had always hummed with a gentle, sugary warmth—spiral-shaped planets spinning lazily past moons that glowed in shades of lavender and gold. But tonight, standing at the observation window of a rickety star-observatory ship, Zibloo felt a strange chill creep through the cosmos. The alien pressed three long, green fingers against the cold glass and stared out at the sky. One star was missing.

A tattered, hand-drawn notebook lying open on a metal desk, its yellowed pages covered in careful star charts and sketches of a bright blue-white star circled in ink, surrounded by scribbled notes in alien handwriting. In the background, the cluttered metal desk of the rickety star-observatory ship with mismatched rivets and a jar of captured starlight glowing softly.

It was Zibloo's star—the bright, blue-white one that had pulsed like a heartbeat in the eastern arm of the Swirl for as long as Zibloo could remember. When Zibloo was just a small hatchling on a faraway world, that star had been the first one the alien ever studied, the first one mapped in a tattered notebook, the first one that made Zibloo whisper, "I want to understand you." Now, where it had always burned, there was nothing. Just a dark, empty patch of sky, cold and final. Zibloo's chest tightened. A strange, hot feeling began to build behind the alien's ribs—something unfamiliar and fierce, like swallowing a tiny sun.

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes glowing intensely and a tattered silver spacesuit, stumbles backward with arms raised as glowing jars of captured starlight shatter and explode off the shelves around the alien, sending shards of glass and ribbons of golden light swirling wildly. In the background, the cramped interior of the rickety star-observatory ship with mismatched metal walls shaking from the explosions.

The heat spread fast. Zibloo gripped the edges of the observation desk as the burning feeling surged through every limb. The alien's violet eyes blazed brighter than usual, and without warning, one of the jars of captured starlight on the nearest shelf began to rattle. Then it cracked—POP—and a burst of golden light exploded across the cabin. Another jar shattered. Then another. "No!" Zibloo cried, stumbling backward as shards of glass and ribbons of escaped starlight swirled through the air. "Stop! I don't—I don't know what's happening to me!" But the jars kept cracking, one by one, as if the fury inside Zibloo was leaking out and breaking everything it touched.

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes squeezed shut, three-fingered fists clenched, and a tattered silver spacesuit, stands rigid in the center of the observatory ship with a forced, wobbly smile while the metal walls around the alien vibrate and ripple with faint waves of orange energy. In the background, the remaining glowing jars of captured starlight tremble on shaking shelves inside the rickety star-observatory ship.

Zibloo squeezed both eyes shut and clenched those three-fingered fists as tightly as possible. "It's fine," the alien muttered through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. I just need to push it down. If I ignore it, it'll go away." Zibloo took a shaky breath and forced a wobbly smile, pretending the heat wasn't still churning like a storm inside. The remaining jars of starlight stopped rattling. For one hopeful moment, everything seemed calm. But deep in the alien's chest, the anger didn't disappear. It coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring being pressed down by a trembling hand. And the tighter Zibloo pushed, the stronger it grew—until the whole observatory ship began to vibrate with a low, dangerous hum.

King Doodle Bum, a plump, rosy-cheeked king with a curly brown beard, wearing a velvet cape the color of dark chocolate and a golden crown shaped like a cocoa bean, tumbles off his golden throne as the floor tilts beneath him in a grand throne room with walls made of stacked chocolate bricks. In the background, gumdrop towers visible through tall arched windows and a river of flowing cocoa running past the castle.

The energy pulses burst out of the observatory ship in great, invisible waves, rippling through the candy-colored galaxy like stones dropped in a pond. Spiral planets wobbled on their axes. Lavender and gold moons flickered and dimmed. And at the center of the Swirl, the Chocolate Kingdom—a bustling realm of cocoa rivers and gumdrop towers—lurched sideways on its orbit. Inside the royal throne room, a plump king in a velvet cape the color of dark chocolate tumbled right off his golden chair. His crown, shaped like a cocoa bean, clattered across the floor. "Great gumdrops!" King Doodle Bum exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "That pulse came from Zibloo's ship. Something is terribly wrong."

King Doodle Bum rushed out of his castle and onto the Starbridge—a shimmering walkway of pure light that connected the Chocolate Kingdom to the open cosmos. Beneath his feet, constellations swirled like slow-moving fish in a glowing sea. He found Zibloo sitting on the bridge's edge, knees pulled up, staring at the dark patch of sky where the beloved star had been. The alien's green skin had turned a sickly grayish color, and faint crackles of orange energy still sparked off Zibloo's shoulders. "Zibloo!" the King called, hurrying closer. "Are you hurt?" "I'm fine," Zibloo said quickly, not looking up. "Everything's fine." But another pulse of energy rippled outward, and far below them, a gumdrop tower in the kingdom swayed dangerously.

A towering stack of glossy chocolate truffles—round, dark brown, dusted with gold cocoa powder—arranged in a magnificent pyramid shape, with several truffles mid-tumble, cracking and scattering in an explosion of chocolate shards and golden dust. In the background, the grand interior of a chocolate castle with walls of stacked chocolate bricks and arched windows.

