Hello, Moonwalkers, Mooncalfs, and Lunatics!
Huh? You…You did WHAT?! Oh no, this is bad! This is really bad! You have to put it back! Because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
The Moon in a Jar
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
This prompt was inspired by a Maldivian folktale in which a man, sailing on his way to meet the king, sees the reflection of the moon in the water and tries to catch it in a jar. But, of course, when he gives the jar to the king, there’s only water within it. The story could have several interpretations. It may have a moral of thinking about your plans beyond the surface level. It could also have a moral about being content with what you have; the king was already the protagonist’s friend, and didn’t need any gifts to welcome him.
I see lots of morals that this prompt could contain. Putting the moon in a jar is taking something big, something that everyone benefits from, and making it small, something you can steal and own, that only benefits you. It makes me think of the song “Buy the Stars” by Marina and the Diamonds. Putting the moon in a jar is like trying to buy the stars. Someone who thinks they can or should put the moon in a jar likely has a great misunderstanding of why the moon is valuable. Someone could bottle the moon as a grand gesture of devotion…when really it’s out of a selfish desire to look good, and to buy the other person’s love. A king could put the moon in a jar as a show of his power, not realizing the moon should not be treated as a trophy, and its absence will destroy his kingdom.
The TV show Avatar the Last Airbender actually has an example of exactly that. General Zhao captures the physical form of the moon spirit in a bag, and in doing so turns the moon dark. Everyone else can see the horror of his actions and how it affects the world as a whole, but he only wants to be known as the man who darkened the moon.
Another thing Avatar does is give the moon a physical form—first an animal, then a person. Many other stories have given the moon a physical form too. In Tolkien’s Silmarillion, the moon is a silver flower put into the sky, and has a person to guard over it. In Tangled the Series, the Moon Drop contains the power of the moon, and a person can take this power for themselves. In Neil Gaiman’s Stardust, a star comes down to the world in human form. Perhaps you could write about something like that. The “jar” could be the physical form the moon is put into. Or the jar could reference a cage for the moon’s human form, like a mermaid trapped in a tank.
In some video games, such as Bloodborne and Majora’s Mask, the moon is a sort of final boss. Ending the game with the player defeating the literal moon—something that shouldn’t be touchable, let alone tameable—is quite the power trip. You could write about the grand battle between your character and the moon.
Speaking of video games, the prompt could also refer to resources. Perhaps defeating the moon gives you the most powerful and/or magical material in the world. Or it could be more realistic. I’ve visited a Museum of Flight in real life where they had a tiny moon rock. You could write about a piece of the real moon in a jar. In a way, that’s almost the most fantastical idea of all—that mere humans were actually able to visit the moon, and bring pieces of it back down to Earth.
My challenge for you this week is for you to go literal with this prompt. I think a lot of us will take this prompt in a symbolic direction, I am curious what you will come up with when challenged to somehow literally put the moon in a jar in your stories.
Phew! There we go. Crisis averted. Oh…Oh wait. It’s off center now. Sigh. We gotta go back up there.
—Kaylie
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
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erase this please (this was an accident)
Transfiguration
by Kotold
Ugh! That smell! What is that smell?! With the window open isn’t it supposed to help with the smell? Instead the open breeze just creates a river running through here baptizing us in the filth.
“Another one. Please.”
Maybe if I’m courteous, they’ll take a hose to the urinals? I don’t think that’s how that works. I’m here while Timmy is out partying and Mary is banging my “best friend”. Is that how that’s supposed to work? Whatever. Not like I was much of a role model; maybe she can get him to pay the electric. Whatever. Role models and bills? Who needs them?
“Another one.”
Bright out there. Full moon tonight. Werewolves come out on nights like tonight. So they say. I should be so lucky. A mutt just does what a mutt does. Isn’t encumbered with the weight I carry, with the responsibilities. I should probably…
“Sure.”
Why do they put mirrors behind the bar? So sad saps can watch themselves? See for themselves how pathetic they are? I may be a fool for wearing these shades in this place. With this light. But imagine if they actually saw me? A chill runs down my spine. I see the moon in the mirror, the moon in my shades. Which is it reflecting off of?
I nod.
Ugh! At least… Whatever…
Grunt.
Looking down I see the moon again. Its white is rippling in the waves at the bottom of my bottle. It’s staring at me. Just staring at me. What is it looking at? Why does it just stare at me?!
Suddenly the white fades to black.
Seven Years
By: MelancholicOtaku
Day 365
It’s been three hundred and sixty-five days since I’ve been held up in this crystal vessel—at least, I think it’s crystal; the material is one that I haven’t witnessed before. Three hundred and sixty-five days—that’s a whole human year, I believe.
A whole year of watching and waiting for the perfect moment to escape this impenetrable basin
Day 1095
Three years have passed, and the nights are still moonless—three years since I’ve been stuck in this contraption called a jar. I’ve overheard a human call it this. For a while now, I’ve been studying his daily movements. Get out of bed, eat a small breakfast, and head out for, I believe, a couple of hours before coming back home.
Day 1826
Five years later, my human is becoming slower, but then again, his kind usually loses its luster the longer that they age. Now is the time for my escape from this cruel realm made of glass. I wonder if the other gods and goddesses realize that I have been gone, and I wonder if my dear brother misses me.
Day 2556
After seven long years—well, more like seven short years for me—my human can hardly walk without the help of a long stick, almost like a third leg. He now spends most of his days napping and staring at me. His eyes and that look have always irritated me.
“Osyn,” he said. “The way my name sounds coming from his mouth, I absolutely despise that voice.” Yet I think if I didn’t hear it, I’d fall deeper into madness. My day will come once I can make my great escape and take my place back in the sky.
Adjusting The Moon’s Brightness Settings
By Matthew R. Wright
The moon lay dead, shattered into uncountable pieces, amongst the stars and the night’s sky. We all remember why. She held a special love for the moon. It was her namesake. She was Luna, and now she was alone. She mourned, harder than anyone else.
She’d been teaching herself to NEVER look up, the hurt too painful, but she simply couldn’t stop. When she slept, which was often, she’d struggle to rest without her moon. Since birth, it was always an open-window away. Its light would always beam down with its perfect glow, and send her into some deep and peaceful sleep. Luna, now an adult of twenty-five, had to purchase those ugly black-out curtains, for what she saw out those windows led to her unbearable grief.
