Is it the Same Moon?
The sky was shifting colors for the evening; the harsh colors of red, orange, and sharp yellows were slowly shifting to softer hues of pink, purple, and even gentle shades of dark blue. The many sand dunes on the horizon were being dyed the calm colors of the evening, looking more like snow than fiery dusts of sand. She waited patiently for the first moon to make its appearance. She was always waiting; sometimes patiently, sometimes in a restless manner. It wouldn't take that long, not for the first moon to show itself that is. It was the smallest of the three, tinted a light shade of purple. It looked nice against the dark shades of purple, blue, and red. She sat sullenly in her chair, eyes searching the sky for something. Her chair was always facing the sky. It was the only furniture in the room. The room itself was simply a glass dome that allowed whoever was it see the vast alien landscape. It was the top floor of her tower-like building, one would that would twist and turn like a hungry snake. It was her favorite room. She spent much of her time there, sitting, staring, and waiting. Once upon a time, she did it with a man.
By the time that purplish moon finally came into view, stars were beginning to dot the skies. That was when she truly began looking, yearning. The stars weren't as pronounced as they could have been; they'd be brighter when the second moon arose, glowing a faint, shimmering blue. She did not exactly like this moon. It conjured too many unwanted memories. A faint, blue, shimmering light… It made her too sad. It made her yearn too much. It made her weep uncontrollably, but weeping was not something a woman should do. Especially for a man. It was undignified. It was shameful. Yet she still did it when she was sure that she was alone; sure that no peeping eyes could see her. Whenever that second moon arose, a translucent tear would slowly slide down her cheek and fall to her hand that was clutching onto her chair so tightly. When she was younger and her wounds were still fresh, more than just one tear would fall. But she was sure she had used up all her tears in those first few years, and she felt as if all she could muster was one, pitiful tear. It made her feel even more pain. Shouldn't I be crying more? Isn't he worth an ocean of tears?
He'd been banished for more than a century in her world. She wasn't sure how long it had been wherever he was. It could have been less time. It could have been so much more time. All she knew was that for her, it felt like thousands of years had gone by, and all she had done was sit in that chair, stare, and wait. She wasn't sure why she hadn't moved on. She had tried when the fiftieth year took place. She fornicated with ten men. She kissed them, teased them, and forced them to open her legs for her. But it didn't help; she didn't feel good, alive. It made her feel even deader and hallow. By the fifty-fifth year she no longer craved sexual attachment. She just wanted to feel someone lay next to her in bed, to feel their heartbeat, their breathing. She wanted to know that whoever it was next to she was safe with her in her arms. She wanted to know that when she woke up, this person would still be there next to her, happy to be there for her. None of her ten suitors ever stayed the night, and she was filled with regret and shame.
She had contemplated that her lover must have fornicated with others as well. At first she was enraged. Then she was depressed. Then she was envious. Then she was understanding. And finally, she was even lonelier than before. Lonely knowing that she had no one to console her, to make her feel better. She was lonely knowing that she had no one to tell her that her love would never move on. Whenever she showed any sign of melancholy in the past, her love would drop everything to get to her side, no matter how busy he was. He pampered me too much, she thought in a bitter-sweetness. But I pampered him far too much as well. Now, she was left alone, depressed, and left with too many thoughts. She was sure he was alone, depressed, and thinking. And all she wanted was to gather him in her arms, to make sure she took every ounce of sadness from his body. She wanted to hold him, to enjoy the silence with him, to savor the laughs together, and to most importantly know he was alive and safe.
By the time the third and final moon arose, she was filled with a mind numbing depression. She did not move. She did not blink. But she did not cry. She could not form another tear. She wondered if he could no longer cry, but pushed the thought away. Alexander was and always would be in touch with his emotions. If tears were needed, he'd be able to conjure them. He was not cold or ruthless like her. He was not cold like she used to be. He was the light and she was the darkened shadow that followed behind it. Those Mankind beings would not take that away from him; they could not take away his emotions. If they did that, who was she left with? That would not be the Alexander she was in love with. But then, who was she? She was no longer cold or ruthless. She was no longer a mental turn on, sharp witted, or sharp tongued. Her thoughts had grown slower, her wits faded. She was numb all over. She was no longer the sassy young woman who Alexander was in love with.
So what were they now? Lovers? Or strangers?
She glared at the moons with those unblinking eyes. She glared at the purple one that shined so sweetly at her. She glared at the blue one that taunted her with unwanted dreams. She glared at the last, silvery moon who reminded her that she was no longer a woman worthy of love. The moon that had once captivated her lover so much that he devoted his life to reaching it and everything that lay behind it. It teased her. "I have you lover," it would leer, "I have him and he's never going to come back. I know how he weeps for you. I know how he longs for you. I know how he's slipping farther and farther away from you. But I'll never give him back to you. Never. Never. Never."
It made her think too much. It made her want to curl up in a ball and die. To simply end this undying grief. To end this undying isolation. To end this undying longing. All she wanted was her Alexander to be back with her. Was it really too much to ask? Did she commit some form of sin that could not be forgiven? That she needed to suffer everyday and every night? To reach out for her lover and know that somewhere he was reaching for her? To call out his name in the middle of the night and know he was doing so too? She glared at the silvery moon and growled with loathing, "You leave him alone. Your looks no longer captivate him." Of course the moon did not reply. Who would reply to a voice that spoke with such hate? But she didn't need it to. She knew without a reply that in whatever world Alexander was trapped in, some sort of moon or star was taunting him too. "I'm keeping you from your lover. I tricked you into leaving her. And you'll never see her again. You'll never feel her again. You're going to die alone as a cold old man, and she's going to die alone as a mentally retarded old woman. And it's all your fault."
She knew that when soldiers went out to war, they would look to the skies at night and be comforted that their other halves looked at the same moon as them. It saddened her to know that her lover was looking and talking to the same moon as her.