Song Of The Moon
A little tale of the last night of one woman’s life.
Centuries ago, bodies filled cemeteries and mausoleums. They filled family gardens. There were more bodies than places to put them to honor their lives.
Then rules changed, and we were forced to cremate our loved ones, releasing their ashes in places they loved prior to their deaths. But even then, the ashes were polluting the ground, the water, the air.
That was when people made a change.
They turned to an unlikely source for help. And she granted it.
Thus fate, destiny, whatever god or grim reaper held lives in their hands — they were all a thing of the past. Instead, we were given a countdown when our time was nearing its end.
And that countdown was based on the final visage of the moon on the final night of our lives.
Two days, we were given to say our goodbyes.
Two days, we were faced with the awful reality that there was nothing we could do to stop it.
And at the end of those two days, our bodies wouldn’t just die. We would fade away into nothing. Leaving behind nothing but the memory of who we were.
So when my final night came, I wanted to make the best of it. As the song of the moon began to play, he took my hand and led me into the dark. I spun around and laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Then I remembered why we were there.
We danced, candlelight casting a faint and familiar warm glow that ebbed and flowed in the breeze, surrounded by the pale blue light from above.
I didn’t know the song as it filtered through the night, but I felt calm and weightless, dancing under the stars in his arms. He smiled back at me and held me close as we swayed.
The lilting melody of a French horn rose above the moon’s piano. It didn’t possess the nasal tone of a trumpet, or the rumbling thunder of a tuba. It was one of those instruments that could sneak in and steal your heart.
The sound was pure, and unfiltered. Flawless, like the moonlight that surrounded us.
We danced through the night, him and I. Oh, how he could dance.
Butterflies filled my belly when he looked in my eyes. Goosebumps erupted at the touch of his fingertips on my bare skin.
It felt right. It felt good.
Tears sprang to my eyes and I looked up at the moon and stars and thanked them for that final gift. Because it was the last time I would ever dance with my best friend. I only wished there were more moments like that.
He didn’t say anything as I cried. I didn’t even recall when the tears began. But there was nothing he could do. So he held me and let his heart warm mine for the last moments of my life.
It was written in the stars. And under the moon’s watchful glow, she granted me one last night to say goodbye to him. My love.
By the time the moon fell, we knew what would happen.
So we danced on, holding each other. It felt like one second, and it felt like forever, all rolled into one. It would never be long enough.
As the cadence of the song began to slow he finally said, low, “No. Don’t go.”
He kissed me then, right before the end.
I thought for the briefest moment, that I could finally die happy.
Then the moonlight sang her last notes to us as she and I both faded away, leaving him behind.