Curtains closed, it was a different darkness that now surrounded her, with a strange stillness. Haunted, by the lingering presence that once beamed from behind those curtains.
It was her mother, who had planted that seed, that love of the moon. How she nurtured that love – nights in the garden, glow-in-the-dark night’s sky decorations, something they shared. She always told her story, Luna’s mother, a tale of a single parent living in such a big city, being pregnant but alone. How, on the night that Luna was born, her mother had opened up her window for fresh air and beheld that peaceful silent beauty the moon provided, and how it calmed her, how it kept her company through that long and exhausting night. The moon had been a constant presence to both Luna and her mother in that moment and in the years and moments that came after.
But her mother had been gone for a year, and the moon only a few weeks. She stroked at the generated image from her iPad, a 3D rotating model of her once-whole moon, spinning away in artificial peace. Its brightness burning her eyes.
Luna gripped her bed sheets tightly, trying not to burst into tears again.
She was Luna, and now she was alone.
No-one else could ever understand.
Crushed into myself
By Sniperaxiom
Standing beside Sophia, I lifted my wine glass to my smiling lips. She chatted in her witty way, the center of attention. I didn’t mind simply being relegated to her support.
The haughty guests milled about and different conversations hummed under the instrumental music.
Sophia launched those around us into laughter with a well placed joke. Suddenly the laughter became distant and I felt as though I was shrinking into myself. The world around me was snuffed out for a moment though my eyes never closed.
It was happening again.
I stiffened. My panic must have shown on my face because Soph looked concerningly at me.
“Are you alright Sasha?”
“I’m fine.” I answered her in a quick and breathy way. “I just need to get some air-”
Sophia was still watching me as I turned away and walked toward the balcony, I looked back to see her being absorbed once more in the crowd. She became the center of attention once again.
I quickly threw open the elegant glass door leading to the stone balcony. My breathing was quick, I was losing myself again. “NOT NOW! Stop it. I HATE YOU.” I hissed these words under my breath into the cold night air.
I had to hold on. Everything was going right! This was my chance with Sophi.
He was taking hold again though, and I couldn’t hold on. It felt like I was something as big as a planet, being forced into a little jar. Then I was gone.
When I tuned back in, it was morning and I was back at home in my apartment, sitting at my kitchen table that had papers strewn all over it.
“How long has it been-?” I mumbled as I reached for my phone that sat on the table. It was opened to the city news. I just quickly closed it out and saw I had at least 20 messages from Sophia asking where I went and if I was okay. I saw that it was the next morning.
He had messed up my life again.
Fuldablop’s Love
by Oliver Enslad
Earth Defense Force
Outgoing Galactic Call Transcription
January 25th, 2368
”Hi, mother, it’s Fuldablop. I’m in a human jail, it’s impressive actually. They somehow turned constellations into a restraining device, I can’t even move my-
“Bah, that’s not important. You’re probably curious what I did this time. Well, as it turns out, in this galaxy their moons don’t grow back. Or at least that’s what the humans are imprisoning me for. See I folded my wing around it, and the glass that my webs make surrounded it. I’ve done it dozens of times before to the little moons and planets nearby, this one just looked particular beautiful.
“And before you ask, yes it was for Adilpuh. And you’re right, I should be off these mating progs. At this point I just feel too lonely. It’s difficult being a single Gooloop. And I know hive-minds are dangerous, but the way she displays her planets and her stars is just far too fascinating.”
The creature classed as Star Child seemed to let out their equivalent of a sigh.
“Look, mother, I know I messed up. I know I should’ve paid more attention in any class. I know you wanted me to keep it in the species, but how can you expect me to not explore? I’m the first in our species to evolve wings!
“I remember when you first taught me how to make jars. We were supposed to use our claws and tendrils to shape it. You once caught so much heat in a small space, it made an extra sun! I remember the cracks in my first jar, star dust spilled from them like slivers of light trying to find it’s way through the blackened reaches in between galaxies.
“I understand if you don’t save me mother. I never earned a credit in my life, and I know it’s unfair for me to ask, but please may I have some credits? Adilpuh is good for it, I know you hate her, but you know that much of her at least, right?”
Approaching Darkness
by VulpesRose
The Darkness has set its sights upon you, my sister.
You must journey to the pool that is the cradle of life, the reservoir of power our mothers have drawn from for generations. If you leave today and receive favorable weather, you should reach it before the moon has next reached its fullest. Bring with you a purified vessel, stopped with a fresh cork.
Light your fire before sundown. Tend to it as you would care for a child. Do not cook, and burn only what you find along the lakeside.
As the moon approaches its zenith, you will begin your swim. You will know it is time because the crickets will cease their song. Your fire may begin to dim, but do not feed it further.
Swim. Do not be alarmed by the unseasonable chill of the water. Swim until you reach the place where the moon’s reflection shines upon the water. Recite the Litany of the Mother. Fill the vessel with water from the moon’s reflection and replace the cork. Give thanks to the Mother and beg her intercession in your plight.
Return to the shore and pour only a handful of the water upon the embers of your fire. If the fire is extinguished, then the Mother has heard your plea. If not…well, best not to ruminate on that.
Then you must return home.
Use the water to anoint the doorways of your home upon each sundown. If the Darkness has not come for you by the time your supply runs low, we will ensure you can repeat your ritual.
No, sister. This will not prevent the Darkness from coming for you. That, I’m afraid, is unavoidable.
Even the moon regularly turns her gaze away from the darkness she presides over. But her favor should be enough to ensure that, if he comes to kill you, your death will be swift, and if he does not, then you shall remain by his side.
You will take your place among the darkness, but, if it is the Mother’s will, you will not lose yourself to it.
The Moon in a Jar
by Dagmar Makara (dystop)
Strange whispers surrounded the man rumoured to hold the moon in a jar. A destitute fellow, who would be avoided on the dark twisted streets of San Maedo. The local children sang cruel nursery rhymes about him.
He was a lone wolf, an outcast. Beaten with iron clubs in dimly lit side alleys – some say he harboured a curse and ill-intentions, that he’d trapped fragments of the celestial daughter for his own machinations. Diseased, wounded and terminal, he stumbled below the buzzing lights of the old marketplace. He travelled at night, and lived only for that light.
