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I can’t see the moon anymore. I think it was there a few minutes ago,
but it’s definitely not there now. A dark spot, about moon-sized, was
missing from the field of stars overhead, if I remember correctly. There
are no blanked-out parts of the sky now, though. A perfect night sky — a
billion pinpricks of light, giving the heavens a grayish tone. Something is
wrong, though. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But a cloudless, star-filled
sky in the early evening is just wrong.
I mustn’t panic. I was definitely panicking earlier, but everyone else
was panicking, too, so I wasn’t being unreasonable. Panicking when the sun
ceases to be is a perfectly rational reaction. She didn’t panic, but
everyone else did. She gave me a poncho when we started to head here. It
was to keep me dry in the rain, or to stop the wind, I can’t remember. It
had to be the wind because we didn’t even see the sun until after the
clouds vanished.
I don’t see her anywhere, but I know she must be around here somewhere.
We got up here before the wind stopped. She was standing next to the edge
of the roof, trying to tell me something, but her poncho was flapping in the
wind, and I couldn’t hear her with all the noise.
The antenna on the roof faced toward the city — at least it did before
the power went out, when we could still see the lights — but now it just points
out into the nothingness. Or did it point at the mountain? I don’t remember
things well under stress. I wish I had my notepad with me today, so I could
jot these things down.
Nobody on the radio this morning said anything about the moon
vanishing. I would have remembered that, I think. I do need to get off of
this roof, though. It would be easier if there were some stars out so I could
see. I wonder how long they’ve been gone.
