The night was still.
Nothing moved, not even the blades of grass along the flat plains. The stars shone brightly, all light abandoned along the highway, and Anthony walked alone, steadily and slowly, taking his time observing the stars.
They were beautiful, those stars, but Anthony could tell they looked upon the moon in envy. She with her shining brilliance, silver glow enveloping all the world, dancing down the paved highway alighting the pieces of shattered window glass, shimmering into diamonds along the road. Nothing could rival the moon.
Anthony liked the dark, the night. In some ways he felt as if the darkness spoke to him in ways that words and people could never fill. That soundless voice called him every night to leave his home and enter the blackness, and he did without worry. The daylight was boring, and the sun hurt his eyes—a hot dagger shooting from the sky, but the night was different. At this time there was always a mystery, a soft hue, and soothing, soothing quiet. The night wind was like disembodied hands, feeling, massaging their way along his skin. It reminded him of the silk sheets on his mother’s bed, cool and comforting after a terrible dream. The night was his home, the night was his love, and his woe. Although the darkness gave him great pleasure, it caused him great pain. He always felt so different, and so cut off from the rest of the world, and the night only made his loneliness greater.
Still, he was drawn to it. Each night, every night, he would walk the dark, the stars, the silence, the cold. It all was there, waiting for him.
But navy blue was the sky now instead of dark; the sun was slowly rising over the mountains, and he had only a couple short hours left before the night would completely fade away into the day. He might as well go back home to bed, he thought, as the voice had gone now, and he had no more reason to remain. So slowly, Anthony turned on his heel and headed back home, walking along the side of the highway kicking rocks as he went, his boots crunching. Soon the sun would rise and tomorrow would be there. So he trudged down towards home, and said goodbye to the darkness, bid farewell to the moon.
Then, there a hush; for a moment he heard it. Truly heard, not an illusion. He turned round to look behind, to be only met with the vastness of Big Sky Country. Yet, it had been there. It was a voice in the breeze saying:
“Some day you’ll stay.”