Slouching against the edge of a sofa, Howard looks around the packed living room. More life filled their “dance floor” some hours ago. Bottles were popped and all kinds of moves were dared. Now, they snore, sprawled across the carpeted floor; a lucky couple cuddles on one of the two sofas.
Howard gets up, minding little about the discomfort he causes as he walks through. A few grumbles, but they remain dead in sleep. He exits and turns along the corridor. He checks his, then the guest room—they are locked.
Howard takes another turn and unlocks the only door out. A cool breeze flutters the sheers behind him in greeting. He shuts the door and heads to the stairs.
The moon always looks lonely, like Howard felt… Among all those stars, all those celestial bodies, whirling round and round with it and yet, it always looks… lonesome. An outstanding light in the dark, but alone.
A pair of tiny feet shuffle behind Howard. He turns and smiles at the approaching June.
“Trouble sleeping?” Asks Howard.
“Have you slept?” Asks June.
She collapses on his broad arms and the pair direct gazes to the moon.
“O’, the moon…” Exhales June.
Categories: Short Stories
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.