Fiction: Moonchild

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Tonight I can’t see my mother. Her tears fall on the ground. Knee deep mud on the road. I wish I could tell her to stop. Her pain only makes the walk harder. Her dim light shows me the way in front of me. But not today. I walk blind through this unknown road, paved to prevent me to reach far. The drops slap my face and scream me to fail. I can’t.

The waters are catching me. I look back. Stretching throughout all the horizon is an ocean wall. The road is gone. The only ground is ahead. Oh mother, stop crying! I run fast as the dirt hits my face. Wet, heavy. Mud hands form, grappling my flesh as they slowly fall from my body into the ground. I do not bleed. My blood is too proud. You can’t do me no harm – I scream. You will see my face and acknowledge me!

The ruthless lurk in the surrounding dark. They wage bets on my fate as they feast on my despair. Bulging eyes on a carcass of an ancient evil. Men is what men has always been. I shall not fear it. Although I have to cross their land, it is not where I belong. I was crossing the rope between the moon and paradise, and the rope broke.

As I was falling, I feared the earth.
I hit the ocean and I feared the shore.
On ground, I feared the mountain.
Once I climbed, I feared going down.
I looked up, mother.
My fear is gone.

P.

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