“Your moon is still there?”, asked a teenage renegade. “The fragments you stole?”.
The old man’s expression was blank.
“How much?”, he persisted like a mosquito.
Suddenly, a flash of anger, sorrow and grief.
“She is not for sale, not to anybody” as he curled up on the floor, coughing out his words hadn’t spoken for five years, and had almost forgotten how.
The teenager raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He was a hustler, the black market’s black sheep. Oh, how overjoyed he would be to get his hands on this cursed celestial fragment he’d heard so much about. Persistent, he sat opposite to get a better look.
“Come on, you want a beating or a profit, I know fellow scum when I see them”.
The teenager’s ire sparked a flame, and the broken man collapsed into agony and tears.
“Five years”, said he. “I have held onto her for five years”, he sobbed.
“Her?”
“My beloved Luna, this is all that is left of her”, he grimaced, staring up at where the moon used to be. This wasn’t an ordinary man. He was all that was left of Sun, and his love Luna died five years ago – all that remained of her was what he’d managed to bottle. Both celestials in love, and now, both of them meeting their end. The tides had ceased and the sea; unnaturally calm. The daytime was drying up.
“Young man”, he said, looking up to a mortified face. Without us, you’ll soon be leaving too.
Festival Of The Great Ritual
By Taja DaLeen
You can already hear it, the laughter and merriment, merchants trying to sell their goods, and children bugging their parents about wanting something.
And only soon after you can smell it. The sugar and spices, the kinjata in all its variants, and the magic.
This is, after all, a festival to celebrate Asmodis and the other Demon Lords saving magic from the fear and fury of the nonmagicals. It is held in every underground, and all over the Other World to honor its rulers.
And that is visible, too. Stalls in every color, selling food and drink and other items from across the Nothing, illuminated by the soft glow of moon jars.
It was beautiful, and made you feel right at home.
Strolling over the festival grounds, you decide to drink a kinjata, heightening your senses; the colors seemed more bright, the laughter more cheerful, the candied dream peaches a little sweeter.
You are watching a vendor roasting some magic eaters when you hear the commotion.
“Asmodis, oh Asmodis; first among all Demon Lords”
It started; and you almost missed it. Nervously you rush towards the center square, where the play is held; reenacting the Great Ritual itself.
“Remember all, remember this; the story told within these chords”
You arrive just in time to be handed your own moon jar, just like everyone else in attendance; the tiny crescent moon inside glowing faintly.
It’s no wonder the moon is the main symbol for this festival; after all, its favorite flower, the moon blade, needed the greatest care to survive in the Other World, being without moonlight there.
You watch the actors flaunting their colors, symbols of the Seven’s powerful magic. How you wish to be a part of this someday. It’s one of the greatest honors one can have. Ever since you were a child you dreamed of this.
And then it’s done, and everyone holds up their moon jar; feeding them with their magic, making them shine brightly. It’s the climax of the whole festival.
And just like everyone else, you want to praise the Lords for being alive.
Not Alone
By Danny Gilhooley
“Are we about done here?”
“One second!”
Daniels hopped away. With his final step, he landed like a ballerina, and began to rummage through the rover. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for and hopped over again. He was holding a Bell glass jar.
“Are you kidding me, Daniels?”
“My kid brother wanted a moon rock. So, I’m bringing him a moon rock!”
“Fine, but why a jar?”
“He’s got jars for catching fireflies. And I told him the moon glows green when you bring rocks home. Like those stickers kids put on the walls. I thought it would be a nice gag.”
“Fine! But why a glass jar! Hell, why not just put it in a jar when we get back! What happens if that breaks, and it tears one of our suits!”
“It’s not going to break,” Daniels laughed. He scoured the ground, picking up a rock, then throwing it back down. He repeated that several times, each time wandering further and further away from the rover.
McGinn sighed. “I’m on another celestial body with a child.”
“Oh, come on! This place would be so boring without me!”
“I’m already bored. You’re just stressing me out.”
Daniels picked up another rock, lifting it above his head and holding it up to the Earth. He was at least fifty meters away from the rover.
“Will you hurry up?” McGinn snapped. “I’m almost out of oxygen. Just grab a rock and let’s go.”
“Alright,” Daniels said. “I think I found the perfect…”
He stopped. The only sound McGinn heard was the air rushing through his suit.
Then heavy breathing.
“McGinn,” Daniels said. “Call HQ.”
“If this is another trick, I’m not interested.”
“McGinn, I found something.”
“Let me guess. A rock.”
“Glenn, get over here. Now.”
“Don’t give me orders, Daniels. I’m not in the—”
“I found a body.”
McGinn stopped. He looked at Daniels standing still, staring at the ground. McGinn hopped over to where Daniels was standing. Underneath a rock Daniels had picked up was a skeleton hand.
Lunar Waltz
By: The Missing Link
Luna was the last human alive, or so she figured. The arc ships had all stopped signaling, no word from the terraform projects, and least of all did anything, or would anything call from earth.
Even then, alive was a stretch Luna wasn’t sure applied to her anymore, her consciousness merged with the computer systems keeping her cryosleep stable. She was the last custodian of a dead world, tasked to orbit the irradiated rock for the millennia until even that ceased to exist.
It wasn’t a lonely existence, she chose to believe. She had a friend who marched alongside her in her vigil. It accompanied her, visible through what her frozen brain could only rationalize as the window of her world. The moon would never abandon her.
Yet still, she had no power to embrace her friend, to bring it into the pod with her, to feel its calming gravity. It would always stay there, never leaving, but never wandering within reach.
Luna wondered if this was how God had felt about humans back when they were still alive, and that longing to interact with something, anything, gnawed at her for the next thousand years of her existence.
Her longing for the moon became so intense, her systems had stopped measuring the planet below. What good would it do anyway? Earth was in the past, and she was alone, and would be for another seven billion years unless some asteroid decided to blessedly cut that short.
She stopped bothering to look for signals entirely, until… a single message came from her aloof companion, repeated. She couldn’t decipher it, but there was something there, trying to talk to her.
She was no longer alone in the universe.
Dream Stiller
by Aracnarquista
“That’s a curious name for a bar. Is it referring to how we lay still while asleep?
My new employer, who was taking me there, answered it while bringing me in.
