The Shattered Moon
Rane stepped carefully on the platform to look around. The air was freezing, her breath misted in front of her eyes. The train’s front lights illuminated what was in front of it and that was a giant ball of grey rock like the pictures she had seen of the moon.
Yet unlike those satellite images which showed craters and little lumps along the surface of it, this moon was a smooth round rock and it reminded her of a pebble, only perfectly spherical.
There were the cracks on the surface of the moon. Thin, fine lines that snaked like an ugly black mesh had been thrown over the rock. Bits of the moon made a deafening creeeeaakkk sound and came away from the moon, dropping down into the darkness.
“A cracked perfection,” mumbled Rane.
“Perfection does not exist here,” said the train, “even the thing you are trying so hard to reach is not perfect.”
“What is it then?” she asked, stepping back on the train.
“It is the moon.”
“Maybe this is perfection,” said Rane as the train began to move backwards and she felt as if she was falling in the opposite direction. “Maybe this is where I should get off.”
“Will you accept that this is perfection?” The train was ruminative now.
“Yes. If that’s what it is.”