Moon Angel

by n

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Human, Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1489

Saving those that matter: my daughter.

The moon is so beautiful, luring me from my daughter.

Published 2012-05-20 19:24:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-20 19:24:02 UTC

Falling

I wake up to the throbbing beat of house being played right outside the apartment, and groan. Then, I turn over to my clock, and see that it’s one in the morning. Must be some late night rave or something. Looking out the window, I see that the crowd is walking down the street, perhaps headed for one of the local bars that are still open at this ungodly hour. It makes me think back to my college days.

Then tears start to fall to the rhythm. It’s a realization to me that they are my tears, but then I think. My daughter is in the hospital. Suddenly, I can’t sleep anymore, and I can’t stop moving either. The shaking won’t stop.

I get out of bed, and quickly get dressed. Then I open the door. I’m almost pushed back by how loud the music is, but I take it in a stride. As I walk, my feet slowly start to conform to the rhythm of the upbeat song. The beat is like my pace, fast and furious and urgent.

Going down the stairs, I realize just how badly I miss my daughter, but I hold back the tears that try to worm their way out of my eyes. Even if she isn’t awake, I have to be strong. Medical bills are expensive after all, and I need every credit I can get. Breaking down on my job would be unacceptable.

When I finally exit the apartment complex, I hail one of the various hovercabs that dot this city. The door opens, and I get in.

“Vostok Hospital,” I say.

The driver nods. It’s a fairly famous hospital, known for some interesting gene experiments or whatnot. Either way, I’ll take only the best for my little daughter. I think back, nothing to do in a cab. Slowly, I begin doze off.

My daughter is beautiful, with sharp green eyes, just like her mother. She has just turned five. Happily, she tears through the thick wrapping paper, fingers jabbing hungrily for the first taste. When she pulls out the roughly made doll, she almost squeals in delight. It’s a “limited edition” doll of Vinyl Scratch from the television show, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I couldn’t exactly get her what she wanted, because it was too expensive, so I did the next best thing. It wasn’t quite as good as how her mother could’ve made it, but it was the thought that counted. That, and I had planned something special, just for her.

We board the metro moments later, and we’re off. My daughter is giggling, tapping the glass with her dainty hand. Her eyes grow wide as the train finally begins to speed up. I can tell she has that childlike amazement, when one sees something for the first time. Then the adrenaline kicks in, and we are both gripping harder than usual, afraid that somehow, we’ll fly right off the train and out the doors which are closed.

The setting around us begins to blur into monochrome. In the few brief moments that the novelty is still there, we arrive at our destination, Coté del Mar. For the first time, my daughter will have the chance to see real nature. We’ve been living off synthetics for decades, simply because it’s cheaper. It’s colorful as well, colorful enough that she almost starts to vibrate in anticipation, trying to take in all the sights at once. When we get off, it happens. She spins around, like a ballerina, then all at once, she freezes up. I see my hand reaching for her, hoping that somehow, someway, catching her will make miracles. I can also hear myself screaming again, vivid and real.

“L-”

I’m up shouting my head off, and embarrassing myself in front of the driver. It’s a good thing we’re almost there, as he looks like he’s about to kick me out. The door slowly opens when we arrive. I give him his payment, and then step outside. Behind me, the hovercab zooms away, as the driver is probably eager to get more tips.

Looking up, I appreciate how big the hospital actually is. This is because they have everything, which means the care is fast. They even have a biochem lab for fabricating the various drugs as well as a biotech lab for manufacturing implements. It really was the best place for my daughter.

The reception is equally fast. All I need to do is show my ID and then I’m on the elevator, zooming up to the floor which my daughter is on, neatly categorized. Nearly everything is thought of here, since they have the best minds in every field. They even have some novelists, pounding away at consoles for PR purposes. Then the bell chimes, and the door slides open. As I near my daughter’s room, I start to speed up. Only when I bump into the doctor who is walking out of one of the various doors, I realize that I’m taking this hard. The doctor gives a grunt of disapproval, but walks away, obviously eager to do something else.

“Sorry,” I mumble after him, knowing that he won’t hear me because he doesn’t care. It’s a formality that has been drummed into my brain by my father.

When I get to the door, I can’t quite bring myself to open it just yet. Although I know that I need to see my daughter, something tells me to turn back, that if I see my daughter, it won’t be what I’m expecting, that I won’t ever quite be the same again. So I hesitate, and stand there awkwardly, looking around at other people. In some ways, I would like to turn back, do what they are doing, and blend in with the crowd. But the door is there, and very real, and so is my daughter. For her sake I can’t and won’t turn back.

The door hisses open, and I’m surprised at how empty the room feels. Despite all the clutter of the various machines that monitor everything about my daughter, I can’t shake the sinking feeling of death that lingers in the room. I’m afraid that my daughter could be dead too, but that doesn’t make any sense, otherwise the hospital would’ve contacted me. With this to hold my heart above the turbulent waters that try to force me back, I continue on to the bed where my daughter is.

I see that it’s not quite what I fear, but it’s not quite what I want either. My daughter is still in that same comatose that she has been in years now, after she collapsed. The doctors had said that her case was almost hopeless, but I had to try anyway. I continue to stare at her, with the blind hope that somehow, at any time, she will get up and it will be bright again, happy. The faint glow of the moonlight shines upon her, and she looks more beautiful than ever. It’s almost angelic, and my hope rises. Maybe, just maybe, God actually exists, and he’s given me another chance. My face slowly rises, and I look out the window and pray.

The moonlight that is streaming through looks more beautiful than ever, especially now that I’m looking at it directly. It draws me away from my daughter, enchanting my soul, if that’s what you call it. Almost supernatural, the motes of dust dance to the sonata that is slowly growing in my mind, a beautiful piece of art that exists in my imagination. Even if I could, I don’t think I could quite write it down so it would do the original justice. I take several more steps toward the window that is the only wall between me and the moon. Reverently, I lift my hand and place it on the cold glass.

Then I feel myself being lifted. For a moment, I am suspended there, pressed against the glass like a rag doll. Then the glass gives away, crying its sorries to me. I forgive it of course, as it only has so much strength. Then I feel like I’ve grown a pair of wings, and am flying. In reality, I’m just falling, and as I fall, I see the full moon. It’s surreal, how much the moon takes my mind off what is going on. I wonder, are the Asian legends true. Is there really a goddess on the moon that is beautiful beyond belief.

Even when I stare down out of curiosity, I still can’t quite think enough to see my life flash before my eyes, like they always say in the books, or in the movies, or in the video games. It does little to draw me away, except remind me of more important things. As the ground reaches up to take my body, I can only think of one thing.

My daughter.