Talking to the Moon

by ChaoticHarmony

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad
Length: 292

When you're all alone, where's the harm in talking to the only thing that will hear you speak?

Star Struck is a simple unicorn who loves to do nothing but observe the inky black of the night sky that is broken only by the light of the stars or moon. On some nights, when the stars cast their glow into his room, he looks up to the silver eyes of the moon above and speaks to the only one that will listen to him.

He sits alone, talking to the moon.

Totally inspired by Bruno Mars' Talkin' to the Moon

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-30 02:37:46 UTC

Sitting Alone

---- Talking to the Moon----

When you're all alone, where's the harm in talking to the only thing that will hear you speak?

Star Struck’s hooves thudded against the soft carpet that coated the floor as he slowly walked into his bedroom.  The heavy saddlebags that lay on his back were tossed carelessly onto a hook that jutted from the wall, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he freed himself from their weight.  The small clock on the shelf that stuck out nearly halfway across the tiny apartment whirred and clicked as the gears inside of its golden shell turned, its illuminated display placing him sometime deep into the night.  “What a day.”

Not even bothering to fetch himself anything to eat or to even turn on the light, he flung himself onto the tiny bed that he called his own.  Instant regret coursed through him as the creaky springs poked into his back, sending small pricks of pain down his nerves.  He groaned louder than the bed did as he shifted to find a better position.  “Bad idea.”  For a few minutes he did nothing but toss and turn atop his blankets, staring into the blackness that filled the air around him.  Finally the irritation irked him enough to draw him back onto his tired hooves.

“Great, another sleepless night.”  His voice was nothing but bitter as he sighed again and walked over to the faded, red icebox that held his only source of food.  “Might as well get something to eat.”  The carrots he had procured from the frigid box were only just stiff enough to be still considered fresh, but he ate them with gusto.  He jumped up onto one of the few chairs that would still support his weight and finished off his midnight meal.