Thursday, September 11, 2008


The Moon looked on with an uneasy, impatient, but eager anticipation, like a child watching snow fall hoping that school will be canceled. The flying boy was on the way. The Moon, in spite of the almost nauseous tension that this caused, hadn't felt this good about anything in years. In a rare reversal, the thought that its self would soon possibly have its desire of autonomous movement filled the moon with compassion rather than an even more amplified sense of self obsession. It looked down at the earth, in the direction from which the flying boy had come (as much as it could, continuously spinning on your axis makes some things difficult) "I hope there aren't too many batrachophobiacs down there." It whispered. As the moon smiled at its own generosity, it couldn't help but notice that the progress of Tommy, that worthy vessel who carried the prized package, had been halted. The smile quickly transmorphed into its symmetric opposite form.

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