the moon has no voice

I'm experimenting with second person narrative

The moon gazes down with its bright omniscient giant eye. You gaze back, lost in its shining singular pupil. It’s the silence that sends shivers down your spine, not the cold. Do you know why? It’s because you’re accustomed the cold and its embrace; you where it as a cloak.

                                    That’s why you’re in the field. That’s why your staring back at the moon, imagining what it would be like if it had intelligence, if it could record all the events of mankind, without judgement or hesitation, it would be wonderful. Before you’d made that stupid silly mistake the moon could project your life back into your mind and remind you that de ja vu exist. But unfortunately it doesn’t.

             The time has come for you to leave the field and go home. You turn and head for the gate, and then give one last look over your shoulder at your wise friend and hope, that even if it has no intelligence or line of thinking, it still watches you.

              The village is not too far away, so the darkness doesn’t confuse you for long. You pass the post office, then the bank, then your old school, a cul-de-sack, and it seems to hold court on the other buildings with its size and general appeal. Your feet drag on the tarmac as you step closer and closer to the house and you can feel the inner warmth radiating against you. Even when you squat in the shadows to spy through the window, the nostalgic warmth battles against the cold and wins.

           You spy a dining table, decorated with candles, fine cloth and even finer crockery. It’s so idyllic yet entirely natural. You remember when you use to eat at that table, and work, and play with your children.

                                    In fact, here they come now! Your children! All three of them, come running in from the hall and jump euphorically onto the chairs. You duck further into the shadows, in case they see you. They must never see you in case they remember you. Then they are followed by a woman balancing multiple plates of food on her arms and hands. She is beautiful, as beautiful as the day you married her and the day you divorced her. She even wears the same charming grin. She is so happy.

                                You tear away from the house, before you fall further into depression. You run from the village, and towards the field. Your breath is ripped from your lungs but you still persist. Every part of your body aches with exhaustion and pain you still persist!

  You clamber into the field to find the moon still watching you. Oh the hollow relief is intense when you fall to your knees and weep!

           You lost everything; you’re home, your family, your comfort. All because of the voices in your head. We do tend to lead you towards temptation. But you are the one who has the last word. When we told you to sleep with your sister in law, you were the one who led her to the bedroom. When we told you to ruin your company with ‘sexy’ but stupid women, you were the one who forgot their age! You neglected everything because of me, the voice in your head.

                And now all you have is the moon, the one thing that is impossible to lose from your life. It is a cold companion, but you now feel it’s what you deserve. That and the darkness of the night

Author's Note

I could do with the feedback if that's alright :)