Red Entaries
Chapter 1
If it was only a
dream, why did I not shake it but hold it still so firmly? Why did the orb of
glass not crack upon the Moon, smaller than the size of the palm of my hand,
where I could squeeze as hard as I could, yet not so? My heart was in it, but
why? A man’s thought elapsed. He stood to release the tension in his hand, but
before the shimmering orb was let go, he observed a three-foot pedestal, half
the size of himself, being a stature of six feet. He looked top to bottom to
where the crown of the skinny neck was a bed cushioned to fit an orb. The flat
bottom had two legs, silver, heart shaped, and entwined.
His great grandfather
shared it too, he thought, his dream.
He twirled the glass orb
between his thumb and forefinger and around his fingers until it looked back at
him like a giant eye, blinking, but not more menacing than the hard time he was
thinking of, how the first Moon colony was built, but in Trevor’s case, yes,
his name was Trevor Trahern. He even believed he had a small amount of royal
blood back to the dark ages. The documentation could prove it, he would say,
but as he was saying, he was thinking of the first station on the Moon.
Trevor remembered when
he imagined the Moon as a young child, a platform for First Reach and many
generations of men before he was raised. Here's how it goes:
A dusty old Moon,
Like a shaved rock and bricks
bashed together
And shale that was as broken
peanut butter brittle,
But not little as some were
the size
Of or half a man—but shrewd
and congruent.
These bits of rock or Moon
rock,
Some might say,
Were used in the construction
Of an everyday First Reach
public abode.
It was built in the hardest of
times,
But not as hard as Moonlit,
An ale that would bring you
back
To giddy childhood memories
and a warm hearth’s fire,
Like your heart,
But it poured even as a
steaming smelter
To dry parched tongues in
radiated heat.
Moon Divers were risking their
lives day or night.
A rock, or, as they would have
it,
A pearl in the dark sea,
A pricey timeless ripple in
space-time.
An ageless hope of mankind and
the muscle
Within watching ever
gleefully,
As the expectant watchtower,
Waiting for her mother ship to
one
Day land on her white shores.
A sign of hope, she was
First Reach of Moon Lodger’s
Inn.
Did you like the sneak peek?
2 Comments:
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ty very much for reading and placing your comment.
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