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Stories! > While We Wait for the Moon to Fall

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message 1: by Sofia (new)

Sofia | 3 comments Hey guys! So I'm fairly new to the group, but I'm excited to hear your feedback! This is a short story I wrote a few months back, and I would love to improve it so I can include it in my portfolio for college applications.


message 2: by Sofia (last edited Jul 09, 2016 11:29AM) (new)

Sofia | 3 comments While We Wait For the Moon to Fall

If life is a metaphor, then nothing is without meaning. As a result, fate is not a question, but an ultimate certainty that ensures destiny and fulfillment. Though most of the time, we have to fit the pieces together ourselves. While uncovering my pieces, I’ve discovered that life holds its secrets tight to its chest, revealed only through the magic of metaphors.
Noah and I are two pieces that find a way to fit: impossibly different and remarkably the same. Noah, the piece that continuously changes, as he inspires each individual in his midst to find themselves, yet, never losing himself in the process. I am not sure how I fit into our puzzle, only that I do. I’m irritating and persistent, hopefully hiding some good qualities beneath my annoying exterior. Perhaps our pieces fit because we agree about everything important and disagree about everything else.

On a spry evening in June, when the twilight began to envelop us, life was revealed. Noah and I were lying on a scratchy concrete blacktop; my head cradled in his arm. Michael was sitting on a nearby bench, indulging his harmless addiction as he plucked sunflower seeds from their shells, one by one, and tossed them into the grass beneath his feet.
While I waited for the stars to appear and the moon to rise, I asked Noah, “Where would you go at this very moment, if you could?” I expected him to say something like New York or college- he wants to be a Broadway star after all. But he surprised me.

“Away” he replied instantly, looking up at the light blue sky.

“That’s not very specific”

“Life doesn’t need a destination. I want to enjoy the journey. I know where I want to go, who I need to be.” Noah is sure about himself, something I wished desperately to be, as he had made a life plan at the age of 12, and it fit him still at 17.

“I hate this house,” he said “my parents harping, my brother’s clinginess. I need to start my life”.

Close as we were, Noah and I came from opposite worlds. Noah from an empire of assimilation and fleeting activities, a world littered with removed parents and defined by self-sufficiency. He was living life as a prodigal son who had strayed from the classic plan, presenting an air that allowed for few fears, though they were bottled up underneath. In contrast, I was from a start up of overprotective parents and typical expectations, a world built upon conformity and silence. I was living life as an obedient daughter, a catalyst who lost her thirst for life by following every rule. My greatest fear was becoming like my parents, rooted and steady without a spark of spontaneity.

“That’s a beautiful thought, and a true one” I admitted, “I drive home every day, and I feel the urge to pass my destination, to keep going and see where the road takes. But I always stop, I don’t have the courage to continue”

Noah surprised me again; “ I feel the same way, there are a million places to go, and I’ve barely discovered any of them”

While we may have believed in our dreams, neither of us was without uncertainty. The path of life could take us somewhere drastically different, somewhere we had never wanted to go. In that moment, I saw my future laid out like the blacktop: scratchy and painful, cutting into my dreams until I became a withered husk. I was scared to face the harshness of reality, for I knew Noah's arm could not protect me from the blacktop forever. His resolve and spontaneity was not my own.

Unlike me, Noah believes in the literal. He believes, while a random assortment of events forms a complex web of broken strings, that everything has the capacity to be unraveled and understood. On the contrary, I believe in the ethereal, that all events are inherently simple and metaphoric, as I try to form a stained glass window out of clear panes.

He continued, “I want to leave everything behind”

I countered him; “ I want to find where I belong, a community where I won’t be left behind”. Noah does not acknowledge this comment, he is aware of my paralyzing fear of abandonment from my many meltdowns behind closed doors.

The strangest part is, less than a year ago, we barely looked below the most superficial of details. We had become close at an exponential pace, a friendship developing three months, rather than the entirety of its three years. Blossoming into a bizarre co-dependency, as much as I was annoying and he was cynical to life. We developed a mutual understanding by talking till two or three in the morning at the tail end of junior year, usually while I helped Noah speed-write his English papers, often aided by his boyfriend, Michael. In return he coped with my massive meltdowns, helping me to emerge from my simple box with greater morals, as I pondered my life’s purpose by crying into his shoulder. Somehow, we understood each other because we respected our uniquely similar motivations that led to entirely different goals. He was finding the strength to hold on for another year before beginning the path to Broadway, I was trying to discover my courage in order to fulfill my wispy dream of writing.

