Whispering wind, frogs and crickets chirping, mists swirling above the water. This was the place that Luna liked the most. The swamp was secluded, completely removed from humanity. For anyone else in the world, the place would be ghastly. The ground was soft and spongy, with only a layer of peat moss preventing anyone treading on it from falling through to the water below. It was nearly impossible to tell where the ground ended and the water began, especially on a dark night like tonight.
Luna sat in a dead oak tree by the waterside. His eyes turned to the open patch in the moss below him. The black water reflected a perfect image of the full moon above.
Luna looked like a young man, to a casual observer he couldn't be any older than twenty. He wore black pants that were tight around the thighs, but bunched at the knees and flared out around the calves. He was tall and slightly built, with skin so pale you would think he had never been in the sun for his entire life. Through the long matted mop of dark hair that hung over his face, two dim reddish eyes were peering into the dark water.
Putrid, sulphurous vapors rose up from the swamp. The winds swirled around Luna, carrying the fog around him in wispy swirls. Any other person would have coughed or tried to wave the fumes away, but Luna was too lost in thought to care. Instead he leaned back against the tree trunk and began to reminisce.
It all started with the bridge. Luna winced and twitched at the memory. He had stayed in the town for a year, trying to warn the people of their impending doom. They had been terrified of him. Every time he was seen, they would scream and run into their homes. He couldn't make them understand that he was only trying to help them. He knew what was going to happen and he wanted to save them all. But that was not to be. The bridge collapsed on the one-year anniversary of his arrival. He watched as the support beam gave way, and one hundred cars plunged into the icy rivers with their passengers. He hadn't stayed to hear the death toll, he didn't want to know. He simply gathered his few possessions from the abandoned factory he had been living in and moved to where he felt he was needed next.
The wind died down, but the fog still clung around Luna. He flinched and lashed out at it with his arms, trying to drive it away. This fog reminded him of smoke, and smoke reminded him of pain.
There had been smoke when that nuclear power plant exploded. Once again, he had tried and failed to warn the people to get out of that city. There had been smoke when the bombs went off in that apartment building. He had been there too, overseeing the cleanup and leading rescuers to survivors. And lastly, there had been smoke on that horrible September day. Luna shuddered, as much as he fought to repress it, the memory flooded back.
It had been the first time he had ever been too late. By the time he arrived, the towers were already leveled. The people were frantic. Some were looking for lost loved ones, and others were digging through the rubble, others still had fallen to their knees and were just crying. And Luna was powerless to help them. All he could do was watch them from above, waiting for the next pull.
The memories left Luna shaking. Silvery tears streamed down his face and fell into the pool below. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "Why?" he thought to himself, "why was I given this task? What's the point of trying to warn people of disaster when it is all in vain?"
As Luna dwelt on this he found for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do next. All this time he had moved from one place to the next, waiting for the pull to tell him where to go. Now he wasn't so sure if that was what he should do.
"Bad things happen," he said to himself. "And there's nothing we can do to change them. Why should I try to warn people? They're afraid of me, it'll only make things worse if I come."
This made sense to Luna. After all, if tragedy is going to strike, would it make a difference if the people had any warning? Besides, they never understood his arrival anyway. They never had any idea what it all meant. Would it matter at all if he was never seen again? "I could hide here," he said. "It's nice here, I like it here. Yes. I won't leave this swamp again. They'll never have to see me again, and I'll never have to witness another human horror. Everybody wins."
His mind was made up. Luna was about to jump down from the tree when he felt it again. The pull. It was gentle at first, then forceful. The more he ignored it, the more demanding the pull became. "No," he said. "I'm not going with you. It never makes a difference."
"How do you know that?" a small voice at the back of his head chimed. "They're always discovering new things. Maybe if you go this time they'll know what it means. Maybe this time it will make a difference."
Luna contemplated this for a while. The pull continued, but he was able to keep it at bay in his mind. He sighed as he realized that he would have to go. The voice, wherever it had come from, was right. Maybe his arrival would make a difference this time, maybe it wouldn't. He had to try though. "My messages are my purpose," he said at length. "If I don't have them, I don't have anything. I can't lose my nerve like that again. The people need me. They need my foresight because they have none."
With that, Luna rose. The branch he was standing on looked too thin, like it should snap under his weight. But it held firm, as if he wasn't there at all. Slowly, two wings unfolded from his back. They were large, at least twenty feet long. They weren't feathered like bird's wings, or rough and leathery like bat's wings. They were dark, velvety and dusty. Moth wings. He gave them an experimental flap. The fog he had tried to drive away was against the ground from the wind they created.
He flapped again and rose into the air. The pull was stronger than ever. "You win, I'm coming," he said. Luna followed the pull as he flew through the night sky. The wind rushed past his face and dried his remaining tears. "My messages are my purpose. Without them, I'm nothing. It will be different this time, they will understand and listen to my warning. I can never look back on my failure, or I will lose hope. I have to keep going. The Mothman's work is never done."
The End |
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