“Not quite, but also not quite not. Once, the sign said ‘The Dreaming Still’, but Bythos decided he liked ambiguity better, so he dropped the article. Come on in”.
A small bell rang as we entered the dimly lit, small room. The place felt familiar, though I was seeing it for the first time.
The bartender was the only other person there. When he saw my employer, he opened up a smile.
“Elpis, my dear! Long time no see.”
“Hello, Bythos. Great to see you again. I missed this place. Eike, this is Bythos. Bythos, this is Eike, the new Sharpener.”
“Welcome, Master Eike. If Elpis chose you as her Sharpener, the occasion calls for a toast. What’s your poison?”
I was without words. Bythos had that same magnetism as Elpis, a force that drew me to him. But while hers was insurmountable and relentless, his felt more like getting close to home, getting where you yearn to be, where you will be understood, accepted.
Elpis answered before I had a chance.
“This is to be a proper toast, and I know you have a new jar of moonshine.”
His smile, as well as his eyes, lightened up. I found my words again.
“Moonshine? As in high-proof unaged liquor?”
Bythos picked a clay jar from a shelf, and served a pale shiny liquid into three glasses.
“Yes, but not just. This is real moonshine. The moon’s dreams distilled into a spirit. As you might know, we are made of our dreams. You are about to taste the moon itself. You are not, by any chance, a werewolf, Master Eike? I can’t serve you this if you are.”
It tasted like forgotten memories, of changing tides, and of shared light. It tasted of proximity, of hidden depths, and the beauty of the cosmos. It tasted cold, refreshing and welcoming. It tasted like the moon shines: change, and new beginnings.
The Lunar Turnabout
By Strong Berry
“Objection!”
All of the courtroom turned to me.
“Your Honor! Those results prove my client was framed!”
“Objection!”
Prosecutor Gant was furious. “Framed?! How dare you!”
The judge gave me a grim look. “This is indeed a serious accusation, Mr.Magen. I suppose you can prove it?”
“Objection!”
Gant’s face looked an angry tomato. “Your Honor! Don’t buy into this… this LUNACY! Those results confirm that what was in the jar at the defendant’s house is the real moon! The Chief officer himself took the samples and did the testing. If that’s not decisive evidence, I don’t know what is!”
“Objection!”
I tried my best to look confident. “Your Honor, this is no lunacy!” (At least I hope it’s not…) “I have evidence that proves it!”
Gant slammed his fist on his desk. “What could you possible have that could beat a perfect investigation?”
I tapped my temple twice, mimicking Gant’s usual smug gesture. “It was a bit… TOO perfect.”
Too excited to wait for the judge’s permission, I pulled out the paper professor Hakim gave me. “This is a page from ‘The Size of Magic – An Overview of Size Changing Spells’ By Professor Ibrahim Hakim. To quote: ‘If the enchanted container with the shrunken object were to break or open without the caster renewing their unique spell, the object will immediately return to it’s original size.'”
“I see. And how is that related to this case?” Asked the judge.
“At the time of the investigation, my client was unconscious. Yet, the Chief somehow opened the jar for testing without getting crushed by the moon. Since each shrinking spell is unique, he could’ve only done this if he got the original caster to renew the spell!”
I heard whispers throughout the gallery. The judge slammed his gavel. “Order!”.
“Uh – Objection!”
If he was a tomato before, now he was a horrified paper mask. “This can’t be…! I’ve been fooled? Me, Arrow Gant?!”
I nodded. “Your Honor! The defense demands…” I said loud and clear. “…the Chief Officer Shuckran Ramai to be brought here to testify about his investigation!”
The Thread of Conversation
WriterOfThought
“Do you ever miss them?” asked Inferno. It was a slow day, even for Death, it seemed. Slow enough that he was able to attend Fae Court, which was usually his wife’s duty, but she needed the day off.
“How unusually sympathetic of you, Inferno,” Selene replied, not that anyone else could hear her. It sometimes got lonely, being the only living thread woven amongst the thousands of dead fibers around his neck. And he was not usually a talkative one.
“More curiosity than sympathy,” he said with cold fire in his voice. It exuded command, and Selene was no longer above him, so she could not refuse the Fey King of Death of his request.
“I miss The Author, sometimes,” she said. “And occasionally I even miss The Night Sister, but not how we used to fight.”
“It almost sounds like a children’s story,” Inferno mused. “‘What the Moon Misses Most.'”
He would have continued but the courtroom doors creaked open, and the pages announced the arrival of the Ambassador to the Trees in the West. The stuttering sycamore was growing concerned about an encroachment of humans in fey lands. In times past he would have handled such matters personally, but now he was an older, wiser, and more calculated Death. The world would not survive if he slaughtered every human that stumbled into fairy country. Not this soon after the last catastrophe.
“I will confer with The Lunar Council on this matter,” he told the ambassador. None of his subjects knew that it was a council of one, who never left his side.
When the ambassador left, Selene was much more talkative.
“The Fairy Lands need more secure borders than a treeline,” she suggested. “Something that cannot be mistaken for nature or magical happenstance.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, but what of The Crone and The Arborist? They love to roam too much to agree with a strict border.”
“Then, Fairy King Inferno,” the former moon said with particular emphasis on his title, “I believe it’s time to set up a proper form of law amongst chaos.”
A Piece of The Moon
By: Xavier Twentyone
At night as I stand on the field of flying cows, flying dogs, and flying sheep, I too, see a piece of the moon floating on the sky. It is bigger than any other, but somehow I’m not worried, for I have my friend here, Mayu, who has a bachelor degree in magic.
She cast a spell that I only know if I have an ear of her native language. Waving her wand through the air as blue particles spray from the top of her wand. Waving, and waving, and waving while casting the spell that requires her to sing a foreign song of beauty and mystique.
She then began to dance on the field. A dance that entailed her to learn ballet beforehand, as if they teach this in her university. But I must not be fussy any further, for I need her to complete the spell to capture the moon.
After she finishes the dance and the spell, a small blue moon sprouts out of the top of her wand, way smaller than the piece of moon. It is just a projection, but it never fails to capture my awe, even though I have witnessed it many times.
