Sunday, March 4


Tonight, the moon runs red with blood.

I've tried to give myself the evening off. I headed to a favourite bar in town - the Earth and Stars - and spent the evening in a mass of bodies, shouting and laughing. A game of football played in the background, prompting raucus cheers from the back of the dark room. With the job being so intense lately, it's been good to relax a little. My body whispers threats of payback for the chemicals I drown it in: but tonight, I don't care. Tonight I turn off, close my mind, and think of nothing.

Walking back through the streets to my apartment, paving stones moving uncertainly beneath my groggy feet, the moon rises high, dark and bloody. Someone will pay a heavy price for a moon like that tonight. Someone, somewhere, will get hurt.

I stand still and stare at it a while, hunched against the cold air. It's not my problem. It's not my fault, it's not my responsibility, and it's not my head.

Not tonight.

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