Activity

Well, here’s something. More like flash fiction.

The sky is still light; I think the moon is afraid to come out tonight. If it is afraid, is it afraid of

me? Did I hurt the moon when I used the night as a time to take and destroy?

When I was finally finished, it was nearly time for the moon to leave. I stalked through the trees; leaves over my head and under my feet.

The forest was dark and could hide me, but the moon still saw me. It shone through the branches

and I hid from it, because I knew it was not pleased.

I emerged from the forest, I entered a clearing. I met the moon’s eyes for the first time, and it was

crying. And then I wanted to say I was sorry, and I was sorry, but maybe I would not be sorry if the moon had not seen me. If no one had seen me. I wanted to say that I did what I had to, but did I really have to? If I had chosen not to, I would not have said I needed to.

The moon is still gone. The sky isn’t light; it’s black and I feel the darkness inside me mingle with the darkness around me. I miss the light shining through the trees, even if it was a witness to my crimes. I felt less alone that way; I could breathe and I could walk quickly. Now I stumble and gasp for breath and wonder when the moon is coming back. It hides behind the clouds; it’s a stormy, hollow night.

I hid from the moon in fear and shame; now, in sorrow, it hides from me. It has seen things it

cannot forget, but cannot tell anyone. How many other crimes has it seen, crimes that will go unpunished? How many times has it cried noiselessly, its heart breaking? The moon is forever silent. But if it could speak, it would scream.