The Utterly False Diaries of a Totally Real Human

04/01/2022- Day Two

Good Morning Marcus.

Last night I got to see the moon as it came into the frame of my window. It was beyond glorious. The light it gave reminded me of spilled milk, pale and creamy on the grey floor of my room. In my excitement, I threw my blankets around my shoulders and became a queen.

Did you know that the moon sings? If you know how to listen, the moon will sing you great tales. I prefer the chanting tunes, but the operas are beautiful all the same. Last night the story promised to be truly tragic:

Deep in the summer of her youth, when the river ran high with the melted snow, Isa learned that frogs could lead you to your soulmate. The small farmhouse she inhabited with her family had weathered many storms, but the tornado that came on the back of Jackson Montra nearly destroyed the entire family.

The silvery voice of the moon nearly lulled me to sleep, but I needed to know more, Marcus. I needed to know how it was that Isa and Jackson met, how they loved, and if they lived.

The year was 1957 and Jackson had limped his way from New York City to Cheyenne. A figment of the boy who had stormed through western Europe, Jackson was searching for something to bring his spirit back. The cities he'd passed through contained too many faces. Too many noises. Too many memories that he wished to forget.

Covered in dust and nearly dead of thirst Jackson knelt beside a small creek. The water burned going down, but he drank regardless, heeding the demands of the mortal body he wanted to be rid of.

"You shouldn't drink that." Isa's voice drifted across the creek, barely audible above the soft rustling of the tall grass.

Jackson searched the opposite bank, but saw no one. "Why? It's clear enough."

"The frogs died." Isa's calm voice didn't suit the terrible news it gave. Jackson narrowed his eyes, certain he'd seen a flash of green in the brown grass, but the movement had passed.

"The frogs died?" He felt silly repeating the question, but the warning had caused his stomach to clench. If Jackson had learned anything on his trudge across two continents it was that if the animals didn't drink the water, neither did you.

"Yes." Jackson whipped around as Isa's voice crawled over his left shoulder. The first thing he noticed were her eyes. So dark they were almost black, even in the presence of the noon sun. They hurt to look into for too long. They were made even harsher by her chestnut hair, cut nearly to her chin.

I tried to ask the moon if Jackson found Isa beautiful, but as with most story-tellers, the moon hates to be interrupted and covered itself with clouds until I promised to keep my questions to myself.

"Hello." Isa smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes and Jackson wondered if some demon had come to take him. He doubted a demon would wear green trousers and a black shirt, unbuttoned to the point of near indecency, but one could never be sure.

"Hi." Jackson tried to smile, but his lips wouldn't work.

Isa extended a hand and said, "You should come with me. Mama will have something to help, and you're going to want it when that water hits you."

Jackson took her hand and her callouses scraped against his in such a way his mind split in two. In one he followed the girl from the grass towards a white farmhouse. In the other he dragged Mikey Pitman through a bombed out window and screamed for a medic. In one he greeted a stern woman, who fed him bread and made him drink something brown and bitter that wasn't coffee. In the other, he clutched Mikey's hand and prayed to anyone who would listen.

"Are you deaf?" The stern woman demanded her voice matching up with the yells of former commanders. Jackson blinked heavily at her and she took a step back at the emptiness in his eyes.

"Sorry?"

"What's your name?" This from the girl he'd followed.

Isa hadn't flinched at the blank stare the boy she'd brought home had given her mother. It had only made her more curious. She'd seen empty wells before, but never empty men and this man across from her had nothing left.

"Montra. Jackson Montra." His rough voice brought a warmth to Isa's chest. She'd noticed his exhaustion back by the creek, but it clearly ran deep.

"Isa," She said, and looked to her mother. "This is mama."

Her mother's hazel eyes drifted between the two. "Where are you going, Jackson?"

He only shook his head. He had been trying to figure that out for months, letting his feet carry him further west. He wasn't sure there was anywhere for him to go.

"Papa might need help come fall," Isa insisted in some distant conversation. Her hand brushed against his and the fracture in his mind grew...

The moon disappeared from my window at that point, Marcus. But I'll get it to tell me more tonight. Then I'll tell you. Do you think...well you don't think do you? I wonder if I look empty like Jackson. I don't feel empty, but can't one feel full and still look empty?

The moon might have an answer to that question, but I'll have to wait until the story is done.

Love,

Am.