Murmur of the moon

Like the sluggish movement of a gorged python

The truck pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of 7-Eleven

The cold was biting through the thick plaid jacket

It's to prove am alive, I can feel, I can emote, I am living.

One foot in front of the other, that's all is required

To move, to keep moving...I look up at the darkness , vastness

And the moon...he seems to understand how tumultuous it is

I ask why...he doesn't answer

It is how it is.

I stick my cold purple hands into the pockets...I feel something hard in the right one.

My fingers curl around the object trying to sense what it could be

You see, I only got this jacket earlier this evening from the charity box at the church...

The donations from the better living.

The donor forgot to empty it's pockets clearly, for sure the jacket  had deep pockets.

I could not guess what it was, gently I pulled it out, it was a small glass bottle with cork stopper

And something inside it...

Hard to tell in this lightless street, with only the cold moon and the distant 7-ELEVEN sign

I wish it had been a pile of cash or a gold nugget..

I wish it was an ancient scroll...

Or a map to hidden treasures.

I hurry to the 7-ELEVEN, as fast as my worn out boots can drag me

As quick as the cold wintry weather can permit.

And as I reach the dim parking lot, I uncork the bottle and peel it's content into my hand.

I roll out the thick paper , it is a picture of a man, staring me down with raven eyes.

He looks boyish, I think

There are words at the bottom,

" Run the other way, watch out for the wall"!!!

I look up at the moon and smile.

Thank you , I whisper.