The smaller moon then hits the piece of moon and becomes one with it, contaminating it with its blue light. Then Mayu begins to wave her wand again as if inviting the piece of moon to come closer, and I begin to open my jar and also invite the piece of moon to come closer as it shrinks to fit in my jar.
And so we have finally done it, and we began to leave the field as one of the flying cows is sitting on the top of a tree. We enter my car that we used to get here and begin to start the engine.
“Finally, it is enough for today,” said Mayu.
“It is. Do you think you can capture the full moon?”
“Just like the man who tried to capture the real moon and shatter it in the process? Leaving us with this mess? No.”
Reminisce
by Weiss
As I looked outside into the sunrise, memories flooded me.
I recalled faraway summer days when the sun shined stronger and brighter, it’s amber disc full of heartwarming gleam, and motley fields blooming in an intricate, kaleidoscopic patterns, and flowering hills around a small town, a collection of buildings scattered in the neighbourhood. On the outskirts – a big dusty road, the scent of hot asphalt rising up in the air, mixing with the floral aromas, the smell of the withering grass and dried up hay. On both sides of the road stood two houses – mine and Filian’s. I remembered as coveys of kids ran past as soon as the school ended, to the nearby river to swim and splash around in it’s clear slow waters. Myself, and Filian playing catch on the alleys of oak, aspen and maple. A fresh chilly wind brushing past our happy smiling faces, and the foliage up above giving us shade, painted in various tints of green, orange and red.
I remembered adventures we used to have, the games we came up with, and how we built a starling-house together, and how we went to pickup strawberries in the forest.
And the marigolds, asters and petunias in our garden. And clicking of my father’s typewriter through the open window. And a quiet talks on the terrace – about the future we dreamt of.
And a glass jar of candies grandma kept on the counter – little spheres, almost perfectly round, some colored in rosey-green, some in lemon-yellow. My attention was caught by the one in pale greyish-white. It had irregularities, with cavities and rocky surface. It looked just like moon – throw it high enough and it will take it’s place on the sky dome, among the stars on a cloudless night. I always left this one for later. I wanted to try it last. Little did I know about my future…
Sometimes, I still wonder. If I had this jar with me – how would the moon taste?
Anything For You (For I-Prefer-The-Term-Antihero’s Ballad of the monsters)
By Makokam
Lighting struck across a field under a clear blue sky, exploding a pumpkin on a stump.
Elizabeth took her hands away from her ears. “You’ve gotten much better at that.”
“Not too shabby for the Modern Prometheus, huh?” He smirked, as lightning shot from his fingertips and into the sky.
Her hands darted up to cover her ears, but too late. “Yes yes. The Modern Prometheus. Master of all the elements. It’s very impressive. But what else can you do with these powers of yours? Besides waste perfectly good produce.”
“Hey now,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “target practice was your idea.”
“My question still stands,” she said with her chin in the air. “Could you, say, roast the pumpkin for me?”
A flame appeared in his hand, “Would you want it just roasted or made into a pie? Or maybe you’d be more interested in a soup?”
Elizabeth held her hand out to stop him. “No. I think simply roasting it is enough for your culinary talents,” she teased.
“I’d learn to cook anything you wanted. No task is too great or too small.”
“No task? Would you pull down the moon and put it in a jar so I could keep it by my bedside?”
Victor scoffed. “You wouldn’t want the moon on your bedside table.”
“Why not? It’d be like a nightlight,” she asked with a grin
“Elizabeth,” he said, as if scolding her, “We both know that the moon only reflects the sun’s light. If I really put the moon in a jar, it’d just be a rock.”
“Well, it’d still be a very nice rock.”
* * *
Later, when Elizabeth retired to her bedchambers for the night, she noticed a large glass jar sitting at her bedside. Inside was what seemed to be an almost perfectly spherical rock, somehow floating off the bottom.
She knew it couldn’t really be, but she couldn’t stop herself from peeking out the window at the sky, nor breathing a sigh of relief. “Still there.”
Unnecessary Power (The Will)
By Skeleton
“…and they theorized that because the murals showed the energy—they think it might be plasma—flowing from the container, that it might be some kind of weapon.”
Remianna’s voice was soothing to Eymir. He loved these moments with her, relaxing in the night, their bodied pressed up against each other as they tried to occupy the twin bed together. It made him feel like he was useful for something other than destruction and death.
“The power of the moon confined to a jar,” she mused to herself. “What does that even mean? What power does the moon have? Is it alive? Is it another one of those Forebearer facilities? What’s the point in having a weapon like that?”
“Rem?” Emyir began, his lips pulling tight as the sour topic surfaced. The dragoness against him adjusted herself to look at him slightly, wondering what was wrong. “Could we not talk about weapons?”
Remianna was silent for a moment, her own expression souring at his dismissal of her interests. “I just think it’s interesting, Eymir,” she explained, “that the Forebearers—the supposed creators of civilization and life on this planet as we know it—had multiple facilities and designs dedicated to war.”
“And they’re all dead now,” Eymir countered back, trying to regain what comfort he had in that moment he loved so much.
“Yes, but that kind of technology could possibly be applied to help people, rather than destroy! Imagine having an energy source like the murals describe: infinite energy coming from the planet itself. We could power entire cities… all of civilization, even!”
“And someone would just use it for their own gain—for their own pathetic purposes, Rem,” Eymir riposted again. “Infinite power brings infinite destruction. It’s better to let the past stay the past.”
The white dragoness looked to her husband with dismay. “How can you say that? It would help far more than—”
“Because that’s the reason I was born, Remianna,” Eymir concluded. “It’s the whole reason the Sufferer came to be: to destroy the world.”
“The Moon and the Mists” (Aethryn Setting)
By: Arith_Winterfell
“Papa,” Anya said, “I wish I could touch the moon. It’s so magical.” Anya sat on her bed looking out her window up towards the moon where it hung over the distant vast Mists that forever lay beyond the mountains that surrounded the great city.
Nimor, her father, smiled. “I would give that to you if I could. Though that’s because it isn’t mine to give to you. Who knows. Maybe someday you’ll sail there on a ship of clouds,” he added playfully.
Anya turned to look at him excitedly, “Magic can do a lot!” While Nimor was indeed a mage, he also knew Anya had a somewhat inflated idea of what magic could really do. Still, it always made him smile at her innocence and wonderment towards the world.
