It’s nearing 3 AM, and we’re reaching a point where this sort of beginning’s become a cliché. That’s really sad, because this is Trinc’s first and probably only story, and it’s already been done. Still, it’s nearing 3 AM in an all-night supermarket with a name she doesn’t recognize, in a town she’s never been in before. She’s just passing through. You don’t need the hum of the fluorescent lights or the soft muzak playing on the intercom described to you. The older woman at the only open register is exactly the type of woman you’d expect to find working a grocery store register at 3 AM.

“That everything, hon?”

Trinc nods her sandy-blonde head, licking her lips as the cashier rings up the essentials on the black conveyor belt. Some snacks for the road, nothing fancy. Stuff she can carry in her trusty red backpack. She licks her lips a couple more times while she pays the woman. After handing over the money for her food (no she doesn’t need a receipt), Trinc starts putting the snacks in her backpack when she unexpectedly hears “Shouldn’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“Just dries ‘em out, more,” the cashier says in a Southwestern drawl, pointing at Trinc’s lips. Instinctively, Trinc puts her hand up. To her shock, her lips do feel like they’re on the verge of cracking. How did that happen? She may as well have grazed sandpaper. “Need something for it, hon?”

“Oh, I don’t…”

“Here.” The cashier plucks something from a hook on the nearby impulse rack. “One tube of starfruit flavored lip gloss. With tax $3.14.”

“I…”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” To Trinc’s surprise, the cashier’s already paid for the lip gloss. “Nothin’ worse than dry lips, know what I mean?”

“Oh! Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” the woman nods and then returns to the world of the steamy romance novel she’s brought with her from home. She doesn’t ask why a girl Trinc’s age is out so late, or if she’s even from this town. Just pays for a tube of lip gloss before diving back into the world of Repent, Zandalee! Weird, right?

Trinc leaves the air-conditioned sanctuary of tabloid magazines and discounted canned spam for the warm summer air. It’s like breaking out of a refrigerator, which is something she’s done before, believe it or not. She takes off her red flannel shirt and wraps it back around her waist; the store was cooler than she expected, but the feeling quickly vanishes the longer she’s outside. If it’s this warm now, imagine how hot it’ll be in the morning.

She doesn’t even remember opening the little box, or tossing the container in a black metal bin as she walks through the empty parking lot. Striding beneath the streetlights going nowhere and everywhere in particular, Trinc firmly grasps the treasure in her possession away from prying eyes. She’s trying not to dry her lips out any further, but it’s hard to reign back the instinct. Trinc’s never really been a lip gloss person. Lip gloss is just a different kind of lipstick, right? Had it been her choice, Trinc would’ve grabbed a cheap tube of chapstick, even though she’s never liked the taste.

She decides not to pull her Walkman and headphones out of her bag right now. Though she wouldn’t mind listening to The Cranberries, Trinc prefers to stay alert. The night’s quiet, calm, peaceful. She can’t let that fool her, though. Needs to be aware of her surroundings. That she wasn’t even aware her lips were dry probably isn’t foreshadowing or anything.

The road may be empty, but she’s not alone. She keeps her fist closed, afraid of revealing her unexpected prize not just to the world but herself, too. What if it’s not a prize after all?

Trinc’s never eaten a starfruit before. There were none available for sale in the store, at least none that she could see. Have they ever had them in stock in this store, in this town, in this part of America? She doesn’t even know what starfruit looks like. Trinc imagines a yellow fruit shaped like a five-pointed star, like the kind of stars you see in video games.

What would it be like to sink your teeth into a star? Trinc wonders. Do you make a wish? Or, are you eating a wish someone made on the star in the past? What happens to the wish, then? I wonder what I would wish for.

A suddenly sharp desert wind blows; dust gets in her blue-gray eyes. She winces. The streetlight flickers. Still, she keeps her hand closed while rubbing away the dust. She turns her head upward towards the sky.

She’s not alone, for there are so many stars. The further she is from the industrial lighting of the store, the more obvious that becomes. Tonight there’s no moon. Is it an old moon or a new moon? Trinc’s sure someone told her but she forgot. Typical. Trinc realizes she’s been walking for a while, as the store isn’t even within sight anymore. So much for staying alert, then. No matter how far she walks, the stars are always there.

“Don’t let’s ask for the moon.” She remembers from an old movie where Bette Davis should’ve ended up with Claude Rains at the end. “We have the stars.”

But Trinc isn’t a star. She’s a moon. A Beautiful Moon, at that.

The only Moon around.

“Triiiiiiiinculooooooo…”

Trinc sensed it before she heard the slithery, slimy words slinking out of nowhere. It sends a sensation down her back that makes her cringe.

“Alllllll aloooooooone?”

“I laugh in the face of death,” Trinc declares as she tosses her backpack a safe distance. No sense in her goodies being ruined before she has a chance to eat them. As she pockets the lip balm, she finishes with “And my song drowns out the screech of evil.”

