Random story #1

There are three golf balls on the moon.

The first was a practice hit, or so Neil had attested. This may have had something to do with the fact that it lay embarrassingly close to its original position, half-buried in the fine granules of moon-dust not far from the footprints the first lunar module left behind. The moon had felt the shift in its surface makeup, lightly, like an itch, or a fly landing on a person's cheek. It had recognised the extra mass of the golf ball, too, and in the end had accepted it with the philosophy of one who has witnessed a larger scope than could be disrupted by a mere golf ball. It appreciated the similarities, though, of the pock-marked orb that now made up part of its mass.

The second had been a hole in one, or close to. Few knew that several minutes of the first lunar landing had been spent arguing over the legitimacy of that shot. It now lay against the flag pole, next to a slightly incriminating footprint that suggested it had been nudged at some point out of its actual landing.

The third ball had rebounded directly off the pole, the result of a misunderstanding of the nature of the atmosphere. It had driven into a rocky area, where the relaunch of the lunar module had knocked a fragment of rock into a slow lob. Eventually, it had made contact with the ball, ricocheting off the latter and knocking it into a rocky gutter. The ball tipped, tripped, rapped and rattled through the low-gravity atmosphere, gaining momentum with each sluggish arc. It was surprised by its own progress; looking back it saw the earth-rise, upwards the diminishing speck of light that came from the engines of the lunar module as it powered upward, leaving the golf ball to its own devices. Abandoning, even, to an environment too ancient to even fathom its existence.

Eventually, of course, the ball would come to a stop, and the moon's orbit would continue on and on into each new space, taking with it the three new additions to itself.