The Writers Voice
Fly With the Moon
“Dear Mr. Moon,” she whispered between teardrops, sitting in front of her small window, looking straight into the Moon’s eyes. “I am telling you this because when I tell mummy she says it is not important and God seems not to be listening to what I say. He says you will burn your wing.” Now more sorrow was racing down her pale cheeks helping her feel lonely. “I can not draw a sun because I have lost my yellow pencil. Mum says a sun can be blue too but I don’t believe that. My sun has always been round and yellow even if it didn’t look as round and as good as my mum’s.”
The anger of not drawing a round-shaped sun just like her mother’s raced quickly towards her heart but was more quickly stopped by the yellow pencil. “My sky is so dark now. My stream is frozen. My birds don’t sing. My people don’t smile. All because I have lost my yellow pencil to draw them light, warmth and joy. Dear Mr. Moon, I need my yellow pencil. Because I can not find it and Mummy and God do not help me either, I am asking you to help me. And if you help me, I will draw you the biggest and the most beautiful sun.”
The Moon smiled, the warmth of the child’s words and the tear-filled eyes, pleading for help and offering the enemy as a reward made him smile. He moved towards the window and took the little girl in his arms. How little she was. He started climbing back to his place and he kept silent. The girl had heard enough. She looked down; her house, her garden, her car were so tiny, so, so tiny. Then she understood why a lost yellow pencil was not important for her mum, her mummy was much taller than her. The tears were not falling any more, truth was more clear from up here.
She looked more carefully. There was not only her house, not only her garden but lots of houses and lots more gardens. And even though 'til now she thought she had the biggest house and the biggest garden, she found bigger houses and even bigger ones. Then she smiled. She was alone no more. She thought she would draw a moon in “their” sky; a moon that could remind them of a secret light, warmth and joy but then, she was given a star. The little girl was happy with her star because from up there everything was so tiny. From that night there always has been a twinkling star in the little girl’s drawing. It does not have the light of a sun. Neither does it have the warmth, but it can warm the few hearts that live in the drawing. Perhaps one day this little star will grow into a yellow, round-shaped sun just like her mother’s.
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