‘The Moon’

It was dark.

The street lights began flickering on and off. All of them; simultaneously.

The clouds parted in the sky, revealing a full moon. The light of the pale, full moon illuminated the neighborhood street upon which I stood, and as I gazed upwards I recall seeing no stars. Not even one.

The moon alone stood as a silent beacon, in an otherwise night sky ebonized black. I sat upon a curb pondering my life. What was I doing on this street curb, and what significant bearing did this pale, full moon have on me? This moon was my sole grip on reality, my light in a place devoid of all other figments of light.

The street lights died.

I was left with only the moon. Odd how you can feel related – nay, attached – to an ethereal object such as the moon, or stars, or sun. We see them every day, we rely on them to provide us with light, sustain us with heat, and to be our silent companions in times of fear.

The moon – oh, how beautiful it was that night! I gazed upon it with fond eyes, wishing that it would remain with me always.

I recall thinking then of how my life might end at that point and what I wanted to still accomplish with it. As I looked down into the dry palms of my hands, I noticed that it had suddenly begun to feel cold. I wrapped myself a little tighter in my coat, and gazed upward towards my friend, the Moon.

I choked as I was met with a chilling sight.

The moon had been reduced to no more than a simple star.

That star was the only remaining light in an absolute dark sky. I began to feel terror’s icy grip on my soul, as that star, which had once been my friend the Moon, began to perpetually flicker in and out.

I closed my eyes, offering a silent prayer to God to save my friend the Moon.

I slowly opened my eyes. I was met with total, and utter darkness.

My friend, the Moon, was no more.

And with that, I also, faded.

Contributed by: Zachery M. Henry, communication major