Story Cubes, rolled and arranged by Schmutzie, given coherence by me.
Once upon a time, the world gave birth to an extremely pointy pimple that people pronounced a “pyramid”. Parachutists popped off its peak, hoping to drift ever upward to reach the stars.
The moon slept through the parachutists' project, until one day, stung by a hapless bee that had flown too far from the hive, it woke like a frightened child with the spirit of a werewolf inside it.
“Magnet!” cried the moon, because its particles of ore were in sore need of orientation. “Any axis will do.”
“Pardon?” prompted a passing parachutist on her way to Proxima Centauri.
“I said - ah, never mind,” muttered the moon, plunging earthward in search of a good neodynium magnet. "Get it together, Loony," the moon murmured to itself as it dropped through the atmosphere and hit the ground, flattening the pyramid and pulping its parachutists.
"Well," opined the moon as it rested in the wreckage, "maybe we learned something about ourselves today." The parachutists, now putrescing parts of people, stayed silent.
Now let's do it backwards!
There's an attraction in contemplating the monster that dwells within, thought the bee, even if that monster could destroy you. Why look at me, with a stinger that would rip my guts out if I ever chose to use it. The drowsy moon rolled through the sky overhead, dreaming of stars, and dreaming of the space beyond, and the pale apes that had drifted down like spores so many millennia ago to build their pyramids and populate the Earth. Some of them had waved at the moon as they passed by, leaving her as alone as ever, but hardly lonely.