Friday, January 18, 2019

Shadow Puppets on the Moon

by thorn (writer), , July 23, 2014

Credit: Public Domain
Love can send you to the moon, but not in a good way.

Love can be the most devastating force in the universe.

About a year ago, on a Monday morning, I woke up on the moon. Naturally, I was startled.

How did I get there? I had no idea. I still have no idea. I spent the first month of my lunar exile doing nothing more than sitting on the edge of a crater wondering how it was even possible for me to suddenly appear on another world. Eventually I had to give up. It was better to accept the mysterious fickleness of existence rather than drive myself mad searching for a reasonable explanation for something totally unreasonable.

Once I dropped my rational pursuits, my mind was free to be fully hit with the gravity of my situation. I was lost to the world, completely alienated from everyone and everything I had ever known.

I tried to dispel my overwhelming sadness by exploring my new surroundings, but there wasn't much to see. I walked the desolate surface of the moon for months, but I found no relief.

Finally I decided to settle down. I built a little hut out of moon rocks, just big enough for me to lie down and sleep in. Of course, I could have built myself a moon-rock mansion, but all that empty space would have only served to remind me of my own empty existence.

I also built a moon-rock woman. She isn't much to look at, but when I stand next to her and focus on our shadows, we slightly resemble a real-life happy couple. It's almost enough to make me forget my plight for a few minutes.

These days, I mostly spend my time sitting outside my hut with my moon-rock woman, looking back at the planet that was once my home. I try to think about my friends and family, but I'm losing my memories. I can hardly hold a picture of any of them in my mind before it fades into oblivion. It's like all those people I knew are only ghosts in my mind, illusions. I often wonder if maybe they were always just illusions.

The one face that's real and will never fade away is Sheila's. I think about her all the time. I think about the last time I saw her. It was right before I woke up on the moon. Did she really mean it when she said she never wanted to see me again? Has she changed her mind? Has she tried to find me? Does she even think about me any more? Does she care about where I am and how I'm doing? Did she ever care? These are the thoughts that haunt me, my only true companions here on the moon.


About the Writer

thorn is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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