My Short Stories

The Night the Moon Fell

One night.

One very quiet, lonely night.

The moon and the sky were within their eternal dance.

The sky, holding her by her waist, glided in a never-ending sea of beauty.

The moon followed the sky. Their love was eternal. The cosmos themselves would bow and part way for the couple.

Forever dancing.

Forever forging a spectacle of magnificent beauty. Lights. Color. A romantic air that none could match. That moon with its silver pure and that sky, so dark and infinite. One's weakness was covered by the other's strength. And the light they made shone down, invisible, and also visible. A borealis of colors. They weaved and ducked to a mute tune.

It was a grace forged every night without fail for millions of years. A beautiful... Eternal... Never-ending grace.

Above the Earth.

So that the brave few who looked up at night.

Would be rewarded with a spectacle of wonder.

Oh. How the moon rocked with the sky. How the sky loved the moon. The two of them bound themselves and would never let go.

But this one night. This one very quiet.

And very lonely night.

The sky could not find the moon.

It called out for her but it heard no reply in exchange.

Nobody saw when it happened, but this was the night that the moon fell from the sky.

And so.

The moon fell from the sky, down to the Earth, and it went looking for her.

It, as it descended down, down, down to the reaches of the earth, took on the form of a large wolf. Black as the night, and from it one could see the stars shining brightly on it, as if it was the sky itself, for that was how it took its form; the sky forged itself as it came down, to a beast that would track and follow and find, with her sweet scent, follow to where the moon had fallen.

Its stars, however, were dull. The music was silent to the sky as well. Its darkness was not one of warm welcome. It was decaying. It was something unlike itself, for the sky was not complete without her, its moon, and it knew too that the moon was not complete without it. And thus, with the echoing growl or a million thundering trumpets, the wolf ran off; with each step taken it was hurdled hundres of miles.

The sky needed its moon. The sky did not rest until it would find her. Her. Its other side. Its complete form.

One night, the moon fell from the sky, and the mute music never played. The wonderful dancing spectacle never occurred - from the wide energetic swings to the small, close, caring steps - and the cosmos shivered in what was shock. For where had the moon gone? And why could the sky, in its massive form, not find her? What was five minutes felt like five million years for the sky-

And its impatience grew.

And its anxiety grew.

Its frustration.

Until, finally, the massive wolf fell unto its belly. The massive wolf looked up at the sky it had been created out of. The massive wolf closed its eyes and the massive wolf let out a sorrowful howl that shook the very fabric of space and time. And the sky called out:

Luna!

Luna!

Where are you Luna!

And the night the moon fell from the sky was the night that the sky weeped for the first time since its existence.