[ IP ] Bittersweet Moonrise .

*Why? * 
 
 I often ask this question, especially at times like these. The dead of night, the cold, jealous moon coming to banish the warm memory of the sweet sun, and me, alone, sitting down here, looking over the city, casting a furtive glance up, hoping that maybe this time, it won ’ t happen. That this time a miracle really will happen for once. 
 
 I manage to look up just as the plane passes overhead, eclipsing the moon. 
 
 Regret, anger, jealousy, sadness, hate, loathing. It all passes though me as I see that giant steel bird sweep overhead, flying so free while I sit here trapped. 
 
 This must be the one. I know, I ’ ve been counting the planes. Amy, John, Cara, and Luke, they ’ re on that plane. Probably laughing as thy sip on their last drinks before they pop a few melatonin so they can sleep through the overnight. By the time they wake up, they ’ ll be off landing in beautiful Paris, laughing as they take selfies by the Eiffel Tower. 
 
 *Why? * 
 
 Why couldn ’ t their schedules line up at a different time? Why couldn ’ t the flight be next week? Why couldn ’ t they have picked a flight that didn ’ t leave at night? Why did they have to insist on going on the trip anyways? 
 
 *Why do I have to be me? I just want to be a normal girl for once. Just once. * 
 
 I shakily move the cigarette to my mouth, letting the tiny flame of the lighter kiss the wound up tobacco. The smoke fills my lungs, and in my mind I quietly will the tar and chemicals to hurry up and kill me even as they steady my hands. 
 
 The moon, incessant as ever keeps rising. Once again, there will be no miracle. 
 
 The cigarette falls from my fingers as the first pangs hit. 
 
 *No, no please no. * Hot tears run down my cheeks as I double over, feeling my bones bend and break. *I don ’ t want this, I don ’ t want this, I do n't want this. * 
 
 My skin burns. Blisters bubble up and burst in a thousand bloody explosions before they fade to reveal long, thick, silvery steel hairs. I fight the urge to scream as my gums burst, sending blood over my chin in a torrent as giant, needle sharp fangs push their way out. And through the tears, I can see the dark room become clearer and clearer until it looks like it ’ s lit by daylight. 
 
 And my stomach. *Oh my stomach. * I feel like I ’ ve never eaten in my whole life, like I ’ m starving to death. I sniff the air, and I detect off in the distance the intoxicating warm scent of the city, so vibrant and filled with... *people*. 
 And suddenly, suddenly those thick iron bars over my windows don ’ t seem so tough, so imposing. 
 
 After all, I remember where I put the key earlier. 
 
 No matter what I might say to myself in the morning, come night, I *always* remember where I put the key. 

