You Are the Moon

Note: You are the Moon, is a song written by The Hush Sound which had inspired this story. I in no way claim this title, and only used for a lock of originality at the time I was trying to come up with a name. Also: please excuse my typos, it was very late whn I wrote this, and I have little time for editing.Thank you, and please rate and/or review

“I thought it would get easier.” She said softly kneeling in the grass, her head bowed, her long black hair falling gently over her shoulders, brushing so lightly against her cheek. A breeze blew, causing her hair to sway ever so slightly. Her hands rested on her knees.

“Coming here. Talking to you. I thought it would make the pain go away. I still remember you. Everything about you. Your laugh. Your crooked smile with your perfect pearly white teeth. The way you always wrinkled your nose whenever I said or did something so stupid you wanted to laugh, but tried not to. The way you always waited for me to laugh first, as if you weren’t sure it was okay. I remember all those jokes you used to tell, those quippy remarks. I remember that when I was with you I could never stop smiling. I still remember what you look like. Those beautiful blue eyes that always seemed to remind me of summer skies, that mischievous spark that always danced within them. I remember your golden brown hair, never a strand out of place, that always seemed to shine, even when the sun was hidden behind clouds. I even remember all the freckles sprinkled across your face. Your lean frame, your strong shoulders. You were perfect, from head to toe, even your voice, deep yet smooth. I know it sounds stupid, but it made me think of rock stars.” A hint of a smile touched her face as she brushes back her hair.

“I still remember that night you sang to me. The only time you’ve sung to me. I still remember the song. I still remember all the lyrics.” The smile began to fade again, and reached out carefully arranging the bright flowers that sat in front or her, place so carefully at the foot of a grave marker.

“I miss you Jack. I dream about you every night. I think about everything. Everything Jack, starting from the day we first met. It was at lunch my freshman year. I was sitting alone outside. All my friends were still inside eating. I never liked it in the cafeteria. Too crowded. Too loud. I was drawing, like I always do, the world far away from me. I didn’t realize that you had taken the seat next to me. I didn’t realize that you were watching me, talking to me. I didn’t realize that I was talking back. It wasn’t until you left that I finally noticed you. Not until you told me that you had to go practice your music, that I finally looked up, only to see you walking away.

“Everyday after that you started talking with me at lunch. I started paying attention, putting my pencil down long enough to listen to what you were saying, but you always left too soon. You always had to practice just before my friends came.

“It had been just over a month when you asked me out. We had been getting closer spending a lot more time with each other. I was feeling down that day. My sketch book had been stolen. Months of hard work, taken from me and destroyed, and on top of that, I had nothing to do at lunch. I sat there, alone, bored, devastated. Then, you came. You sat by my side, attempting weakly to cheer me up, but gaining nothing but false smiles. You were silent for sometime unsure even, then you turn to me, and I remember exactly what you said. You turn to me and you say, ‘I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask,’ then you down on one knee, I refused to look at you, but I felt sure something stupid was going to happen. You had one hand behind your back and held my hands in your other you looked straight into my eyes and wrinkled your nose trying not to smile. ‘Will you be my girl?’ and you pull out a Ring-pop™. That’s when I burst out laughing.” She chuckled to herself and shook her head slowly, “When I finally stopped, I looked at you, and you knelt there completely serious, looking at me with those big blue eyes. I’m silenced, unsure if you were joking or not. ‘Its even your favorite flavor.’ You say, and I crack up again. I take the Ring-pop ™ smiling and look at it, and I tell you, ‘my favorite flavor is raspberry. This is strawberry.’ And then your face. I swear you were about to cry.” She started laughing, then bit her lip clenching her fists, “That’s when it all really started I guess. After that day we were always at the park, laying in the grass watching the clouds, counting the stars. Of course my parents didn’t know. I never said a thing to them. If they knew, I’d be grounded for life. But that didn’t stop you.

