A Quiet Moon
by David Heulfryn

 

Moonlight clandestinely entered my small bedroom from a tiny crack between the two curtains. This wall of light dissected my bed and converged to an apex almost in the centre of my room. It intrigued me and held my gaze. Most of the time light surrounds us so much that we become unaware of it. But when light becomes scarce, we notice it more, and moonlight seems even more magical.

Outside, a dense cloud had begun enveloping the vulnerable moon. My wall was weakening. Brick by brick it was thinning. I concentrated my will, trying to hold the foundations together. I did not want my fragile wall to leave; it calmed my mind and stopped me thinking endless thoughts that would ensure I was awake for at least another hour. But I was powerless to stop it. Eventually, I gave up, and my wall faded even quicker. My eyes moved from the curtains and rested.

For ten minutes, I lay looking at an imaginary blemish on my ceiling before the night gave me an excuse to move. The sound was familiar, a cat telling its sleeping owner that he had been locked out for the night.

I sat up in bed and threw my quilt from my chest. My bed was directly beneath the window, so I knelt on my mattress and looked out, my elbows resting on the hard sill and my hands supporting my head. My eyes scanned the motionless scene. An empty road lined with anonymous houses.

My road was different, straight and perfect with no potholes. Even the white lines looked as if they had been recently painted. I knew of some roads that intersected other, more interesting lanes and carriageways but not my road. Either side was nothing, not empty space or open fields, nothing, the nothing that lies at the edge of the universe. There were no problems on my road because no one ever used it. My road began with a barrier and a sign declaring ‘Road not in use’ and terminated at a large crater that was ready to swallow me as soon as I had reached the end.

I turned my head to see my electronic alarm lighting up the time, half past two in the morning. The night-time was the only time I could be myself. Night was my time, and it allowed my true self to surface. My thoughts were finally my own.

The still air abruptly moved, and I felt cold. I looked down at my bare chest and could see the tiny blond hairs standing to attention. I rubbed my shoulders to keep warm and pulled up the elastic waist on my pyjamas.

The chill woke my mind. I realised that I would never get off to sleep staring out the window, so I returned to the warmth of my quilt, leaving the curtains open even wider.

I looked directly into the night sky as the moon shot its silver rays into my room. My mind drifting back to its thoughts and building that wall again. This time even bigger than before.

My eyes closed, and my conscious self let go of this world. Waiting for tomorrow.

Waiting for the noise, the sun would bring.

 

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