There used to be only morning. The dazed beats between 4am and 6am, before everything wakes up. The world used to live then and only then. But the sun was lonely. It was nothing more than a ball of heat, warming the same two hours over and over again. It had no purpose, or thing to talk to.
It was early in the morning when the moon came into the sun’s eye line.
“What is that?” The sun asked a passing by cloud.
“I don’t know,” the cloud responded. “I can’t seem to cover its dim glow.”
“What is that?” The sun asked the wind a few shades of pink later, as the moon crept closer.
“I don’t know,” the wind said and would have shrugged if it had shoulders. “Not even my harshest blows can phase it.”
“What is that?” The sun asked the sky once it turned faded blue, in the last few moments of the morning, as the moon was nearly in the distance of the sun’s rays.
“I do not know,” the sky said. “But around it I’m enclosed in it’s darkness, only seeing spotted white lights.”
However the sun stood brave, because it didn’t know any better. It had the duty to color the grass and sky, incase they fell under this strange shape’s powers. It was the next morning when the sun realized the shape was not coming any closer.
So it called out.
“What are you?”
“The moon.”
The sun didn’t know what to do, so it let purple rise off the hills and fade into the sky.
“I’m here to let you have a break. You have been working for so long.”
The sun didn’t respond, beams extending carefully as to not touch the still mysterious “moon”.
“Let me help you. You can rest for a while, then come back.”
The sun laughed, sending heat waves through the world.
“I can’t relax, I have to keep the world colorful and warm.”
“But what happens when you become old? When your yellow fades to gray?”
The sun didn’t respond. It starts a new day and the moon waits, the wind brushing past its craters with hollow noise.
“Alright,” the sun finally said, feeling the moons shadow to be too much. “But only for a bit.”
“Of course,” the moon said.
The sun slowly sunk down, as if it had disobeyed the world. As it sunk it watched the sky turn a new and foreign color. A dark blue fell over the sky, fading into a dark purple around the moon.
“What’s happening?” The sun yelled, sinking faster and faster.
The moon laughed, sending stars shooting across the darkening sky. They glide across the blue and the sun is hypnotized by their sparkle.
“It’s becoming night. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the world.”
So the sun rested cautiously, waiting for the night to be done. After a short while it peeked out from underneath the world to see the shadows of the land at night. The world was sleeping, and colorless. Everything had darkened, shaded with black. The moon smiled knowingly, fading into the skyline as the sun rose.
A new day was made then, growing from four to six hours onto eight to nine. The sun was too paranoid to let the moon take control for any longer.
They continue like that for years, never speaking except for the early morning oranges and late night purples. Sadly, purple and orange hardly ever see eye to eye. But separation makes the sun grow and the moon shine. Eventually they fall for each other, as much as two floating balls can fall without burning the world.
Until one early morning, the sun watching the moon carefully, everything seems perfect, as it usually does before a great undoing. The sun saw the moon and couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Moon!” it called.
It sped up, flying by the colors, rushing through eight and nine, to find the infinity in which the moon and sun may live together. And when they collided there was the first solar eclipse. The colors flew through the sky without rhyme or reason, the clouds greeting the stars and the winds rushing through the humid night air. But the moon pulled away and everything froze.
“You can’t be that weak, sun. Don’t give up the warmth for a cold and lumpy ball of rock.”
Then the moon was gone and the sun felt colder than it ever had before.
And the first winter begins.
The sun learned to control its feelings enough to create beautiful purple flowers and orange leaves on the trees. It melted the snow and created oceans, turning its mind to anything but the dark purple in the corner of its rays.
The moon made waves. It pulled the tide in, like it pulled in the sun. But as the moon’s pull grew stronger, so does its mind. It came to think it was superior to the glow the sun brought. The nights grew longer as the moon works with the waves.
The summer solstice began and the moon grew stronger. It tells the sun what not to do.
“No sun, don’t you understand we don’t need this humidity?”
“Can’t you send a cool breeze?”
“Look at that, look the clouds enjoying the beach and waves I give them.”
“A shooting star. Who would smile at the clouds like that, sun?”
“Try sun. Just try harder.”
Until the sun can’t take it anymore, it can’t try any harder.
It ran again, pushing against the rainbows bruising the sky, and running past the clock. The sun ran to the moon and the two were suddenly very close and very bright.
And the sun needed to speak.
“People drown in your waves, moon. People are drowning.” The world froze yet again, with less hope this time around. “I’m the one who shines through the clouds. I shine brighter than you, I shine brighter than your stars, and I shine brighter than your cracks and every hole. Every day the world feels me. Can it feel you? Has anything ever been burned by your rays? Ever been kissed by your craters? Has anything ever had to shield it’s eyes from you because you take up every corner of their home?”
The moon does not respond, so the sun continued.
“The answer is no. I am the sun, I will not be silenced. You will not silence me, moon. I am a star.”
The moon does not respond. It takes many hours for the moon to resurface. More than ever before.
Twelve.
The sun saw more colors than it ever had, and fell in love with everysingle one. The moon sent the sun a message in the form of a hurricane. The waves rising up into the sun’s clouds.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. There can never be an only night. There is no beautiful night, without day to shine through. The most beautiful colors are when we collide. Can I see them again?”
The sun laughed, sending a roll of thunder through the hurricane. The seasons went by, moon and night no longer taking their long color days. Twelve hours each, except for if it’s the moon’s summer or the sun’s winter. Because even through this, they still complimented each other. The moon wrote the sun every chance it got, through storms and winds and stars that hide behind clouds.
The sun forgave the winter at some time between four to six, when their colors merge perfectly and everything lines up. But then the sun and moon looked down, colors reflecting everything they’ve created on the blue and green earth, they can’t bring themselves to run to each other. They taught each other to be strong, to be selfish, and to be beautiful. They can’t risk it all just to grace crater with ray again.
Not again.
So there are tears. Rolling waves and thunderstorms. Long ones. They try to control themselves, but sometimes distance makes the light grow darker and the two most powerful orbs can’t control themselves.
They just chase each other, waiting for the day the world doesn’t need their color anymore. Waiting for the day the world has turned gray, and isn’t worth saving.
From the 826CHI Student Publication: Each Word is Like an Earthquake