“But its YOU who can do a lot!” he beamed, “Magic is wonderful yes. But it is you who reaches for your dreams. That’s what makes magic work!” That, and mana energy, but that part was less important right now, he thought.
Her smile faded then. “But Papa, will you check under my bed again tonight. I worry about the Mist monsters. The icky flying centipede thing might hide under there.”
Nimor knelt and checked under her bed. “No, there’s no icky flying centipede monsters or any other Mist monsters under the bed. Just remember, they like it in the Mists, so your safe here. Okay?”
Anya nodded, satisfied there were no monsters about.
“And just remember, that’s one of the things mages do. We use magic to keep away the Mist monsters. So, you’ll always be safe,” Nimor added.
Her smile returned. “Thank you, Papa!” Anya hugged him tightly.
Nimor tucked Anya into bed, and soon she drifted off to sleep.
Years later, Anya would look upon the gift her father gave her. A bottle enchanted with an illusion of the moon inside. He had said that while it wasn’t the real moon, it could always remind her to reach for her dreams and to remember the wonderment within herself.
Moon H2O
By Galer
“Remind me again Larry why do we need to fill the moon with this liquid?” Drote a celestial, asked while his coworker filled the moon with the solution from an infinite jug.
His fellow entity made out of stars, and the very space itself responded by rolling his eyes at his lazy friend “remember that this nonsensical planet has inky oily water as a sea right?”
“Yeah and?” Drote asked.
“And for some unfathomable reason, the moon was turned into a bottle of special liquid that controls the “waves” of said planet,” Larry said “to make sure nobody dies due to out-of-control “water” currents,”
“That’s odd,” Drote said weirded out by the logic of this world.
“Drote the very sun of this place is flat as a board, and the dirt of the planet is made of tissue,” Larry said in a deadpan tone ” I gave up trying to make sense of the place, to top it all off this solvent is dangerous”
“….. Larry what happens if someone drinks the liquid,” Drote said seemingly distracted looking at something behind Larry that had finished filling the moon up.
“They either turn into a weird monster or a god, they turn into monsters the most,” Larry responded,” why do you ask Drote?”
“Mmm maybe hoping no one would notice the moon pathway wasn’t such a good idea,” He said as he pointed behind his friend which turned only to meet two beings one shining as if the light of the stars showered him, while the other was a mass of tails, rat heads, and dangerously bright eyes looking at each other with less than friendly eyes.,
It didn’t take a genius to see what was about to happen.
“Drote”
“Yeah?”
“Remind me again to punch you and then slap myself for following your fucking stupid ideas,” Larry said angered
“… You know what? Fair,” Dorte declared.
In that moment in which the god and the monster fought
The two celestials ran for their lives, hoping their bosses would not demote them for this.
Washed Away
By Joe
Garrett stood in the driveway wondering if he could grab the moon by positioning his hand in front of one eye. To his surprise, he did it! But he was shocked and baffled. Without knowing what to do he walked inside to his parents preparing dinner with a dumbfounded look on his face.
“Ummm…” Garrett said.
“What did you do?” his mother said thinking the tone in his voice meant he did something.
“I…grabbed the moon from the sky,” he said slowly, still processing.
“Oh, that’s cool!” His Dad said like he was dealing with a child’s imagination.
This snapped Garrett to panick. “No, literally! Look!”
The urgency in Garrett’s voice got his parents to turn and see the tiny moon.
“Where did you pick this up from?!” His Mom grabbed it from his hands, and took it over to the sink. “There’s probably germs all over it!” She said as she washed it.
Garrett was too stupified to stop her, and the moon turned into dust under the running faucet.
“Well it’s gone now,” said Garrett’s Dad. “Not much of a toy if it washes away like that.”
Garrett dropped his hands as the harsh realization fully processed.
“Hey! The full moon is out tonight. We should take a photo with that snazzy camera you got, honey!”
“Oh! Good idea!” said Garrett’s Mom as she rushed to get her camera.
“The cool air rushed the smog out, so it’s gonna be a really good picture.” said Garrett’s Dad as he walked his son outside with him. “Alright! Let’s see this sucker.”
Garrett didn’t look up at all. He remained face forward and wide-eyed. But he could feel his father’s concern grow the longer he couldn’t find the moon.
“Where is it?” He said, very worried suddenly.
“Alright! I got the camera~!” Garrett’s Mom sang. “Now Let’s take that picture!”
She looked around and after a few seconds, she became very alarmed. Then she froze, remembering what her son said.
“Garrett?” She said softly. “Where is the moon?”
There was strain in Garrett’s voice. “Down the drain.”
Collector
By: Iskritt
I sighed happily to myself as I looked at the beautiful night sky above me. The crackling campfire provided the only sound as I sat alone in the woods, camping again for the third time this month. The natural environment, the peace, and most importantly, the shining night sky, unaffected by the light of the city and letting the moon and stars shine brightly. All of it never failed to calm me when I needed it, and nothing had ever made me need it like these past few weeks. Busy with work, busy with normally fun side projects that had just entered their not-as-fun stages. Everything recently had been piling on to stress me out, and camping always helped calm me.
So I sat on a log, partially eaten by moss and rot, watching the smoke of my pyre rise into the night sky. I let out another sigh of happiness as tiredness swept over my body. I had to relent to it and slowly moved to my tent. I couldn’t enjoy the night if I was too busy pushing away the sleep.
As soon as I entered my tent, I felt something. A deep rumbling in my body I had never felt before. I tried to ignore it only to feel it again, a violent wave passing through me like I was standing too close to an electric guitar player at a rock concert. I rushed back out of my tent and looked around. I saw nothing, but something was wrong.
I looked to the sky.
There was a man. No, a creature, vaguely humanoid with arms stretching across the whole sky, blocking out the stars. I felt another rumble as what appeared to be its mouth opened. It held a jar in its hands, refracting the light from the moon nearby and shining it directly on me, forcing me to look away. The next thing I knew, the light disappeared, another wave from the thing’s “voice” reverberated in my body, and all fell silent.
I looked to the sky again, but something was different.
The moon was gone.
Known Once, Lost Forever (For Makokam’s Chronicles of the Dragon)
By i-prefer-the-term-antihero
Sera hoped their child would know warmth. Singing was recommended, so she began with an old lullaby: “If I could put the moon in a jar, for you I would. If I could snatch all the stars from the sky, like butterflies, for you I would.”
