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My life had been drained of its inspiration. The quarter moon, brilliant in a blue-black sky, cast shadows at my feet, reminding me that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step in the dark. It was as if I was on the moon staring at an earthlit sky, alone in the dust of my footprints, a record of singularity within a barren and magnificent desolation.

There were whispers; probably the wind. I stopped to listen. The silence had become the loudest sound in the night. A cold panic embraced me, replacing the lonliness I felt. The love of my life had rejected me and it was a sad heart that had carried my feet here. There was nothing in the silence to forgive my tired emotions until the mysterious whispers intervened.

Fear crept into my thoughts, freeing me from the bonds of self-pity. The stillness prevailed. I walked a few more steps, treading lightly while I searched the silence. Another whisper floated at a distance. It was more than a whisper; a song of love I had written not so long ago had returned. The melody was unmistakable.

I had written the song for her and played it on a moonlit night. Curse the moon. It was once a beacon, burning bright along with my hopes and dreams of forever. Now it was just a glaring, white flood of lost causes.

The melody got louder, but I couldn't recognize the voice. My heart wanted it to be her, coming to me now to turn an ending into a new beginning. I began to walk and sing, picking up the pace of my wandering to meet her. The final refrain fell from my lips, with each note promoting more hope.

The last bar sung, the melody faded into darkness. I came to a bench along the path of this moonlit walk. The seat was warm. It had to have been her. I sat on one side, as if she would return. My mind drifted as I stared at the moon. Soft clouds diffused the brilliance of the moon's white light.

I must have fallen asleep. When my eyes finally found their focus, there was no bench, no path, no moonlit walk. The lights were so bright, I couldn't make out the details of where I was. I could hear a voice and as he spoke, I tried to respond, but there was only silence.

"Sir! Sir! You're in a hospital. You have suffered head wounds from a gunshot. "

He continues to speak, but his voice grows fainter. Slowly I remember the events of my moonlit walk. I had decided it was to be my last moonlit walk, taking me home to peace and love in her warm embrace. The man's voice is distant. The light begins to fade, but there is still a melody in the air. She is here, always here and I am not alone anymore.

Learn more about this author, Michael Kryton.
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