She feels the sensation of light washing over her body for the millionth time as the slithering thing descends upon her. She’s never been a makeup kind of girl, but this isn’t really makeup when you think about it. To her, this is a rebirth. Her clothes fade away in the glow, her face adorned with white paint. Black tear drops manifest beneath her eyes.

The figure standing before the swarming shadow is dressed in torn black and red flannel. A bizarre alternative version of the Commedia Dell’arte for the ‘90s.

In her mind, Trinc imagines the sound of wings and a storm of black feathers. The face of poor Brandon Lee, dead three years now, appears in her mind.

“It can’t rain all the time.”

It was the first thing she thought of when they told her how to transform. But she didn’t want to be a scary clown. Not really. She wanted to be beautiful.

“A celestial fighter! A Beautiful Moon! I am Grunge Trinculo!”

The shadow laughs as it dives towards her once the light of her transformation fades. Trinculo sees the creature before her isn’t one of the major villains like Dark Iago, or even a general like Amontillado. Just another commonplace Moldavite, feeding off human despair and loneliness. A minion made up of dark green shadows. What was it doing all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere? Still, it’s her first time fighting one on her own. Was this why she’d been drawn to this town with a name she doesn’t know?

Though it’s made of shadows, the creature lives up to part of its namesake. It reeks of mold and dead things as it forms mouths to bite and snap at Trinculo’s limbs. She’s used to the stench, having fought so many of these before. But back then she had partners. Now, she’s-

“Aloooooone, little clown girrrrrrrl,” the Moldavite trills its Rs with multiple tongues. “Delicioussssssssly alooooooone. No pretty Stephano, no shiny Caliban. Allllllll goooooooone.”

“RADIO SURPRISE!” Trinculo makes the gestures with her hands, including one very rude one, as she fires a blast of sonic energy towards the Moldavite. She tries not to think that she is alone as the creature shrieks, a good chunk of its body blown away into dark meaty bits on the empty road. The bits sizzle as they fade into nothingness.

Under normal circumstances, Trinculo would be with two others. People often thought they were friends, but the truth was they were assigned together as a thematic trio due to their names. From The Tempest.

I never liked Shakespeare.

But the Moldavite’s right. They were gone. And she doesn’t know where.

“GONNA EAT YOOOOOOOU!” The Moldavite screams, the mocking replaced by rage. “GONNA BREAK YOOOOOOOOOU!!!! NO ONE WILL SAVE YOOOOOOOU!!!! KILL YOU!”

“GARAGE!” Trinculo calls out her finishing move. “CIRCUS!” One becomes three becomes five as she’s joined by constructs who look just like her. The dead of night is awakened by the sound of angry, hopeful, powerful music. It is Trinculo’s voice that lands the killing blow, and the Moldavite is fully torn apart. Its shrieks are muffled by Trinculo’s voice, and the shrieks become dimmer and weaker until all that’s left is a shard of a dark green jewel.

CRUNCH!

A lace-up boot shatters the jewel, grinding it into dust. If you’re not careful, Moldavites can respawn in the blink of an eye. Easy to make, entirely too chatty for their own good, and a real pain to stomp out.

Hopefully this was the only one, Trinculo thinks. Don’t normally get to use my finishing move on a mook. That’s always Cal’s gig. Glitz Caliban would take out the mooks while Memphis Stephano went after the boss. Trinculo was always back-up.

Steph, where the hell did you go? Trinculo wonders as she inspects the area, trying to sense if more Moldavites are around. And Cal, why’d you have to run off when you did? Why am I the one who’s always left out?

She’d always been a third wheel to Steph and Cal. So much more glamorous and glowing compared to the grungy clown girl who rarely ever smiled or cracked jokes. When they left, or vanished, or whatever happened, Trinculo was still there. She fought the monsters. She cleansed the negativity. There were offers to let her join other groups. With the likes of Argyle Sycorax and Impressionist Perdita and Pop Galatea. She turned them all down, doing her own thing. It took a while before she realized the departure of her teammates seemed like as good an excuse as any to just… leave. With all her power and the universe before her, if Steph and Cal could go, why couldn’t she?

“Ow!” Trinc cries out and places a hand to her lips. They were officially cracked. Terrific. “Damn,” she curses herself as the transformation undid itself, and she was once again a teenage girl in ripped jeans, a black tank top, and a red flannel shirt tied around her waist.

She digs into her pocket and takes out the tub of lip gloss.

“Oh,” she quietly says. The gloss is more of a balm, and it has a soothing effect on her lips. The taste is new, but a bit familiar. Citrus-y.

“So that’s what a star tastes like.”

How strange it feels when she laughs at her own little joke.

As she returns to the spot where her red backpack lays, Trinc picks it up and resumes her journey down the road going off to wherever. In the distance, she sees a hint of red and orange on the horizon.

Before the night ends, Trinc makes a wish on a star with a smile on her lips.

I can’t tell you what she wished for, or it won’t come true.