“Little early, isn’t it?” Jonathan sat beside her. “The baby hasn’t even developed ears yet.”
She smiled. “Never hurts to get a head start.”
*****
Kat snuggled up to her mother, surprised to hear her sing: “…If I could turn the night into a blanket, I would tame the sky just to keep you warm…”
Kat had never known warmth. She knew chill. She knew fire. She knew hunger. Never warmth.
She’d never known the moon either. Or the stars. Or Earth.
She looked above, and wondered if this was what love was. A hug in the dark. A song in hell.
*****
Charles wrapped his arm around Kat. “If I could turn the sun into a song,” her husband sang. His voice wasn’t adept at the craft, but he was trying, and that’s what mattered. “I would sing it every day to keep you out of the dark.”
She remembered that lullaby. Hearing it now was like war. A distant memory. A battered child. A damned world.
A moment of relief.
A lifetime of lies.
Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing…Except for Charles.
She didn’t marry him because she needed the shiny tiles and silken sheets. She married him because she needed the warmth in his voice.
*****
Kat clutched cold sheets, and raw memories. Most children don’t need to learn to cry, but crying was as foreign to her as fire is to most. The tears forced their way through her eyes like snakes out of eggs.
Her voice quaked and caught as she sang an old lullaby: “And if I had to trade the whole world…” She sobbed, her voice and fingers curling further, “just to stall the daisies…” The edges of the sheets began to burn. Kat looked up, fire igniting in her eyes. “For you I would.”
The Spectator’s Child
By Sam C.
He slashed down his sword, only to have it parried away by the other’s blade. His opponent charged, thrusting his blade forward. He ducked under the blow, and kicked out at the man’s legs. The enemy fell backward, rolling onto his stomach. Before he could finish standing, though, his head was severed from his body. The other combatant twitched for a moment, before falling down dead. He breathed heavily for a moment, before straightening up and yelling.
“I’ve beaten him again! Let me out!”
There was a chuckle, before he felt all his actions reversed rapidly, and he was standing, facing his opponent again.
***
The young Child laughed, shaking the funny globe again. The little people inside started playing again, it was so fun to watch them. He bent his legs behind him, swinging them as he lay watching.
His fun was interrupted as his mother stepped in the room. “Luna! You put that down! You know you’re not supposed to be playing with Mommy’s globes.”
“But they’re so fun…” the Child whimpered.
She sighed. “Luna, do you know why Mommy has these things?”
“No, you won’t tell me until I’m older.”
“Well, I guess you’re old enough to know now,” She said, almost to herself. “Okay. Mommy is a Spectator, and so are you. It is my job to preserve and protect the world and its stories. I was put in charge of that when The Weaver created me.”
“I have these,” She continued, “To help me. I put dangerous people in there when they deserve it, or I use it to preserve something for the future. They are tools, not toys, and you can do bad things to the world if you play with them. Do you understand now?” She asked, looking down at her son.
He was fast asleep.
She rolled her eyes to herself as she scooped him up, amused. Maybe someday he’d understand, but not today. Today, he was just a naughty boy getting into trouble.
She placed the globe back on the shelf as she left the room, turning out the lights behind her.
Moon’s Reflection
By Tamela Redfin
Mica climbed into his mother’s arms and they walked home, leaving Sapphira leaning against the tree.
Sapphira soon returned home, feeling sad. Why didn’t Mica believe she was nice? Oh well, it was worth a shot to be nice.
Reagan wasn’t pleased she left. “What was all about? Jasper stayed put.”
“You were mean!” Sapphira blurted out at point blank.
“Mean? What do you mean?” Reagan snapped.
“You called me subpar and called Mica a human fucker.” Sapphira explained.
“Only I can say that word! You can set up a tent for tonight and sleep out there. Get eaten by wolves– I don’t care.”
“But mom… I’m sorry.” Sapphira cried.
Oh stop giving me those crocodile tears.” Reagan shouted.
It was cold as the air blew by, but then an unexpected savior appeared.
“Cece!” Sapphira smiled.
“Your mother is a jerk. I brought blankets and snacks.” Cecilia told Sapphira. She hugged Cecilia and smiled.
“Thanks.” Sapphira sniffled. In the sky, something quickly flashed by.
“Oh neat it’s a meteor shower.” Cecilia pointed at the sky.
“That’s amazing.” Sapphira pointed to another that flew by.
In the distance she noticed other silhouettes. Were they Cameron and his family? It was a nice night to watch.
“I also think Mica will, in time, see you aren’t like your mother. I think sometimes you just need to get to know a person. Yes, like Cameron.”
Sapphira giggled, “I wish I could squish tonight into a bottle so I’d never forget it.”
Caught the moon for ya!
by Reinkarnitor
“It sure is nice getting out once in a while” the black-haired girl sighed and stretched her arms as she walked through the park.
“Well the night air sure feels nice, Fiona” the boy with messy brown hair who walked next to her admitted.
Fiona looked at him with her red eyes. If only they could walk out during the day…but it was impossible…at least as long as she was with him. Secretly she wondered if he
was annoyed that they could only take a stroll at this hour.
“You have that look again.”
The girl flinched.
“W-what look? I don’t know what you mean, John” she feigned ignorance.
“Don’t play dumb, you’re to smart for that. Something’s on your mind.”
Fiona sighed again, this time in defeat and told him: “It’s just…we can only walk together at this hour.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“THAT’S what you were worried bout? I don’t care how late it is, as long as I can spend time with you.”
The girl blushed a bit and after realizing what he just said, John did so as well.
“T-the stars are beautiful aren’t they?” he quickly tried to change the topic and Fiona nodded hastily.
“They sure are. And the moon is so bright and full.”
They continued to walk in awkward silence for a while, just looking at the full moon above them.
John obviously was a bit uncomfortable with the silence. Then suddenly he felt his foot brush against something. He looked down and saw an empty glass bottle on the ground. First he was a bit annoyed because someone littered, but then a smile spread on his face and he picked it up.
“Oy fangs check it out!” he called out to her, and she turned to him.
He then held the bottle in an angle so the moon looked to be in it.
“Caught the moon for ya! Couldn’t do that during daylight!”