“I was shocked the first time you came over to my house. I couldn’t sleep, I was still thinking about you, how I wanted to be with you, to be by your side. How at the end of everyday, the thought of parting with you tore me to pieces. The knock on the window scared me. I watched the window for a while before you knocked again, and I finally decided to check it.

“I jumped when I saw you on the other side, with that bright smile spread across your face. I could see your perfection even in this darkness. You stood there holding yourself against the wind, standing at the edge of the thin metal carport roof, just barely strong enough to hold you up. The roofing stopped only half a foot away from my second story window, but still I felt terrified when you leaned forward to knock again. I open the window carefully.

“‘What are you doing here?’ I whispered through the screen. You leaned forward resting you forehead on the thin mesh that stood between us.

“‘I wanted to see you.’ You said, your blue eyes sparkling in the night.

“‘How do you know where I live?’ I sounded more urgent than curious, probably because I was more concerned with the possibility of you falling ten feet to the ground, than the fact that you were actually there.

“‘I followed you home.’ You said it so casually, like that’s what all secret boyfriends do. Like there was nothing remotely strange about following a girl five miles to her home, finding out exactly which bedroom was her’s, then climbing up onto her carport, which wasn’t at all safe, then waking her up (even though she wasn’t really asleep) in the middle of the night just so that you could her. I mean I understand that you didn’t have a phone, but really?” She smiled again but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I told you to meet me at the porch on the other side of the house, worried that my parents would catch you. I fell asleep in you arms that night. I felt so safe there with you, so calm, so at ease, as if nothing in the world could touch me while you were there.

“You started visiting every two weeks since that day. Then more frequently, but you never came on a full moon. You were becoming bolder too. You found out where we kept the spare key, you would sneak your way into my bedroom. Before you would just lie on the floor, with me on the bed, holding my hand and we would whisper about everything and nothing. Then you started crawling onto the bed, holding me until I drifted off into my dreams. Then you would disappear by the morning leaving no trace behind.

“Daddy almost caught you that one time though. You were always so careful, but he couldn’t sleep that night. We were talking, you were laying besides me on the bed, your arms folded behind. I heard the door to the room next to me open. I hurried him into my closet, and I lay in my bed pretending to sleep.

“Daddy opened the door to my room, and flicked on the light in my closet to keep from disturbing me. I was terrified he would find you, but I kept up the act. He went into the closet, and start shifting through somethings. He always kept his junk in there. I don’t really know why. I guess it was for moments when he needed an excuse to come into my bedroom and look around my closet because he thinks I brought home a boyfriend and was hiding him in there or something. That was probably the most terrifying night of my life. I didn’t want to think what would happen if he found you. I thought he would report you to the police, or worse, shoot you himself. At least if you were in jail for attempted rape, I could still visit.

“You kept coming of course. Nothing seemed to keep you away. You even came once, in the middle of a storm. You kept coming more and more frequently, almost every night, but still you kept away on full moons. I didn’t know why. I didn’t bother to wonder why. You came when you came, that was it for me. Until you finally did come on a full moon.

“I woke up in the middle of the night. The moonlight kept me from sleeping very long. I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes. I started. There he stood in the shadows, hand jammed awkwardly into his pockets. I couldn’t see much. I called out your name, and he stepped forward into the light. His eyes were sunken, his long black hair fell in thin strands to his shoulders, his bleach white skin was stretched over his body so tightly that if he moved, I feared it might tear. He was thin and sickly, I could count ever bone on his body. It looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days, as though food and rest were unknown to him. I backed myself up to the head board unsure what to do. Unsure what to make of him.

