The Great Mystery

Flash Fiction Story by J. Iner Souster

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On a clear night, I would lie on the beach and stare at the sky, searching for the moon’s glory, trying to take it all in, feeling so insignificant as I listened to the waves. But there was also a feeling of awe and wonder accompanying it, the same feeling I experienced as a young boy whenever I came across something unexplored and unfamiliar. I would make up stories about the stars, the moon, and all the unknown satellites floating around the heavens above, imagining what it would be like to travel to them and there, learning how to allow my imagination the room it needed to grow.

I remember a flickering of the full moon, glowing red, above the horizon. My eyes were open to a dream: both intimidating and mesmerizing, as all stories from the subconscious can be. The night began to drift, and there was an eerie, almost frightening luminescence in the sky—my heart still racing. Staring into the darkness of the waters as the light above disappeared, I fell on the warm, granular sand; it was an inexplicable feeling as the beach moulded itself around the contours of my body, each coarse grain—a kiss upon my skin.

The moon had become my muse—its lunar pulls were the ebbs and flows of my creativity; when the tide came in, I painted. When it went back out, I wrote.