When we discovered every crater was a childhood wound or a pockmark of despair, we conferred a diagnosis of major depression and put the moon on suicide watch, monitoring its position every fifteen minutes. All night we watched the moon creep and wane. Winking stars and chirping crickets didn’t help.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble.” His first novel, “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel,” was recently rereleased. Visit BobThurber.net.
As the shroud of black spills across the mocking face of the moon, I dream of a time that once existed but is now just a fading memory.
“Look at me and remember the promise of a life to come; but look again! and observe it has passed already.”
Ludo is a believer in logic, science, and Frank Zappa.
The moon’s surface was bleaker than I’d imagined.
From here the Earth looked lonely. Most of the land was gone, overtaken by melted icecaps and nuclear war.
We all lost in the end, but here we were, waiting for salvation in the moon’s welcoming arms.
The tides might yet turn.
Nathan Hystad is a writer from Sherwood Park, Alberta. He has been published by Saturday Night Reader and Kraxon Books. He also has a story in Tickety Boo Press’s anthology Malevolence: Tales from Beyond the Veil and in North 2 South Press’s Whispers from the Past: Fright and Fear anthology. He enjoys writing micro-fiction and has been published at Micro Fiction Monday Magazine, Fifty Word Stories, and Horror in a Hundred by Hellnotes. When he isn’t writing short stories, he is working on a full length novel. You can see his writing blog at nathanhystad.ticketyboopress.co.uk.
We smuggled wine down to the moon-washed beach and kissed til we mirrored the stars. And fire spun on the heels of our wordless rage as our limbs danced towards a jagged shore.
In my dreams it’s always the same: I am here, and you are lost to the waves.
Elisa is a chronic procrastinator who lives to travel and finds beauty in the diversity of life. She thinks sloths are her spirit animal and would love to be the ruler of some obscure country one day.
The stars that lie just outside the window seem so close, but as morning emerges from its journey the black abyss is taken over by the flaming sun, forcing the stars into hibernation.
Still the moon stays put, isolated in the bright morning sky, waiting for the stars to return.
Shardia enjoys writing short fiction stories.
You turn away; my lips brush your hair. It’s like reaching for the moon and falling into its watery reflection instead.
You sneer; your songs become grumbles.
See the full moon rising? It’s your face: my fingers touch you, and I am turned upside-down in the water: I’m waiting; drowning.
Rachel Rose Teferet enjoys designing websites, creative writing, and goat herding. Her website is lettersandfeathers.wordpress.com.
“Where have you been?” they demanded, leaning out of their windows in pajamas and nightgowns. “Did you get lost? Did you think it was funny?”
They hadn’t seen the moon in over a week!
Moon peeked over the horizon at her dearly beloved, the sun, and hid a contented blush.
Once upon a time, the beautiful princess journeyed to the Moon.
It was cold there. Not even the Moon Badgers were warm.
Even after the princess skinned three Moon Badgers and made a coat, she was still cold. So she set her spaceship on fire, and everyone was warm together.
Some folks say that when a red moon crests the horizon, twenty-three percent of the world’s pregnant women are within an hour (in either direction) of giving birth.
Me? I say it’s more like eighteen percent. A lot of folks like to exaggerate. I found that out the hard way.
“Have you been to the moon?”
“Have you been to the International Space Station?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Have you been to the Hubble telescope?”
“No! What do you think I am, some kind of astronaut?”
“Well your résumé says…”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I’ve been to all three of those.”