1 The Moon

"It goes without saying that when survival is threatened, struggles erupt between peoples, and unfortunate wars between nations result."

-Hideki Tojo-

I deeply adore Mama Joe. Her kindly eyes, her warm expressions, her husky voice overflowing with tenderness. Every aspect of her I adore.

I remembered her tightly holding my hands, tearing up as we desperately tried to squeeze through the masses of distressed refugees. For some unknown reasons, I was crying too. Her hands were soggy with sweat, and the roughness of its texture from those harsh years of coarse labour made it foreign to human touch. It reminded me of crumbled paper. We were scurrying pass congregations of proletariats, through the horrible stench of filth that choked and nearly suffocated us, and towards the space shuttle. Five more minutes before lift-off, there was simply no time to lose.

It was snowing that night. The surrounding marsh lands were already painted white, lakes are frozen, and the scattered houses were dark and dilapidated. There were no inhabitants within miles from where we were; the region was mute and barren of any liveliness, except the occasion shuffling of steps and dancing of shadows of the evacuees.

"Mama Joe."

"Yes, dear?" She didn't look back.

I pointed, "The moon is out."

The pale crescent moon shone intermittently through the succession of passing cloud, its ray permeating faintly, weaken by the distance, casting running shadows on the meadow. Somewhere, creatures of darkness lurked within the cracks of the dried earth.

"Ah. That's rare, we must be reaching."

I imagined a smile forming upon her face, wrinkling in a warm exhausted fashion.

Of course, the moon wasn't the only object to be seen in the sky. There were the little blinking dots, 'stars' they were called, as if someone poked holes in the wall of heavens; and when you stared into them long enough, you might catch a glimpse of the other worldly life.

We all came from the stars, so it seemed befitting for us to return to them.

I read in a picture book once. The sky was depicted in lighter, kinder shade of blue, that which is reminiscent of Mama Joe's eyes. In the drawing, bright creatures don in wings of feather paraded in circles over a green mellow, children danced and rolled over the fields, a dog wagging his tail. A river ran adjacent to the town, its clear stream reflecting light from the sun. Our protagonist, Johann, had found a stray cat under the bridge, and had gone knocking on every doorstep to find a rightful owner. It was a story celebrating integrity, courage and persistency.

So how did the story end again? I'd forgotten. But in my memory, the sky was never blue.

It was white and grey, the colour of emptiness.

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