The moon.
The moon was the light of the night. It was the only thing that lit the narrow streets between each old, crumbling building.
You could see its reflection in the small puddles. And there on the streets, like every other night, was the man playing on his trumpet. The melody was a sad one, matching my heart.
I pulled my nightgown lower until it was under my feet. My arms on my knees and my cheeks on my arms.
I didn't want to sleep like the rest of them. I just wanted to stay on my bed by the window and watch the night pass by.