Noah abruptly changes the subject, “You know, I love driving down your street. It’s full of green, big beautiful trees swooping down, I normally linger in the shadow of buildings.”

Perhaps he was attempting to placate my fear though a fairly obvious metaphor. However, he did not realize the more significant allegory: sometimes, like the path of a road, the world creates its own connections. The moon lingers in the sky even when we can’t see it. Stars emerge from the boring blue and the bitter blackness with an unnerving consistency. Yet, it is the sun that supports all life. Noah is a sun, a boundless energy that brings light and wisdom, revealing secrets tucked into long forgotten crevices, and gradually wearing away the dark. I am a star, simply waiting to shine. But as he commented on looking for his natural path in an impossible world, the moon began to rise, yellow and eerie, yet comforting all the same. All we had to do was wait, wait for the inevitable solar eclipse, where the sun and stars shine together in inexplicable harmony. Wait for the inextricable future that stretched before us to commence.

“Look, the moon is finally coming out” I exclaimed, becoming philosophical as I pointed to the sky. Noah quickly pulled away his arm as my tears fell onto his skin. I smiled through them, even though Noah was ready, in his words, to “homicide” me for this demonstration-because yes, to Noah, homicide is a verb, even though he realizes it's actually a noun. Despite his playful aggression, Noah understood I wasn’t crying for the moon, I was crying because it came back to me. The moon is the only thing everyone has in common after all. No matter the location or time zone, every individual gazes upon the craters of the moon and believes in its beauty. Most importantly, the moon always comes back to us.

Lying on the blacktop, watching the glimmer of the moonrise, I began to understand that loyalty is uncertain. After all, what is the use of waiting for someone to stay? Waiting at the edge of a seat for them to bolt? Since the moon always rises, what’s the point of waiting around for it?

Lying on that blacktop, I learned to trust the metaphors I so often preached. If Noah and I somehow break apart, as I search for words and he searches for stardom, we will find our way back together. Friendship can withstand the greatest of distances. Dreams can withstand the greatest of turmoil. No matter what happens in the future, Noah and I are forever linked from our mutual experiences, unable to forget the dreams we held so close. Therefore, I refuse to relinquish the sun. My dreams and my friends will forever shine within my soul, changing and evolving with me. For, we are still on the blacktop, waiting for the night to end, trying to enjoy the moon while it shines in this last year of containment. However, in the morning, it will leave nothing but its impression behind.

I am still learning to trust the fragility of my dreams and the magic of my experiences. That night on the blacktop, I discovered that nothing ever truly ends. The sun will eventually rise and the moon will eventually fall for Noah and I. We will begin our lives and never look back. But, we will not forget the gleam of the moon in our eternal night. My dreams are attainable if I believe in metaphors, because they connect us together to ensure that no one is left behind. Perhaps that is how I fit into our intricate puzzle, I connect the metaphors to form a greater whole.


message 3: by Coralie (new)

Coralie (corkybookworm) | 386 comments Mod
Hi, Sophia! Great to have to here!!

I enjoyed your story. Your style is beautiful! The story had a bit of a wistful feel to it, or maybe whimsical...I'm still undecided. Your writing is sound grammatically. I only noticed three spots that jumped out at me, one grammatical, the other two simply not as clear as they could have been. The beginning of the story was strong and tight. I was completely unprepared for the direction you took the writing, however. The writing was still passionate throughout the rest, but the words were not as tightly woven or as impactful as when you started. The story has a vagueness to it that comes naturally with figurative writing. I liked your characters and I adore your setting, though I wish you would set a more definitive physical place in the beginning. Well...I think that's about all I've got! Great job!!!


message 4: by Emily (new)

Emily   Sofia wrote: "While We Wait For the Moon to Fall

If life is a metaphor, then nothing is without meaning. As a result, fate is not a question, but an ultimate certainty that ensures destiny and fulfillment. Thou..."


Great Beginning! I Loved it! and I totally agree with Coralie :) Good Job!


message 5: by Coralie (new)

Coralie (corkybookworm) | 386 comments Mod
Have you made any revisions that you'd like to share? Or maybe written something else altogether?


message 6: by Sofia (new)

Sofia | 3 comments Coralie wrote: "Have you made any revisions that you'd like to share? Or maybe written something else altogether?"

I've written a few other things, but I've been sidetracked because I've been writing essays for college applications. I'll post as soon as I finish editing my stories, probably once my applications are done


message 7: by Coralie (new)

Coralie (corkybookworm) | 386 comments Mod
Just checking in! I've never thought essays were as fun as creative writing, but there's still plenty to learn from them and it's good practice. Good luck with your applications!


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