Man from the moon (UNDER EDITING)

Journal001/Liftoff

You said you would take me out for ice cream and to the movies when you returned, but I could really go for candy and a warm hug right now.

My fingers lingered on my face, to the cheek where you gave me that embarrassingly warm kiss every morning before school.

I turned the TV Off. I then lumbered upstairs as my joints creaked as if clogged with dry oil. I felt baleful tightness in my chest, like comets were using my rib-cage as a ring; like meteors were crashing, inflamed, against my heart.

Auntie should be here soon. I should pack up-n' get ready to go. But I laze around, lying on the bed where You sleep. I ran my fingers across your collection of jackets, leathers and fabrics and exotic animal pelts.

You wouldn't mind if I took a few, would You? I mean, if You did, You could not say much. You're the one who left Your teenage daughter unsupervised. It's not my fault that You aren't here.

It really isn't.

I grab a varsity jacket. It had an M on it—why? I don't know—I've never met my mother before, you didn't talk much about her, and I didn't care. It could be her's, or a friend's. You had a lot of "friends".

I mean, I got good grades in school. Did chores, and uh,' uh' was a nice girl—listened to you and never went out past curfew—So why'd you just leave?

"Busy" this and "Busy" that, too "Busy" for your own daughter. What a fucking asshole.

Sorry, Dad, I didn't mean that—No this is your fault—wouldn't have even written this had you not told me about a diary.

I admit. I was angry, my skin felt hot, hotter than sitting out and letting the sun singe my skin or sitting in front of the oven.

I still have that cool scar. By the way, when I touched the electric rings in an accident; You screamed bloody murder, never saw you cry before—well, once or twice, but... nevermind.

Dad. I miss you. I hope you are safe on that cool new rocket, I guess I never cleaned enough to keep up with your germaphobia, did I?

Dang. I think I heard a beep outside, Also! You said you're going to call me sometime soon, through some magical technology that allows video calls...? A whole lot of engineering jargon I don't care for.

Goodbye, Dad. I'll see you when the sun rises again, or when the sky turns black.

Superbia may be the pride of humanity, but you are my pride.

Love, Little Wizard.

Statement of Y/N Saint. [September 9th, chief scientific officer within Superbia-001.]

You fiddled with the camera; maelstroms of moats floating around the sterile room—not dust, interference.

Your eyes looked drained; like a planet had been placed on each of your limbs, crucified by the cosmos, and left to dry. Aging ten years within three months. (I am a bit of a poet, am I not?)

You smiled limply. Like your muscles were about to give out. The aureole of your hair was graying. You nervously ran your fingers through your hair.

The wide shoulders I was used to seemed small, and frail, like they'd shaved off all the conviction and genius you'd once had and replaced it with a bad copy.

SORRY DAD.

This was a simple recording, so I couldn't respond.

You finally opened your parched mouth, a sere tongue speaking slowly. "I've missed you. My little wizard... How's school?"

You chuckled, sliding your hand to something off-screen. It made me smile to see you smile. "Sorry," You looked away. "I won't get any answer. But, I pray every night that you're safe. That you're okay. That you're doing well, making friends, and being the little brainiac you are."

As you spoke, I heard delight—I've seen obsessed artisans as they carved beauty and terror—this was that, your eyes softened; I was a magnum opus in your sleepless eyes, I was the beauty.

My shoulders rose and my tense hands, which had curled into my thighs, unfurled.

"Thanks, Dad." I murmured.

"If you haven't changed, too much, I mean. Then, you are very welcome. Sweetheart." You smiled, leaning forward a bit.

You placed a hand on the camera, stroking it as if it was me. "I may miss your first date or your first real prom. And I regret it already, these stars have nothing on your eyes - I think," You breathed in deeply, a goofy grin on Your face. "Remember when they said God created the earth in seven days? I think he spent 7 days studying your eyes to make all the bright things on this planet."

You cringed as you reached the last part. "Sorry," You turned, a door hissing open. "What do you mean I have to go?" There was a muffled speech I couldn't make out. "But-...I... Okay."

The chair swiveled around again. "Hey, sweetheart. I... have to go. But-- don't worry! I'll see you soon. If you ever need anything, call Aunt Cassandra."

"Ciao, love from the mighty wizard, Y/N!" You smiled, throwing up a thumbs up. The video file is repeating itself.

My body unwound itself. All the rolled-up muscle uncurling, my bones turning into jelly inside my flesh, I sighed.

The warmth faded as I closed the laptop. I stared outside, at the stormy clouds flooding into the cerulean sky, bringing with them frigid raindrops.

I closed the blinds, the occasional neon light blaring through them, downtown pointed towards me, and sat on my bed; curled up, and let the burning stream of sadness fall out the hole in my chest, and the two holes in my face.

Sorry—too poetic maybe—I don't care. This is for you Dad. How sad you make me. How much I miss your hugs and kisses, or the food you make, or the way you did my hair into pigtails and braids.

I miss the way I hated how clever You were or the way You dismantled my arguments and used them against me a hundredfold.

I just really, really, miss you.

My comfort is that I can say to everyone, brag to every pleb on my street, that my dad is doing greater things than they ever will.

Goodbye, for now. Love, from Little Wizard. I'll write soon.