Prayers for the Soul of a Raging Moon by Sailor Stone by Sailor Stone - Read Online

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Prayers for the Soul of a Raging Moon - Sailor Stone

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Prayers for the Soul of a Raging Moon

She ran the night. With the spring moon shining over her shoulder, she ran the empty streets of the lighted city.

He’d been everything to her. The way they’d met, fallen in love, married, and grown into one. He’d been all she ever needed. Like an icebreaker bashing through the sheet ice, he’d led her through every travail they’d ever faced, always looking back at her for his own added strength, taking her in. He’d loved her with all his might.

Running deep in the night, her breaths sometimes rhyming the song in her mind, she remembered how she’d turn on the music in their bedroom, the smooth jazz he liked so much, and she’d dim the lights just a bit, then she’d undress for him as he watched from the bed, his foot tapping under the covers to the rhythm of her dancing body and the beat of the music. Then, how she’d blow his mind – loving him to exhaustion. And later, slipping from the bed as he slept, she’d play back the song she’d just danced too for him in her mind as she ran the night.

Running smooth and at a good pace, she’d picture him, his own strong face concentrating on everything about her, as he loved her, and she’d run to morning’s first light knowing he’d have breakfast and a towel waiting for her.

She only had the memories now, but they were good memories, and they sustained her spirit on her moonlit runs. The small pistol she carried tucked in the pocket of her running shorts, sustained the revenge she carried in her heart.

The days, in the light of the sun, were another matter. Her life became hard. And lonely.

His friends had been her friends. All except for Kristin, of course, who watched over her like a big sister. They’d all moved on. True, they’d been there for her at first, but life rolls along and they slowly left her to herself as the days, weeks and months went by. Her family was three thousand miles to the west; they begged her to come home. But she couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

She still felt him sometimes. If she moved from his city she knew he’d stay behind. Then what if the memories faded after that? Then she’d be empty of him – as vacant as she felt since he’d been killed – to lose even her memories of him would be more than she could bear.

Amy Tamme missed her husband.

She made a turn, passed a hot-spot yuppie bar that had recently opened, Crux of the Matter, its sign beamed out, overpowering the light of the stars and the moon. She had to side-skirt some late night customers as they staggered out the doors from the club to hail a taxi and a ride home. She kept her pace though and soon the light of the enormous bar sign faded and the silhouettes of the tall city buildings re-imposed their darkly hulked geometries onto the blue-black night sky and she saw again the three-quarter moon, high above her, as it reflected the sun’s light down onto the city streets.

When she got home she felt like she’d had a good run. The extreme physicality of her workout had flooded her body with endorphins and gave her a temporary reprieve from the sadness – but then she had to fetch her own towel.

She made her breakfast as the sun rose and flooded her apartment with light. It was a hard light to bear. She’d been attacked in the night and she knew her attacker was still out there – hiding in the shadows, ready to strike again, and all she lived to do was take her revenge back into the darkness of the city streets.

Knowing this, she’d run the night, wearing hot little shorts and a sleeveless top, baiting him. She’d take his life and watch his eyes as he took his last breath. And then she’d keep running, with the moon shining its reflected light on the pavement, guiding her steps home. And maybe then she could enjoy the sunlight again having made up to her husband, at least a little, for putting herself in danger and expecting him to save her. And then that moon would cease its wailing, its crying, and its ceaseless accusations.

Summer came and her friend, Kristin, decided it was time Amy got out and met some people. It had been six months now.

Amy met her for a drink at Crux of the Matter after work.

It was a jazz club. Amy was happy for that. She’d had no idea what to expect as she stepped through its doors.

She’d gotten there ahead of Kristin so she took a seat at the bar. There was a trio playing on a small stage in the far corner of the softly lighted room. They were playing Take Five, Amy noticed, and they were playing it well.

Her mind quickly fell into the song and she became lost in it. She watched the combo – a pretty girl was playing the piano and singing, there was an older man playing the treble sax and a blond, almost teenage looking man, plucking the strings of a stand-up bass.

Happy? Maybe for the moment. Almost.

Then she was interrupted, They can do that as good as anybody. I can’t ever get enough of them. Makes working here a real treat.

Amy turned and found herself looking into the eyes of the bartender. He was middle aged, good looking with curly blond hair with flecks of grey sprinkled throughout it. He was strong of build with kind eyes and big hands.

He extended his hand, How are you? My name is Dinky Colcutt, what’s yours?

Amy forced a smile, Hi, I’m Amy, then she felt she needed to add something, I like your bar. She shook his hand, noticed it was rough, like he’d worked most of his life doing construction or some other hard labor job. Dinky was an odd name for so masculine a man.

It’s not really my bar, but thanks, I manage it and it’s always good to hear a compliment.

Amy turned to the trio