The Man In The Moon Essay, Research Paper I lie on the grass, staring above me, my arms stretch high into the starlit sky, they warp and twist and elongate and they reach up and my hands grasp the moon and its mine and no-one else’s and my fingers become a part of it and then I’m the moon, look at me I’m the Man in the Moon and I Can See All, I Can See You, and my arm stretches down and my giant finger uncurls and points and my voice deep and booming says ITS YOU and the person I’m pointing at looks straight up at me and his arms are reaching towards me and he’s smiling and then I realise with a start that its me.
The Man In The Moon Essay, Research Paper
I lie on the grass, staring above me, my arms stretch high into the starlit sky, they warp and twist and elongate and they reach up and my hands grasp the moon and its mine and no-one else’s and my fingers become a part of it and then I’m the moon, look at me I’m the Man in the Moon and I Can See All, I Can See You, and my arm stretches down and my giant finger uncurls and points and my voice deep and booming says ITS YOU and the person I’m pointing at looks straight up at me and his arms are reaching towards me and he’s smiling and then I realise with a start that its me.
I get up and shake my head. Then I lie down again and shake my head. Then I sit up and shake my head and rub my eyes and scratch my head and yawn and this seems to work and so I get up.
I lie down again: it didn’t work. I think I’ll stay here a while and think about things until I can get up and stand and maybe walk again. I may be some time.
I’m looking up into the sky. Its night but its not that dark. The moon’s out and so are the stars and there are no clouds in the sky. True, its not as bright as it is, say, during the day, but nevertheless it’s relatively bright. It’s a damn sight brighter then the inside of a really dark cave with your head covered in a thick, thick blanket with your eyes closed. But ours is not to quibble on the brightness, or lack thereof, of this night in question.
So, the state of the night cleared up, I can continue. I’m looking into the sky and I’m lying on the grass, which is a little strange because grass is not, as it were, the most abundant of materials in this place. I’m lying on a small patch of such grass that is surrounded on all sides by sand. In the distance I can hear the sea and its crashing against the beach and I worry about all the poor little creatures caught in it. Then I think that maybe it could be lots of fun, like a rollercoster that goes everywhichway at once. A little further away, but in the opposite direction, I can hear the sounds of merriment taking place. People are shouting and laughing and puking and smoking and drinking and eating and puking and on the very edge of my hearing I can listen to the sounds of other joyful activities that I won’t go into here, however much you want me to. But these embarrassingly obvious sounds are more-or-less drowned out by the large collective noise of a beach party in full sway. I can also hear the crackle and snapping of a bonfire and if I move my head slightly I can see the freakish glow that it casts. I’m not far from the party; it is at the edge of the beach where there is more grass and sand is but a minor mineral. I am lying on the last of the grass in this place. I came here to get away from the oppressive heat of the bonfire and the oppressive heat of all my friends. Sometimes I can get so sick of them.
I wonder now whether I can get up or not. I don’t want to go back to the party; I’d like to take a walk. I sit up. I think I’m okay. I stand up, slowly. Now I set of in an awkward lurch because I’ve forgotten how many legs I’ve got but then I remember that I have two and I’m walking as properly as possible. I go down to the water’s edge and let my bare feet get washed by the sucking swash. It swirls around my feet and the ends of my trousers are wet and when the water rushes out again I’m a little lower in the sand and I’m left with the feeling that my feet have gone off for a swim by themselves. I’d love to join them but I know how dangerous it is in my current state; but I won’t get into that. I set off again up the beach, my feet are back from their quick dip and we are working in conjunction against the wash. Teamwork is best when it’s with yourself.
I’m strolling lightly now; I am now in full command of my limbs and I’m swinging my arms with each step and, since I have some control over my head, I am humming a little tune that I am making up as I go along. The sounds of the party are lost beneath the sea. Looking back, I can still see the light of the bonfire, people move in front of it now and again but no one is tall enough or fat enough to block it out completely. I’m walking for what seems like ages and I’m getting a little cold, but then I remember what happened when I thought I was The Man In The Moon and I look up and Lo! there he is. The Man himself.
-Ho there, Mister Moon! I say. He looks down, his great dark, sad eyes focusing on me and he smiles. The Man In The Moon doesn’t say much but that’s okay because neither do I.
I’m along way away from the party now. The only sound I can hear is that of the sea and the only light is the glow cast by The Man In The Moon, but it doesn’t matter because they are the only companions I need. Looking up, I can see the moon and it accompanies me in my travels, bobbing along above me. I wave to the Man In The Moon and he waves back. I know I won’t get lost so long as He’s with me. All His little friends are with us too; brilliant little pinpoints of light surrounding Him and me in a swirling aurora that circles the galaxy and everything within.
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