1

A misty moon hung lazily in the sky as if it were an abandoned papier mâché ball. It’s surface – ugly. Not smooth. Rough. Cavernous. Ugly. Not beautiful.  Above all else, not beautiful.

 

Like her.

 

She walked. Hills, grassy, fell beneath her feet. Tough feet. Journeyed feet. She drank in the night sky. The diamond stars. And the ugly moon. Dog panted behind her. She drank him in too. But, he was probably only there for the blood, it trickled down her arm in giant red rivers as if a great dike that had been waiting to shatter finally did.

 

Finally shattered.

 

Into a million pieces. Shattered like a mirror. When hit with a fist. Or a plate. Smashed against a shoulder. An egg in a pan. Millions upon millions of eggs made each morning and used for baking, used as distractions from the main issue, from the iron fists of the man who used her and Mr. Johnny alternatively or sometimes together in a violent concoction, as a distraction from the first one, the first wife, the one who was killed by Mr. Johnny himself, and him. Of course. Shattered like an egg.

 

Or a mind.

An ambulance. Its siren – blaring out. Disrespectfully. Shaking the night. Grabbing it. By its throat. And throttling it. The peaceful night. Under the stars. She thought that she heard waves crashing in the distance. But it wasn’t waves – crashing against the rocks. No, the still ocean was too far away. Dog made a strange noise behind her. As if it were drowning. She reached a crest to a hill. There was a forest below her. The city seemed so far away. The mist seemed to be thinning over the moon. She hitched up her dress and ran, with all the might and joy that she could manage. Dog ran beside her, chasing after the twirling figure that seemed to splatter blood wherever she went. But she went too fast. Her feet hooked around her dress.

 

She fell.

 

And there were doctors around her. Paramedics. Kneeling over her in the soft grass. the moon peeked over  their shoulders. Clear. She smiled. They were shouting medicine names and other important things. But they were too late. She was free. And they couldn’t keep her here. And they couldn’t block out the moon.

And it was beautiful.

 

Original, first draft of 1.