The wind was blowing in gusts, buffeting the car, which swerved dangerously towards the precipice. Down below, the waves broke with deafening noise on the rocks. It was magnificent but terrifying. I ... [+]
Gillian O’Shaughnessy is a short fiction author from Western Australia. She has stories in a range of journals and anthologies including Night Parrot Press, Jellyfish Review, SmokeLong Quarterly and ... [+]
I arrive at the bus stop heading for work and see the moon has fallen from the sky and is resting in a crater where the Bell Tower used to be. I'm struck by how unimpressive it looks close up, beige and lumpy, like old porridge.
"Nothing special," I mutter out of the corner of my mouth to a man clutching a briefcase nearby.
"Pardon?" he seems startled.
"THE MOON," I say more loudly. Perhaps he's hard of hearing. I smile reassuringly and gesture towards it, "NOTHING SPECIAL IS IT? NOT VERY "SILVERY?" I make the air quotes.
He looks over his shoulder in the way people do when they think you're talking to someone behind them.
"MATE," I say, arms outstretched, "THEMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON."
"Please leave me alone," he sprints down the street like his arse is on fire.
"Bloke's lost it," I appeal to an old lady crouched over her shopping trolley.
"Piss off kid," she gives me the finger and looks away.
I'm at a loss. As I watch, a crane teeters and with a shriek of metal settles heavily against the side of the moon.
I'm about to dial emergency but the bus arrives, it's a ten minute wait for the next one, and I've been late for work three times this month already, so I think sod it, hop on, and off we rumble down the street, swerving just the tiniest bit to avoid the moon.
"Nothing special," I mutter out of the corner of my mouth to a man clutching a briefcase nearby.
"Pardon?" he seems startled.
"THE MOON," I say more loudly. Perhaps he's hard of hearing. I smile reassuringly and gesture towards it, "NOTHING SPECIAL IS IT? NOT VERY "SILVERY?" I make the air quotes.
He looks over his shoulder in the way people do when they think you're talking to someone behind them.
"MATE," I say, arms outstretched, "THEMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON."
"Please leave me alone," he sprints down the street like his arse is on fire.
"Bloke's lost it," I appeal to an old lady crouched over her shopping trolley.
"Piss off kid," she gives me the finger and looks away.
I'm at a loss. As I watch, a crane teeters and with a shriek of metal settles heavily against the side of the moon.
I'm about to dial emergency but the bus arrives, it's a ten minute wait for the next one, and I've been late for work three times this month already, so I think sod it, hop on, and off we rumble down the street, swerving just the tiniest bit to avoid the moon.