“‘Don’t be scared.’ He whispered, his voice sounded choked and uncertain, but familiar. I didn’t move. ‘I just wanted to see you. I just couldn’t stay away. I-I-I never wanted you to see me like this, but I-I guess I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up. I’m-’” She stopped choked, her teeth starting to clench together. She swallowed hard, but kept going, “I couldn’t move. His eyes held me there. His clothes were to big for him, engulfing his thin frame. ‘It’s me.’ He finally said taking another step forward, out from the moon light streaming into my window, and into the shadows once again, and there you stood, your beautiful blue eyes sparkling, your perfect brown hair shining, but there was something new there, something I hadn’t noticed before.” She clenched her fists and tears started to stream down her face. She swallowed again and shook her head,

“I can’t. I- I still can’t.” She breathed deeply, “I’m graduating next year you know. Everyone’s so excited. They’re already planning our class shirts. Class of twenty-thirteen. Can you believe it? I’ll be out of here soon, off the college. I wish you could come with me. I wish you were still here.” She wiped the tears from her face, and brushed away a leaf that had landed on the grave marker. Jack A. Greaystone 1986-1999.



It hurt seeing her cry. It was strange to me. She’s been visiting every week, but still, I wasn’t used to it. There she was, this beautiful girl, crying at the foot of my grave. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted so bad to wrap my arm around her. Instead I just stood there watching, but what could I do?

I remember that night as well as she does. I couldn’t stay away from her. I needed to see her. I wanted so desperately to see her. I should’ve stayed outside. I guess I was hoping she’d stay asleep, but she never does. When her eyes opened I got scared, strange as it is to say it, I got scared. I stumbled back into the shadows hoping that she wouldn’t see me, but I knew better. She scrambled backwards, fear plain in her eyes. She called me. I hesitated, then took a step forward. She was going to find out anyway. This was coming sooner, or later. All I could do was get it over with and hope for the best.

The moonlight shone through my white skin. I knew how I looked. So weak, so frail. My face pockmarked with old acne scars. Pink scars across my wrists, chest and neck. I only had a jacket to cover my torso, but if it were to slip off, the raw scars on my back would show as well. Long and welted. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t stand it. I was supposed to her boy. I was supposed to be able to protect her no matter what, but look at me. So fragile, so weak, I could see it in her stubborn eyes. She should be the one protecting me.

I stumbled to explain myself. I suppose maybe I should.

I was never really proud of myself. I was always so weak, so thin. My parents even told me that, but they weren’t really mean about it. My father always wanted me to play football, or basketball, something, but the best I could do was tennis, and hardly at that. I was walking home alone, from a hard practice with my cousin. My chest was still heaving. I was twelve when it happened. When they grabbed me off the street, tied me up, and threw me into the back of a van. Four years. They kept me for four years. They called my parents every week demanding ransom. Always raising the price, always promising to let me go if they paid. Always breaking that promise.

They would whip me every time they called my parents. They would be sure my screams would be heard on the other end. They did so many things to me. So many things. Sometimes they would strip me, and rape me, ordering to scream for my parents listening on the other side as they penetrated me. I hated myself for giving in. I hated myself for letting them win, for not fighting back, for not even trying to keep my mouth shut and swallow the pain. I hated myself for being so selfish, for thinking only of my own pain, not my parents.

They kept me locked up for four years, with no sunlight, and stale air. They left me in a room of shattered mirrors, where I was forced to sleep on the broken glass. Time, and time again I was awoken by the wounds they made. I hated it. Waking every day to the sight of my bloodied, bruised face, laying down at night surrounded by my own dying eyes. Being forced to look at myself so weak, so frail, so imperfect. I’ve cut it into my arms so many times before. Imperfect. Now etched clearly across my skin. It was just as painful as what they did to me, but at least I could control it.

It’s still shocks me. The thought that I went through four years of this. Four whole years. It’s amazing. How did I not break down? How did I make it so long? I can’t begin to explain the hopeless, uselessness, that overcame me in those years. I can’t say how many times I’ve wanted to take my life and have it be done with. I can’t say how many times I’ve actually tried. I can say this though, I had one thought that kept me through those four, horribly long, terrifying torturous years. I kept thinking of a beautiful girl. A girl made perfectly, just for me, with beautiful long black hair, that fell so elegantly over her shoulders. With big brown eyes that I’d hate to see full of tears.

