AN: I am not the original author of the story below my goal is to gather any stories from around the web and have them in one area so that they don't get deleted. If you are the original author and would like me to remove this story I will.

By the Light of the Moon

The day after Christmas found Paul relaxed and enjoying his large family at his dad's home in Wirral, just outside of Livrepool. His friend, Tara Browne, had driven from London to visit. They spent the day talking, laughing, eating and drinking. The sun was now setting, and Paul felt a bit restless after such a lazy day, being unused to inactivity.

"Let's take the mopeds I hired over to my cousin Bett's," he suggested to Tara who had his feet up by the fire and was yawning sleepily.

"Eh? You want to ride motorbikes in the middle of winter? It's bloody cold out there!" Tara replied.

Paul stood up and stretched. "Come on, the fresh air will do you good, lazy sod." With that he added a sly wink after a sidelong look at his father dozing before the fire with his newspaper.

Tara looked confused, but only for a moment. "Right, jolly idea. Let's go then."

They bundled up in their coats, gloves and hats. Paul's stepmother followed him back out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and tut-tutting them for their foolishness.

"Out there in the dark and cold, who know what could happen, Jim." She poked Paul's dad in the arm.

He awoke with a start and glanced at the two boys by the door. "Aye, Angela, boys will be boys," he shrugged. "Everything in moderation, lads, just the same," he added.

Tara elbowed Paul in the side as they replied, "Yes, sir, right," and stumbled, snickering, out the door together. Poor Dad didn't realise they were getting out of the house to "have a laugh," code for smoking a joint.

They snuck around the corner of the house to the back of Jim's extensive garden. Perching on the edge of a picnic table, Paul pulled a joint and several pints of ale from under his coat and waggled his eyebrows.

"Ah, cheeky devil. Right under your step-mum's nose," Tara laughed.

Paul lit up with a flourish as Tara popped the lids from two of the ales. They sat in contented silence for a while, taking hits and sipping their drinks. Of course, they got sillier and sillier, the slightest thing setting them off into storms of giggles. They finished off the last of the ales. Tara was starting to feel the chill when Paul said, "Ok, let's be off to Bett's."

Tara looked at him, "What? Are you serious?"

Paul pulled him up by the hand, slung his arm over his shoulder and walked him over to the carpark where the mopeds stood. "Tara, my boy," he announced pompously, "I'm never serious."

In their present condition, drunk and high, the two found that statement hilarious and leaned on each other giggling. "Quiet!" Paul finally said, "They'll hear you!"

"Right, yes," Tara replied, rather dazed.

Paul got on one of the bikes and revved the engine. "Come 'ead!" he encouraged.

Tara looked skeptically at the dark sky, but the moon was casting light enough to see by. "Oh, all right, McCartney. Just for you." He clambered on the other bike, pulling his cap farther down over his ears, and kicked the motor into life.

They eased out of the drive and onto the deserted street. They grinned at each other as the cold air made their eyes water. "This is bloody nuts!" Tara yelled, his breath pluming out of his mouth in a white stream.

Paul laughed, his teeth gleaming in the darkness, and zoomed ahead to lead the way. As they turned down another street, the moon appeared before them, immense, silvery bright and full. Paul was entranced by the wintery sight and turned back to Tara and gestured at it.

"Look at that! It's gorgeous!" He gazed up at the moon again, unable to take his eyes from it. Suddenly he realised too late that he and the motorbike were leaning at a rather severe angle. Time seemed to stop as he also realised that his face was about to meet that lovely hard pavement beneath him. As he desperately tried to jerk the cycle back upright, time resumed all too quickly.

"SHIT!..." and then-WHAM-

From behind, Tara looked away from the hypnotic moon just in time to swerve around Paul as he fell. The bike and Paul skidded sideways, and unfortunately, Paul's face was the first thing to land on the road. Tara winced and jumped off his moped in horror, running back to where Paul lay facedown on the wet street.

Ignoring the still-running bike, he knelt next to Paul and put a hand on his shoulder, "You all right, Paul?"

Paul groaned, stars swirled before his eyes. He rolled over onto his back, dazed and stunned. Tara got a good look at him by the light of the moon and blanched, "Good God, what've you done?!"

Paul frowned at him as he slowly sat up. He started to ask Tara what he meant when he felt something wet running in warm rivulets down his chin, soaking his collar. He reached up to touch his mouth, but Tara's hand stopped him.

"Don't mess about with it," he said shakily, "It looks like you'll need stitches."

"Oh hell." Paul winced as he spoke and then an odd expression came over his face. A moment later, he spat out a piece of white tooth.

"Oh fuck."

His left front tooth had broken in half and gone through his lip, splitting it wide open. "Anything else hurt?" Tara asked in concern.

Paul shook his head slowly as Tara took him by the elbow and helped him stand up. Tara handed him a handkerchief to put over his profusely bleeding lip. "You're a mess," he commented as he pulled Paul's cycle upright.

Paul snorted, but the strange sensation that caused stopped him from laughing. "Well," he said with some difficulty, "We're closer to Bett's than my Dad's. Let's just go on."

Tara raised his eyebrows, "Sure?"

Paul nodded and got back on the bike as Tara ran to his. As they rode, the frigid air seemed to help slow the bleeding, but Paul could still feel it trickling down, and the coppery taste of it in his mouth made him feel ill.

When they arrived at Paul's cousin's house, they parked the mopeds and walked up the front steps where Paul knocked on the door. Bett answered, delighted to see him, and gave them both a warm hug. She couldn't see Paul's face clearly in the darkness of the porch.

"Uh, don't be alarmed, Bett, but I've had a bit of an accident," Paul warned as they stepped into the warm, lighted parlor.

Bett laughed, "Now what have you done, you silly boy?" She turned back to him and the smile died on her lips as she caught sight of his face. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her own mouth.

"Holy Mother of God!" she gasped.

An: I fixed some spelling mistakes. If people think I shouldn't edit it, I can upload the raw one instead.

Ex: rivelets to rivulets