Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The Man on the Moon

I’m lying on my back, my hands and feet strewn across my grandmother’s quilt. It was made for my mom when she was just a baby, so it’s a little too small and my head has been pushed to the damp red sand.
I switch my best friend’s hair tie from my left wrist to my right. There’s a red ring where it was on my left wrist. I rub my fingers up and down on it, and its coarse4 and bumpy.
Sighing, I raise myself up on my elbows and take a sip of root
. I lye back down. I don’t notice my eyes closing.
The next thing I know, there’s twinkling stars suspended above my head, as many as there are grains of sand around me. A full moon illuminates the choppy waves just two feet from me.
Knowing the Man on the Moon is keeping watch over me, I close my eyes and drift to sleep.
I dream, but the dream is sad. In it, I have lost you. I’ve lost everything we ever had. Memories made memories that had yet to be made. I wake up crying.
It’s quiet, except for the crash of the waves and my muffled sobs. I reach my hand to the tide and let it carry away my sorrow. The wind rustles the nearby sweet grass, the cool breeze sending chills up my spine.




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback