Meet You on the Moon

The hawkish moon incurred the disciplinary cocoon affect of the clouds, which gathered to wipe the moon's gaze from the souls of the weak. Disorientation nor dizziness are not attractive qualities in a human, even if it is on greater display. The moon blames the carbon emissions, the stars blame the suns ever increasing burning qualities and the clouds, of course, blame the moon.

All those small disturbed heads, say the clouds.

Must have an effect on the precipitation, must it not? say the stars.

Barometric pressure, say the clouds.

Whatever? says the moon.

I'll just stay out when the stars have gone away, says the clouds and I'll deal with you then, bossy moon.

I can hide among the stars, you’ll never find me.

They are already dead, most of them anyway, says the clouds. They can't help you now, moon. Beacons to a time long since gone.

Don’t upset me, says the moon. I can rock your world more than you know, if I so choose.

We can obliterate you from view...

But you can’t obliterate my affect, no you can’t. I’m beyond your reach, the moon wailed, outside of the world in which you are contained...

James sat up in bed. He rubbed his forehead. Opened and closed his eyes, wider each time he opened them. He pulled the sleep from around his eyeballs with his pointer finger and thumb. He yawned and shook his head.

He looked bleary-eyed in the mirror on the opposite wall. He screwed up his face and half-closed his eyes and his reflection did the same.

His dreams were becoming more bizarre, darker, more disturbed, more fractured. Nightly chases, battles, fights and flights. He was exhausted when he woke up. Captaining armies, running from monsters, ducking bullets, driving too fast down country roads and just as he was going to be defeated, eaten, shot or crash, the real world would pull him to safety. He guessed that was merciful, but he didn’t want any of it. Ask for it. Crave it. Much less need it. What was wrong with clouds and angels? Maybe he should ask the doctor for some pills?

He didn’t know what he’d done. What had changed? Where had his mind gone?

“Ah, fuck it!” He climbed out of bed and headed to the toilet, adjusting his hard-on in his jocks and scratching his arse. He tip-toed on the balls of his feet as the tiles were cold.

“Ah, ah, ah.”

He tried to bounce up and down, as he stood in the one spot in front of the toilet, but as his stream of piss hit the back wall of tiles, he stopped bouncing. He laughed to himself, his mother would be unimpressed. In a house full of boys, James and his brothers, his mother never understood why they always missed.

“The easiest thing,” James said in an imitation of his mother’s questioning voice. “You boys even have something to point with.”

He shook his spongy cock with his thumb and finger to shake off the last of the drips.

How would she know, he said to himself, she only acted like she had a penis.

He pulled his foreskin back and shook again, then he slipped it back into his jocks, nonchalantly. He pushed the flush button and for a moment stared mesmerised by the swirling water. He yawned and rubbed his face.