He chuckled and a smile spread across Fionas face as well, revealing her sharp fangs.
And so the two laughed together under the captured moon.
Lavender Dyed You
By Constella
The Archiver often ended her long periods of work by gazing up at the night sky. She would do so in serenity, her dark eyes closing as a soft breeze came in through the window and played with her hair. Tonight the moon was a waning crescent and the field of flowers thrived under it; their petals opened shyly to voice their greetings and good tidings. The stars danced with their only sister, twinkling in an endless tapestry.
It had surprised her when the sound of soft footsteps entered the room. She opened her eyes and looked to her right to see Ares there, sitting down in a spare chair near her. His fingers passively toyed with the end of the night shirt he wore in lue of there no work to be done. Though he tried his hardest to hide it, the Archiver could see clear as day his reddened eyes and face. But she said nothing of it and simply looked back to the sky; she set to never overwhelm him even though it pained her to watch him suffer, but instead had offered her company should he desire it. This was the first time he had accepted her offer; the Archiver was always glad to see any signs of him further healing.
“Would you like some tea?” Her voice was feather-light as to not scare him. She knew his ram ears, constantly flicking out of anxiety, were sensitive. With a bit of hesitation, he nodded silently, his eyes remaining downward.
The flowers outside made a beautiful drink; it was perfectly sweet without the need of other additives and when brewed would dye the water a translucent lavender. When Ares had the teacup safely within his hands, he first raised it upward, towards the moon. Within the crystalline cup the glowing orb was tinted and wavered; he held it as still as he could and yearned silently.
A sigh came from him and he lowered his arm, looking back down and taking an idle sip. Though they didn’t fall, she could still see tears coalescing within the endlessly conflicting ocean of his eyes.
A Bottle of Moonshine (Exile Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)
The basement already had a very strong odour of items in various stages of fermentation, but the scent Janeah got off of the round, green bottle was something else. She held it up to the light of her torch, watching the clear liquid inside, swirling it a little from side to side.
“I don’t know what you are,” Janeah muttered to herself. “But you don’t smell drinkable.”
She checked the smell again and her tail curled up slightly. Figuring that it was probably safer to not have an open fire close to that particular bottle, she placed her torch into an empty holster on the wall and tried to rely on the dimmer light to find what she was looking for.
Who knew that raiding an abandoned liquor cellar for cocktail ingredients would be so challenging. The biggest difficulty was not the old, iron door with a relatively pitiful lock, but the fact that whoever had owned this place hadn’t bothered to label any of the crates and barrels down here in any clear way.
Janeah blew off the dust off of one of the barrels and watched the frost from her breath form over the wood. Slightly annoyed, she clicked her tongue and took out a small hammer she’d brought with her. A few beatings later and the barrel revealed its contents as a wonderful, strong-smelling, glorious compound of vinegar.
For a moment, Janeah stared into it. She supposed, she shouldn’t be too surprised that this wouldn’t work out as intended, but having wine barrels filled with pickle juice was not the hiccup she’d expected to run into. Even in the dim torchlight, she could not make out anything stored in these barrels, aside from vinegar. Checking a few of the other barrels revealed much of the same.
She sighed and turned back to the bottle with the strong smell. It smelled like alcohol… even if a few sips alone could be enough to kill her. She sighed, shrugged and pocketed the moonshine. Maybe it would come in handy, if they ever ran out of firewood.
Timeless
By “Six”
It was just another hot Thursday afternoon in Georgia. The slight stench of rotting fish and buzz of uncountable insects filled the air. It was days like this we’d often go fishing. She’d give me a wink and pull out the ol’ red 1972 Ford Bronco.
My grandmother was an amazing woman. But… Solitary. Grandfather died long before I was born and she never dated again. She’d tell us that asking her to date again would be like capturing the moon in a jar. I never knew what she meant by that. But it always stuck in my mind.
Grandma introduced me to Kayla. I was to “make sure she got home safe”… the whole 300 feet to her front door. Needless to say, when in a small town you usually dont argue too much. Kayla… Was everything. Brunette, maybe 5’5. But the spark in her eyes could get me to do anything. Gave me two wonderful children. They both grew up and have their own families. Moved across the country, one even in Japan. Can’t tell you the name of the city.
Kayla died about 4 years ago. Lung cancer. Never saw her upset though. I dont think she saw me smile for years. Strongest person Ive ever known. She would scold me if I fought how things affected me. She always knew best.
I drive the Bronco now. I get to make the wink. And now I’m the solitary one. I had the moon in a jar. I did the impossible. Never expected the hardest part would be realizing it.
– First submission so sorry if its clunky!
Some People are Always Trying to Ice-Skate Uphill
By Marx
“I don’t think you understand what’s about to happen here.” The man said, glaring at his demonic prisoner. “The very short time you have left to live is going to be in the most excruciating pain you can imagine.”
“Oh no. Pain. Whatever shall I do?” Mara replied with a roll of her eyes, unfazed by the magic literally chaining her down.
“I’m not talking to you. I have nothing to say to a mere filth demon. I’m talking to your Master. He can hear me, yes? I want to make it very clear what happens when someone attempts to steal from me.”
Mara pulled against her bonds to no avail. “Funny how someone who siphons power from a deity has a problem with stealing. That said, my Master isn’t listening. He’s probably freeing your caged deity as we speak. Though I will admit the enchantments on these chains are impressive.”
The man’s eyes narrowed even further at Mara. “I know my enchantments are impressive. They were designed for something a Hell of a lot more powerful than you, much less anyone pathetic enough to take such a weak demon as a familiar. Something your Master will see when he fares no better than you.”
“Yeah… about that…” Mara began to pull more and more against her restraints, causing the aura around the chains to flicker. “I may be a weak demon. Maybe even one of the weakest. And at best I may show nothing but a pale reflection of my Master’s power. But the truth is… you’re the one who has no idea who you’re dealing with…”
By the time the man realized the enchantments were fracturing, they’d already been shattered as Mara freed herself.
Her eyes glowed a Hellish crimson. She licked her lips before baring her razor sharp teeth. Her nails lengthened into pointed claws. The flames of the damned surrounded her as she approached. “Now… what were you saying about… pain?”
Mara cackled loudly as the man fled, waiting a few moments to give the hunt some extra excitement before launching herself after her prey.