THE 100 X READERS

MOONDUST [JOHN MURPHY]

When Murphy woke up, he was lying on that pile of soft moss again. The sun was casting its beams through the trees, creating golden spots all over that endless forest.

He knew by now that it wasn't real. This place wasn't real, it was merely a dream that would break his heart all over again when he woke up. But frankly, he didn't care at this moment, as it was a chance of seeing you again.

The final battle had taken so much. When one of the Disciples had snuck up on him, you had thrown yourself against him, making him fall on the ground. And he knew even before he had met the ground — you had saved his life and gave up your own life for him.

And despite knowing that, he tried to drag you to safety, tried to plead for you to stay awake. You sputtered out blood, choking on it. Murphy tried so hard, fought against the impossible. But he knew, this was the day he'd lose you.

You had been friends since childhood. And you had become lovers when you were sent down to Earth. It was all for fun at first, but then turned out to be something more serious. You had grown together, and it all had led to that moment. Him holding you against him, pleading for you to stay with him, not leave him alone.

You had tried to comfort him as much as you could. You held his hand — your hand was shaky and weak, but you tried to comfort him. Wordlessly tell him he'll be okay, you'll be there for him even if he doesn't see you.

It felt like a lifetime, you two sitting there. But at the same time, it went by too fast. Finally, you took in a few gasps, gurgling the blood in your throat, and then... your eyes fluttered closed and your head lolled to the side.

You were gone.

But now, seeing you sitting by that waterfall, turning to see Murphy and smiling at him — standing up and running to meet him halfway. It felt so real. Murphy knew everyone would think he'd be crazy if he told them about his dreams.

"I missed you," you told him, the same thing you told him every night. Over and over, as if you forgot it again. Which you technically had, Murphy thought. You're only my dream, not real.

He knew what you'd say if you'd actually stand before him right now. You'd tell him to move on in his life, to be happy. That you don't want him to swim in misery, that he's breaking your heart by not moving on. How can I move on without you? Murphy would reply if it really was you. I can't go on without you.

But it wasn't what he'd say to the dream version of you. Here, you were still alive. You were happy. You didn't know you were dead. He didn't know why Murphy kept coming back. You didn't see the pain, how he had drunk himself in so bad shape that he had been slapped by others, because he was rude, blaming everyone for not saving you. He knew it wasn't anyone's fault. You had chosen to die for him. If he wanted to seek the guilty one, it would be you. But it was easier to blame others whenever he was drunk.

"I missed you too," he muttered, smiling as you took his hand.

"Come," you said, nodding towards the pathway that had appeared beside the waterfall. "I have something cool to show you."

He let you lead him to that cave, where you always brought him. It was the same cave you had spent time with him in real life, back when the Earth still existed. The same cave where he had finally told you he has fallen in love with you, and wants more than something free and casual. You had agreed, and you had kissed there for the first time as a couple. And after that, that cave had been your sanctuary for a long time.

You arrived at the cave, and you gestured around. "I found this yesterday, after you left."

He nodded, looking around too, acting as if he saw it for the first time. "Yeah, it's nice."

You sat down on the pillows and blankets. "We could stay the night here?"

"That'd be nice."

"But..." you sighed and bit your lip. "I know you need to leave before sunset again."

He nodded. When the sun here set, he woke up and was reminded you only existed in his memories and dreams. And still, he always willed himself to return to you, night after night, even when your discussion was the same every time. But being close to you, even getting a semblance of what you used to have, how you used to be, being able to hold you, kiss you, smell you... it was something he wasn't able to let go yet.

Murphy smiled. "But, I'm not going anywhere yet."

You sat in silence for a while, before you squeezed his hand. "So, what happens next?"

Murphy frowned. "Next?"

You nodded, tilting your head. "Yeah. What happens when you leave?"

He shrugged. "I... I wake up."

"And then?"

"And then... I..." he trailed off, not able to just say it.

Say it.

You sighed. "You can't keep coming back here, John."

Murphy averted his eyes from you. He knew this was the rational side of him speaking, reminding him what you'd say if you were actually there with him. He had been afraid of when his brains decided to make the dream you say these things.

But he still refused to believe it. "Why not? You're here."

You shook your head. "You know it's not really me. I'm your imagination, but I keep you from going forward. Wherever I am, I know my heart breaks every time I see you destroying your life because of me."

"You aren't the one—"

"But I'm the reason what's causing you to behave like an ass towards your friends."

Murphy didn't reply, knowing you're right. You shifted closer to him. "You need to let go of me."

He breathed out and swallowed. "I don't... want to say goodbye."

You smiled sadly, snuggling closer to him. "You don't have to say goodbye. Just... until we meet again."

He knew all of it was true, even if he tried to deny it from himself. So he closed his eyes and willed himself to nod.

He felt your hand disappear from his. "I love you, John."

Then, it was silence, and darkness. He knew even before he opened his eyes, that the dream had ended early.

And when he finally opened his eyes and sat up, he was in his cramped room again. The bitter smell of alcohol floated in the air, bottles all around his room. A half-empty glass of whiskey on his night table. His room was a mess. No, he was a mess. And he knew he had to get his life together, but he didn't really know how. Now even his body was telling him that he needed to let you go. Bury his love in the moondust. You had always joked that one day, you'd move to the moon and build a house there. You'd be there all by yourself, and you'd also own the biggest lot in the whole solar system.

He knew that burying his love didn't mean he would need to forget you or stop loving you. He just needed to bury the part that couldn't accept the fact you were gone. That your visits in his dreams would be natural, and not a practiced habit he had learned when you died.

The whiskey on his night table called out to him, tempted him. Drinking the pain away in the only way he knew when not sleeping. But he forced himself to turn away from it. He had to let go. And he had to find other ways to cope than dreams and alcohol. He knew it, he knew it was what you would want.

And the best way to honor your memory was keep on living.