The Moon Hid the Sun

January 25th 1999

Toke spent the majority of his time alone in his bedroom converted attic. The only natural light came from a single window, but he had made sure to block that out with black bin liners. There he would sit, in his single chair and at his wooden desk, a laptop glowing white in the dim light, and he would type. The words; he did not know where they came from, but they flew fast and steady. After weeks of such writing he realized that what he was doing was subconsciously writing a book. Its structure he did not understand, nor its content or meaning. The writing, which often stretched for hours upon end would leave Toke overcome with exhaustion and he would drop onto his bed, and slip into a comatose sleep.

***

A thousand dead in Columbia. Earthquake. Toke felt the tremors in his bones, his spoonful of porridge shaking uncontrollably while his mother watched on with concern brimming. 'Are you ok?' She asked.

Toke stayed still, doubled over, allowing the painful sensation to pass over him, he knew it would not last, and it was best not to fight. Struggling only prolonged the experience. Five minutes and it was gone.

Toke's mother placed a glass of water on the table in front of him. 'I'm taking you to the doctors tomorrow. This isn't right.'

Toke shook his head. 'Not more doctors.'

'We can't go on like this!' Exclaimed his mother, she was getting tearful again. The more she tried to keep them at bay, the stronger they pushed to emerge. And then they came, large droplets of salty solution, smearing the mascara on her well prepared work face; destroying the acceptable mask of day to day interactions. She sat down opposite her son, the small wooden table, in their generic white kitchen, separating them. The freak and the freaks mother. 'They can help you,' she said.

'I don't need it.'

'Please do it for me.'

Toke studied her face, the runaway make up had made her look like a sad clown. He felt sympathy for her, a longing to remove her sadness and replace it with joy. He could see the embers in her heart, they were going out, the passion of life fading into nothing until only a smoulder remained. He would not allow it. She was the only one who cared.

'I'll go,' he said.