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If there'd been an astronaut on the moon right then, I'm sure I could have seen him. Perhaps he could have looked down and seen me too... the only one who could.
Lucy Christopher
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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Seen
Sure
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Astronaut
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Moon
Perhaps
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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.
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Where are you going? I asked. The middle of nowhere. I thought this was it. Nah. You shook your head. This is just the edge.
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I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
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Had you been lying all along? Mum gently stroked my hair. I whispered into her shoulder. “I can’t go back. Not yet. I can’t leave.” And she held my head tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around me. “You don’t have to,” she said, rocking me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore.” And I cried.
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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This be OK?' I asked, innocently. 'You want me to have no skin left?' You rolled your eyes. Actually, don't answer that one.
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I want you to see that the person I glimpsed running beside the camel, running to save my life, is the person you can choose to be.
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Doesn't that hurt? I said. Yep. How do you keep them in there? I'm stubborn. You grinned. Stubborn as a waddywood. And anyway, pain means it's healing. Not always.
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I mean, that star over there is blinking at me madly now, but for how long? An hour or two, or for the next million years? And how long will we sit here like this? Just another moment, or the rest of our lives? You know which one I'd prefer.
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But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.
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I thought you wanted to catch a camel, you tried again. No. I want to. Well, you go then. You laughed. I want your beautiful face where I can see it
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It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it properly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.
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The sand stretched out gray and ghostlike and illuminated, a column of light leading forward. It was like something a dead person would see, a tunnel leading toward heaven.
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