All those years, I knew that I wouldn’t make it out alive. That I’d never meet this beautiful girl in my life. That no matter what I did, I wouldn’t ever get anywhere, but I stayed alive. I still clung to what little hope I had. Never in a million years, did I ever think that I would get to literally meet the girl of my dreams. And absolutely never once have I ever thought that I’d have to explain to her that I had died a decade ago.

“Please, just let me explain.” Those were the first things I said when I stepped back into the shadows. “Please just hear me out.”

She didn’t move. Not an inched. At times, I wondered if she had even been breathing. I neared her bed, and slowly lowered myself onto it. Still she didn’t move. I sat there, on the edge of her bed wondering where to begin, how to start. What could I do? Just straight out, “I’m dead. You’ve been dating a ghost for an entire year now. I’m sorry I should’ve told you earlier.” ? Really? Then what? I drew a breath.

“I’m dead. You’ve been dating a ghost for an entire year now. I’m sorry I should’ve told you earlier.” The fear in her eyes dimmed slightly. That’s one of the reasons I had fallen for her. Her ability to accept the most impossible of things.

“Explain yourself.” She whispered, still afraid for her father to catch us. I told her my story. Everything, from the kidnapping to the raping. I told her about the beatings, about the mirrors, about the cuts. I rolled up my sleeve and showed her the scars cut so cleanly into my skin. Imperfect. When I had finished, she sat there for sometime in silence. She sat there staring at me, analyzing me.

“Why didn’t they tell the police?” She asked finally. I looked her straight in those big brown eyes.

“Because the one time they did, I was killed.” I could feel it, the cold blood dripping down my forehead as I remembered. My guise slowly breaking. My perfection melting away into what I really was. She reached forward and pushed me off her bed. I stumbled back into the moon light, and sat there shocked by her strength. She stood over me. I thought she would beat me. Yell at me. Scream at me. Something. Instead, she sat down, her legs crossed, and she stared at me. Her eyes took in every detail of my body.

She reached up, and stroked back my thin hair, so gently, so lightly. She ran her finger over my prominent cheek bone, down to my lip. She traced the scars running the length of my chest and my arms.

“Remember the night you sang to me? The song you sang?” She whispered. I nodded slowly. I remembered clearly. I still do. We were out on her porch. The wind practically covered my voice as I sang, I Will Follow You Into the Dark. “Well, I have a song for you.”

She crawled into my lap, and her voice sang out, so angelic, so beautiful, it made the air quiver. Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark. I hadn’t heard the song before, but I felt like it was written just for me. I felt like it was meant only for my ears, and no one else. As her voice rose and fell, I heard the moon itself singing along side her, and all the mourning birds awaken to join in her song. You don’t see what you possess, a beauty calm and clear. Even the trees had joined in her singing, shaking there branches to her voice, wishing they had voices of their own. It seemed the very colors of her room were singing with her. It seemed the world wanted to join in, for the glory of her voice had taken the world captive. I will bring a mirror, so silver so exact. So precise and so pristine a perfect pane of glass. I will set the mirror up to face the blackened sky. You will see your beauty every morning that you rise.

The world fell silent, listening to the last note that sat shaking in the air. She sat there, trying to bury herself in my scrawny arms. And she turns to me.

“I don’t care what they say Jack. You’re perfect, and I love you.”

I look at her now, crying at my graveside. The wind tosses her beautiful black hair as she struggles against a new onrush of tears. Those were the last words I ever heard from her. After that night. I disappeared. I walk slowly to her side, and kneel down by her, wrapping an arms around her shoulders, knowing full well that there was no way she could see or feel me. I place my lips to her ear.

“I’m waiting right here for you.” I whisper. “Right here. And no matter what you do, I want you to know... I love you too.”