Black and White

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to incorporate “moon” in some way, shape, or form.

A note on this one. The prompt seemed to be calling for some sort of sci-fi take, and I will vow and declare that I *strongly dislike* the sci-fi genre. So I fought off any thoughts of trips to the moon, moon colonies, or space travel, and kept my feet strictly on terra firma with this story.

My second story missed the mark, because, according to my own inner critic, I failed to step outside the Box. And as I know very well, the Box is to be avoided at all costs. So I will not include it here, because it’s too embarrassing.

The below story, though, I’m a little proud of. I hope you like it as well.

Here’s my attempt:

Black and White

Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd, my fingers slick with sweat, the ghosts of yesterday’s ceremony fleeing before the flood of dread.

Yesterday, I held my diploma in trembling hands, wrangling my lips into a nervous smile as I turned to face the audience. The empty faces bled together into one conglomerate mass of white—white skin, white dresses, white caps and gowns.

Granny would have enjoyed this day, her grandson standing tall on the stage, the only dark spot in a sea of pallor. “Get it done,” she’d have said.

Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd, my suitcase dangling from my fingers, my gaze riveted to the stack of other suitcases owned by the frat boys that plan to move into the apartment below mine. They lounge across the tiny porch like too many sardines in a half open can.

One of them shouts a word in my direction. Granny would have caked the inside of that boy’s mouth with soap.

I duck my head as the boys’ laughter resounds off the brick siding. The unfair world tilts as my hopes sink beyond sight.

Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd—the dark side of the moon.