A knock on the door. Followed by six more. Staccato wraps follow the first soft touch. A solitary light shone in a living room.
The full moon rises. It lights the last house on the pavement. The road falls to gravel and disappears into the woods. The woods reaches around the simple house and its barn. The white glow of the moon paints it better in the night than the Sun. The door hides within a small porch, shrunk by the boxes and tables stacked around.
The hand rises again. The knocks continue six at a time. Staccato beats.
“Hang on baby! hang on…. We’ll get you help.” Brian looks down. A face looks back.
“No one will open the door… it’s too late they’ll never open the door.” Connie voice fades. Her jeans covered in blood. The yellow t-shirt dirt covered and suddenly wore out. “It’s cold. Maybe there’s blanket in this stuff. Maybe morning…”
“I see someone. They are in there. They’ll help us.” Brian wipes his head. A streak of blood runs down fron his forehead. His face shows he doesn’t think help is coming.
Brian returns to the door. A series of knocks continues. Each becoming a little more panic stricken. “Hello?! We need help. Just call the police… anything! Please!”
Connie is on the wooden porch. She is sitting against soft boxes that lean over toward her a bit. She’s scared but holding on a brave front. “Sit next to me. The morning.. They’ll see us.”
Shuffling sounds inside stop her. The dragging and stopping catch their attention. The door had three little boxes that show how dark the inside is but little else.
“If you open that door, I’ll kill you both. Shotgun is in my hands.” The voice followed by a tapping on the other side of the door. “You live to see tomorrow…. I’ll habe to deal with Y’all then. Stop banging or you’ll wake up the Dead!”
The shuffling starts again. This time fading away. The single light flashes out.
I grew near a river that once burned a dozen times. I have seen orange horizons hours from sunrise or sunset. Places in woods and desert where trials were filed with debris. We have only one place to live for now. What view should the next generations have?
“I saw the light… and it hurts.” Harry moans through hands on his face.
Dawn breaks to revel a night lost in a haze of drinks.
The world remains fuzzy about the edges.
I run. A staggered path weaves between rock, trees and cactus. My enemy is above. I feel the eyes scanning the landscape.
“Shadows are my friend.” I whisper to my fellow creatures of the night. “I will sleep on safety beneath your own nose!”
I want to laugh. But sound travels to easily here. Its bad enough I see my quarry. But it’s myself dug in the hole hunted. He can’t get what he can’t see. The plan is working so far.
The clouds thin. Moonbeams stretch out. Rays of silver like nails in my coffin. I hide with my back finding an uncomfortable Saguaro. I watch the light chase the darkness. Hope is a thin shadow.
My pulse rises to match a deep thumping heart. If heartbeats slow maybe I can breath. But for how long?
I turn my head to look.
His face smiles back. An oblivious look or game over expression. If I could hear him. I hate the distance between us. Only in moving do I get to find out who wins this night.
“I would stab at you. You hide too far away.” I look away from him. “There has always been a man within the Moon. He stalks us all. He had always been death. He will always be death. Tonight, better be someone else’s turn.”
I curl into a ball and wait.
Written as part of a challenge called Tale Weaver, details available at https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/04/20/tale-weaver-116-the-moon/
“You’ll fry!” Burger shrilly screams.
The crowd jeers. Frantic spectators mix anxiety and anticipation.
Sizzles and pops fill the air as the burning starts. Trapped in a basket as the world goes black.
These are the final moments of a French fry