Delinquent Moon | by Rob True

Daytime is hell. The moonlight is mine. I could never sleep. Stood over my mother and father, as they slept. A knife in my hand, a tear on my cheek. I couldn’t do it. Along with the pain they caused, there was love. I knew they couldn’t help it. Dum and Mad.

I made friends with the shadows to stop the torment. Watched bubbles blow and flow on a breeze I controlled with my mind. I saw faces everywhere. Fiends. The creeps spoke to me.

I roamed streets. Walked down the middle on the lines and kicked over the lights on the islands. I kicked out the glass in a phone box. Pissed in the orange light of lamp post glow. Stole a BMX and rode round for two nights thieving all the door numbers. I spent an hour and a half trying to break into a chemist and gave up.

I lay in the park on my back, laughing at a dark sky. Stark visions. I staggered through an alley with grey trees reaching groaning claws. Writhing bodies of tormented creatures, like martyred monsters nailed to every fence post, moaning. Teeth. Teeth in a mouth without face, biting the cold, black night. Eyes. Eyes watching. The moon too. The moon saw it all. It watched me shine in obsidian park and I shone like crazy. Halo of light, ‘til sun came up. The night was always mine.

 

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Rob True was born in London 1971.  He left school with no qualifications, got lost in an abyss and spent a decade on another planet.  He returned to earth just in time for the new millennium and married a beautiful, strange girl.  She taught him how to use paragraphs and punctuation and his writing has been a bit better ever since. Stories published in Burning House Press, Sick Lit MagazineOpen Pen Magazine and The Arsonist Magazine. @robjtrue

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