two perspectives on the moon, one hundred words each. my attempt is here, Jo’s lovely words are below.
“Is there life on Mars?”
“That’s… that’s not Mar—”
“Well is there?”
She stares upward at the sliver of grey, evening colors fading into each other in a tired gradient of sky. Her eyes close, tempted to stay shut forever.
She opens them again.
“Maybe. Who knows?”
“It’s really pretty here.”
“It is.” Her voice is rough.
Her fingers cling to the hem of her shirt, digging into old scars resting along clammy skin. It’s quiet, the crickets have chosen to rest their voices, and the moon rests above, barely visible.
She would hide too, if only she knew how.