Moon Sounds by Madeline Doncon
On that night, as I drove down the slope of High Street, something caught my eye. Peeking out behind the interwoven buildings was a mountainous lamp. Gripping the steering wheel, I couldn’t help but turn my head towards the royal full moon. Parked in a dodgy carpark, jaywalking across the streets, trying to remember how to bloody get into the place, I find the cavemouth entrance, converse with the smiling guardians, and show them my ticket. I step inside. My body seems to lose weight. I reach the bar. And suddenly, I’m standing on the surface of the moon.
The air is cold. Distant constellations drift far above. I let myself begin to march steadily towards a sound of laughter. Light dances across craters and peaks; I follow it over the grey dust, dipping my hands through large shadows squatting in the corners. I find myself at a window. Louder, muffled still, I notice objects harmonising against one another, a chittering in the kitchen, the murmur of a late-night party winding down. Breaking across the glass, a sudden, all-consuming light beams down and sends our senses scattering.
The sun’s sermon is accompanied by the ringing collision of moon-on-planet-ring. He bellows, wipes away the most brazen shadows, and sings. We have to look up at him, but his light engulfs sight. An ancient wailing shifts the landscape, pinches us to the land. And after the longest day, we sense the world has changed. I fall asleep to the long yawn of the comet.
My eyes are closed, and a softness engulfs me. My inward solitude is only interrupted by the drifting scent of pollen. I shift my arm, feeling a bed of wild grass growing beneath me. From a distant star comes a lonely, quiet rustle. Sitting upright, I find myself before a wide lake. Trees have burst from the soil. In the water, murky forms drift below. They raise brass instruments to their faces, and ripples break out. The lake’s new voice is gentle, like insects, like mercury flowing down a lunar cliff, like the light through my bedroom window. I lie back, and let the weeds wrap themselves around me. I dream of Earth.
