The Moon at my Door

Alleyway. Under layers of books. I breathed the must and walked. Made my way to the docks, to feel the stale shores, and sat. The doorways of mind released themselves. Turning clockwork. A chime rang a long labored drone.

“What are you thinking?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said, clocks and stale shores still pounding at my temple.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
Mark stood up and grabbed at my dress.

A breeze blew through rusty golden fields, bringing dust, it crept into the house. It came in under the eaves, through gaps, spreading itself everywhere, like a welcome friend. Sometimes I imagined it was my friend, an old man with a pipe and a monocle and a curled moustache. Lonely. Families had moved from heat and unyielding land for fertile farms or cities. I remained.

Mark dropped my dress.
“Please,” He said.
“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Mark, just leave it okay.”
“Here,” he passed me a cigarette.
“Thanks.”


Mark was a bastard and a perpetual idiot. But really, he was alright. For the most part he didn’t ask questions, and was down for whatever. Mainly he was too drugged up to remember half the shit I dragged him through. He was company without consequences.

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Mark said, taking a drag.
“Hey, come here a sec.” Marks arms wrapped around me.

I knocked on his door. No reply.
“Mark, you home?”
Still no answer.
“It’s Cass.”
He was probably still asleep. Getting the key, I went inside. Mark’s room was at the back. I pushed it open.

Mark’s body. From the ceiling. Noose. Blood. Gone.

A note was crumpled in the bin. I got it out:

Cass, man, if you find me well...sorry. I really like you but I just can’t see anything left for me no more. Shit got pretty bad tonight, I didn’t want to leave this soon, but I need this. Be happy for me. Stay cool.
Love, Mark.


I left the house. Pale air on my lips. Damp skin. Around me everything faded to background music. A song to be tapped into, but not yet a part of me. Disconnected.

Mark’s gone and now I am alone, like the woman in the dust. My body is an empty house. No-one to fill it’s rooms. Decay rolls in and takes its seat. Breaking down the fibres that hold it.

I sit by the drains and watch the water moving past over moss blankets. Mark flits in and out of my mind. His body, hanging there. Done with life. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find him. No relatives, no close friends. Just him.

Snow came. It whipped and beat against raw flesh. Ice drove. The sheets became thicker till all left was white. Seconds passed and skin grew cold, the wall receded into black and I was gone.

“ Excuse me miss, I’m going to have to ask you to move on.”

I leave.

Tonight the city is heavy shadows and yellow light. Waiting. I walk through it’s streets, a stranger.


She was delicate, a small flower. I loved watching her bleed. Crunching bones. Sweet cries exploded from pink lips when I brought the knife closer and carved. Her thrashing held no power to my ropes, to my hands, holding her down as blood pooled and clotted on the floor. It was beautiful.

I shudder and go into Kenny’s. Staggering drunks. Beer bottles. McGregor was in another fight with Ashby. I slip through dense bodies and climbed the stairs.

Crashing sounds from the bar come through the wood. I groan. Two months couldn’t condition me to sleep through it.

His body didn’t come back. It was buried over there. In fields of poppies. We were told three months later. Just as a letter arrived. “Nothing to worry about with me” He wrote. “I have to say goodbye now. Till we meet again, God keep you, your loving brother.” I buried the memory under layers of sand in my heart, just like his body.

I kick the sheets and get out of bed.

The bus interchange was filthy. Homeless men littering benches. Air thick with piss. In the corner a couple were getting it on against a wall. It disgusted me.

“Where you going there, lass.”
“Nowhere.”

“You’re a bit young to be hanging round these parts. Fancy a shag?”

I walk away, sickened.

The bus comes. I get off at the last stop, in the farm lands. Fields spread themselves wide and lazy. Undulating with the earth.

Following a shabby cracked compass, I walk. Hours trickle away. In the far distance is a large forest. Too wild to match the surrounding green paddocks.

Green, tall and strong. It feels safe under it’s trees. Safe from the thoughts that break my brain. The thoughts that aren’t mine.

I come to a river. It’s water lulling downstream. A bird lies on the edge. Trying to flap.

“Oh, birdy. What are you doing? You won’t go anywhere with a wing like that. Here.”

I took the bird with gentle hands. It flapped, but achieved nothing. Her wing was broken.

“Come on. I won’t hurt you.”


“Aww, now that’s better.”

Birdy and I walk by the river. Follow it as far as we can till light falls. Opening my pack I get out my sleeping bag. Should be safe enough. This is the furthest I’ve been from the city. Finally running. Making my own way apart from people.

It was strange how it came to me, I think as I try sleep.

It broke into my mind delayed. In segments. Snippets. Imprinting itself on me. Other memories becoming my own. Pushing into my brain space. This is why I had to leave. I do not want their stories. Intrusive and uncontrollable. A barrier between me and them. For a day now my mind has been silent, fully mine.

I slipped into sleep on the forest floor.

Birdy was up when I woke. Maybe birds don’t sleep that much. We pack up and walk.

“I don’t know that many birds, Birdy. But you seem alright.”

Birdy looked around.

“I guess I ought to give you a proper name. How about…Molly? No, you’re not a Molly are you. Pig. That suits you little one.”


We follow the river for a few weeks. Eating fish and any other goods we find. It is quite estranged from life in the city. You couldn’t depend on instant food, or big metal boxes to hurl you from one place to another.

Water appeared to end up ahead. We get there and watched, amazed.

The water fell away into a large clear pool. Trees grow thick and vibrant around it. Large cliffs enclosed it all. Paradise.

“We did it, Pig.”

Pig fluffed her feathers.

“I know, right.”

We would find a way down.

A few hours later, I was roping vines together. Making a ladder. Hand over hand, twist and knot. I finish as the sun becomes heavy. Tied to a tree I throw it down. It goes most of the way.

“Come on, Pig. We can jump.”


With Pig on my shoulder, we start down. I can feel her puncturing skin.

“Don’t worry, girl. I got this.”

Shaky hands crawl down the ladder. So slow, so gentle. I don’t want to break fragile ropes. The cliff is rocky and cuts at my finger when they hit.

The last few rungs.

“Now we jump, Pig.”

The vines snap. We fall. I slap the water on my front. Errrgh. When I come up, Pig is gone.

“Pig…Pig.”

Pig flies down and lands on me.

“You can fly now.”

I laugh.

“Good work, girl.”


I swim in, to the beach. Pig and I. We made it.

Fish flood the pool and coconuts grow from trees. Berries overflow shrubs.

I make a shelter from palm leaves. It is cute. Cooler than any dank apartment or hotel room. My home is fresh and alive. Everything I need is here and there are no stories. No intruding images or thoughts that I can’t push back.

As sleep takes me I smile.

My name is Cass. I have no home. A wanderer, just passing through, carrying other memories. Words that are not mine, that weigh me down. I had a friend once. His name was Mark, his stories didn’t push onto mine. But now he’s gone and so am I.
Don’t try to find me. I am happy.