The Girl and The Moon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
“The moon is a loyal companion.
It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”
-Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

Submitted: July 06, 2017

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Submitted: July 06, 2017

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“Why don’t you ever talk?” she asked, holding him in her arms. “Are you unhappy here?”

He didn’t reply, contenting himself to just stare at the girl, his face ashen and expressionless. He never spoke, because he saw no value nor luster to man-made languages. A single picture could speak instead of a thousand words, a single tear could have numerous unexplainable feelings, a single smile could mean honesty or delusion… and sometimes, there’s love that meant staying silent in outmost reverence.

“Are you sad because your friends never talk to you? Because your family is never near you?” She asked him, caressing his cold, rocky surface, with a small, compassionate smile on her face.

Yet again, he remained silent. His friends lived far, far away. He could never leave his home to visit them, and neither could they. His family members were given a place in the sky as soon as they were born. They had no choice but to stay in their designated place until their death. That was the world’s cruel verdict.

“Are you sad because you have scars? Because those mean asteroids hit you for no reason?”

He could see tears glimmering in her eyes.

“You know, I have scars too, but you can’t see them. My scars are inside, on my heart’s flesh and cavities. Some of them were caused by my own asteroids, and some were by me and my neglect...” She paused for a minute, taking in a small breath as her tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. “You are so brave… you don’t hide your scars, you wear them with pride. I cannot do that, I hide them between my smile and the broken mirrors of my soul.”

He didn’t say anything; but he did see her scars. He saw them in her eyes, in her warm smile. He heard them in her voice, felt them in her embrace.
Only broken people yearned for his love. The moon was a silent but sentient being. Never given the opportunity to talk, he chose to dwell in his soundless melancholy. Yet he loved, and his love was tender and pure. He loved the children of the night, the ones who stayed up waiting for him. Even if they ignored him, even if they never spoke to him like this child did, he was there, watching them from up above.

He was the paragon of love and sorrow (and he knew well how those two were often coupled). He was the dweller of the dark and quietude (and he knew how those were often denounced). Which was why many children loved him. Not all were born with the flame of the afternoon sun. Not all loved the day with its faces and places. Some preferred the serene caress of the night, the cloak of the sky that hid everything, including their flaws, their mishaps, and their tears. The night is when they were set free.

The soft, cool wind stroked the girl’s face, and gently gusted her hair. She stood on her rooftop, the moon still nestled against her chest. Looking at him for one last time, she showed him that smile he had seen so often.

“Until next time, my friend.”

She took a few steps back, and when she gathered her strength, she threw the moon, sending him flying into the sky. He was back where he belonged, in his home between the dark and midnight mist.

 

-P i n k S k y-

 


© Copyright 2017 Pink Sky. All rights reserved.

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