NEW FICTION:

The moon lay stupid and heavy, low in the sky. Too fat and heavy to be much above the horizon, it shone a sickly yellow across his face. He blinked a few times - it sometimes helped to clear his vision. He watched and waited, then waited and watched - for nothing in particular, nothing mandatory - just in case of... something. He blinked slowly, forcefully. The low yellow blob that was the moon began to clear. He couldn't see the old man, couldn't see that old, old  distorted man that was the moon, but he knew he was there - he was always there, stabbing that weak sickly yellow beam at him. He tapped his fingers along his thigh, remembering something... remembering... remembering... it was gone, like it always did. It probably didn't matter - it never did. He blinked again - slowly, as the sullen yellow moon shone across his face, as if in slow motion spite.