Threads of the Universe by Higdon Donell Armstrong V

Romeo Monroe woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. His lungs burned, and his chest felt like it had been flattened. Around him, the hospital room buzzed faintly with life—a nurse adjusting an IV, the beeping of machines tracking his pulse.

The crash came back to him in flashes. Screeching tires. Metal crumpling like paper. Then nothing but darkness.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the paramedic had whispered as they pulled him from the wreckage.

But Romeo didn’t feel lucky. His body was whole, but something in him felt broken—misplaced like he had slipped through the cracks of the universe.

Romeo’s family was a mess, always had been. His mother, Cassandra, was a storm in heels. She ruled the streets with an iron fist and a crooked grin, slinging drugs and commanding respect in equal measure. She was the kind of woman you feared and admired, all at once. But she never wanted kids.

“Y’all weren’t born. You happened to me,” she’d say, lighting a cigarette and waving them off.

Romeo’s father, Earl, was her opposite. Quiet, hardworking, and tired of life’s chaos. Earl wanted a steady job, a small house, and a peaceful retirement. When their worlds clashed, it ended with Earl walking out, leaving Romeo and his eight siblings in Cassandra’s ruthless care.

Romeo was the fourth of nine, each sibling carrying their own scars. Dante, the oldest, thought he was tough until a life of crime landed him in prison before he hit 18. Amara, the second, escaped into perfectionism, desperate to prove she wasn’t her mother. Jayden, the third, turned into a hustler, always looking for the next scheme.

Romeo was different. Quiet. A dreamer. Too soft for the world his family lived in. The twins, Lila and Nina, were venomous, inseparable but sharp-tongued. Marcus, the sixth, folded in on himself, retreating into poetry. Zeke, full of rage, blamed everyone for their broken home. And Tasha, the baby, was just trying to figure out her place in it all.

They were nine fractured pieces of a family that barely held together.

The weeks after the crash were strange. Romeo noticed little things at first—his mom forgetting to call him for dinner, and his siblings hesitating when they said his name. He tried to brush it off, but it got worse.

By the third week, his boss at the auto shop called him into the office.

“Who are you again?” his boss asked, brow furrowed.

“Romeo,” he said, his voice catching. “I’ve worked here for six years.”

The look on his boss’s face crushed him.

When even his father, Earl, answered his phone call with, “Sorry, who is this?” Romeo felt something inside him crack.

The world was forgetting him.

Desperate, Romeo went to the only sibling who might listen: Amara. She wasn’t warm, but she was logical, and Romeo needed logic right now.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, crossing her arms as Romeo tried to explain.

But when he pulled out a photo album and showed her their family pictures—his face blurred, his name absent—her resolve faltered.

“This isn’t normal,” she admitted, her voice quieter.

She agreed to help, and together they called a family meeting.

Gathering the Monroe siblings was like herding cats. Dante mocked him, calling it “another Romeo pity party.” Jayden joked, “Maybe you were never real to begin with.” The twins ignored him completely, whispering like conspirators. Zeke exploded, accusing Romeo of wasting their time.

It was Earl, steady and calm, who finally spoke. “Maybe there’s something’ to this,” he said, his Southern drawl cutting through the noise.

Cassandra arrived late, her entrance as dramatic as ever. “If you want to be remembered, Romeo, make yourself useful,” she sneered. Her words hit harder than anyone else’s.

Romeo left that meeting more determined than ever.

With nowhere else to turn, he sought out Dr. Celeste Veyra, an eccentric astronomer known for studying unexplainable phenomena.

After listening to his story, she nodded gravely. “The crash,” she said, “wasn’t just an accident. You weren’t supposed to survive, Romeo. The universe is correcting itself by erasing you.”

Her words hit him like a punch.

“You’re tethered to this world by a thread,” she continued. “If you want to stay, you need to leave a mark so bright the universe can’t erase it. You must make people remember you.”

Romeo threw himself into action. He started with his siblings, even the ones who doubted him. He helped Zeke channel his anger into boxing, coached Marcus to share his poetry, and pushed Jayden to start a fundraiser for their struggling neighborhood.

Slowly, they began to see him—not just as their brother, but as someone who mattered.

Even Cassandra seemed to notice. When he invited her to a community event, she showed up, arms crossed but present.

With Dr. Veyra’s help, Romeo created the Monroe Constellation, a phoenix rising from the ashes, visible in the night sky. At the unveiling, people gathered to hear his story and look to the stars.

Standing in front of the crowd, Romeo spoke with raw honesty. “I don’t know why I was given a second chance, but I know this: we all matter. Even when the world tries to forget us, we can shine brighter than the stars.”

As the crowd cheered, Cassandra watched from the back. For the first time in years, she hugged him. “I see you, Romeo,” she whispered.

The next morning, Romeo was gone. His videos disappeared, his photos faded, and even his siblings struggled to hold onto their memories of him.

But the Monroe Constellation remained, a permanent mark in the heavens. Amara became its fiercest advocate, ensuring Romeo’s story would be passed down.

Years later, a young girl stared at the night sky. “What’s that one called?” she asked.

Her father smiled. “That’s the Monroe Constellation. It’s named after a man who taught the world that even when life tries to erase you, you can shine brighter than the stars.”

Romeo Monroe was gone, but he was never forgotten.