King Doodle Bum sat down beside his friend, close but not too close. He recognized that look—the tight jaw, the clenched fists, the desperate pretending. He'd worn that same expression once himself. "You know," the King said softly, "I once smashed an entire tower of my finest chocolate truffles. The tallest tower in the kingdom—three hundred truffles stacked with care. I destroyed every single one in a royal tantrum." Zibloo blinked, surprised enough to glance over. "You?" "Me." The King nodded, his cocoa-bean crown wobbling. "I was furious about something I couldn't control, and I tried to pretend I wasn't. I stuffed the anger down and down until it burst out of me like a volcano. I hurt people I cared about that day—not with my fists, but with my words and my recklessness."

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes, three-fingered hands, and a tattered silver spacesuit, sits at the edge of the shimmering light-bridge with knees pulled up, faint crackles of orange energy sparking off the alien's shoulders and arms, looking small and vulnerable against the vast cosmos. In the background, the dark expanse of the candy-colored galaxy with spiral planets and dimmed lavender and gold moons.

"But anger isn't the villain here, Zibloo," King Doodle Bum continued gently. "Anger is just a feeling—a natural one. Everyone feels it, even kings and star-watchers. The trouble comes when we shove it down and pretend it doesn't exist, because it always finds a way out, and usually not a good one." Another crackle of orange energy sparked off Zibloo's arm, and the alien flinched. "What am I supposed to do then?" Zibloo whispered. "It feels like it's going to tear me apart." "First, we breathe," said the King. "That's what a wise old chocolatier taught me after my tantrum. When the anger is blazing hot, you don't try to fight it or hide it. You just breathe—slowly, deeply—and let the heat cool down to something you can hold without getting burned."

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes brimming with floating tear-drops that drift upward like tiny glass beads, sits beside King Doodle Bum, a plump, rosy-cheeked king with a curly brown beard wearing a velvet cape the color of dark chocolate and a golden cocoa-bean crown, both sitting on the shimmering walkway of pure light. In the background, constellations swirl like slow-moving glowing fish beneath the transparent bridge, and a dark empty patch of sky is visible above.

"Breathe with me," King Doodle Bum said. "In through the nose—slow, like you're smelling the world's finest hot chocolate. And out through the mouth—slow, like you're cooling it off before you sip." Zibloo hesitated, then tried. The first breath was ragged and shaky. The second was a little smoother. By the fifth breath, the orange crackles dimmed to a faint amber glow. "Good," the King murmured. "Now—and only when you're ready—can you tell me what happened?" Zibloo's large violet eyes filled with tears that floated upward in the low gravity of the Starbridge, drifting away like tiny glass beads. "My star," Zibloo said, voice cracking. "My star burned out."

The shimmering walkway of pure light—the Starbridge—glows with soft, harmless ripples of pastel-colored light dancing across its surface like gentle auroras in pink, blue, and gold, spreading outward into the cosmos. In the background, the candy-colored galaxy with spiral planets now steady on their axes and lavender and gold moons glowing brightly again.

And then it all came pouring out—not as destructive energy, but as words. Zibloo told King Doodle Bum everything: how that blue-white star had been the first star the alien ever studied, how it had felt like a thread connecting Zibloo to a faraway home, how watching it pulse each night was like hearing a familiar voice say, "You belong in this universe." Losing it felt like losing a piece of home all over again. "I thought I was just angry," Zibloo said quietly. "But I think I'm also sad. And scared. What if I forget what it looked like?" "Anger is sneaky that way," the King replied, nodding. "Sometimes it's the loudest feeling in the room, but underneath it, there are quieter feelings—grief, fear, loneliness—that need to be heard too. When you figure out why you're angry, the anger doesn't control you anymore. You control it." As Zibloo spoke, the dangerous energy pulses faded into soft, harmless ripples of light that danced across the Starbridge like auroras.

Far below, the Chocolate Kingdom settled back into its proper orbit. The gumdrop towers stopped swaying. The cocoa rivers flowed smooth and warm once more. King Doodle Bum put a gentle hand on Zibloo's shoulder. "You don't have to handle big feelings alone, you know. Asking for help isn't weakness—it's one of the bravest things anyone can do. I wish I'd asked for help before I destroyed that truffle tower." Zibloo let out a small, watery laugh. "Three hundred truffles?" "Three hundred and twelve, actually," the King said with a sheepish grin. "Not my finest moment. But it taught me something important: anger is a signal, not a sentence. It's trying to tell you something matters. And once you listen to it—really listen—you can decide what to do next, without hurting yourself or the people around you."

Zibloo, a small green-skinned alien with large violet eyes and a tattered silver spacesuit, gazes upward at a vast dark patch of sky where a tiny, faint new star flickers with delicate white-blue light, the alien's expression a mixture of quiet sadness and gentle wonder. In the background, the shimmering Starbridge stretching into the candy-colored galaxy with constellations swirling like slow-moving glowing fish below.

Zibloo gazed out at the dark patch of sky where the beloved star had once glowed. The ache was still there—a quiet, tender bruise in the alien's chest that probably wouldn't fade for a long time. Maybe it never would, not completely. And for the first time, Zibloo understood that was okay. Some things are supposed to hurt, because they mattered. But then Zibloo noticed something. Just to the left of the dark patch, so faint it was barely a whisper of light, a tiny new star had begun to flicker. It was small and uncertain, trembling like a candle in a breeze—but it was there. "Look," Zibloo whispered. King Doodle Bum looked, and smiled. The two friends sat together on the Starbridge, watching that fragile new light grow just a little brighter, and neither one of them said another word. They didn't need to.

The Chocolate Comet Conundrum

Browse More Stories

from the Fable Public Library