Other Writings When I Am Not Drafting The Sci-Fi Universe

Swing

       The park at night was empty except a boy was swinging alone, laughing, cheering. The mid-autumn moon was full and bright, shone with clarity. The swing moved back and forth, up and down. 

       Each push backward was an attempt to go further forward, upward, toward the moon. 

       He moved, gathering the fully realized momentum and he leaped out of the seat.

       He was flying, the body elevating, the ground disappearing, the moon dazzling.

       The boy landed on the moon. He started to walk on the glittering ashes, and as he looked up, the swing was there, inverted. The ground became from was a few meters away. He tried to jump up and climb back to the ground. He almost reached the swing. 

       With every jump he felt lighter and lighter, his skin gradually transformed from human flesh to the moon's shining dust. His skin no longer stick with him, they slowly drifted and fell off. Little by little, he was the size of a new born baby.

       He cried, but no sound came out.

       The swing lowered itself to the surface, he climbed on board and held tight to the handle with his tiny hand.

       It started to swing violently going round and round like a blender.

       The shaking died down, he opened his eyes and felt the dust in his hand, it was shiny white, just like those from the moon. 

[Okay, This is Mid-Autumn Special, short]