by Anthony Cordello

 

I fell asleep in my front yard and dreamed I was a caterpillar exploring the pulped ranges of the overgrown lawn, looking for a safe spot to sit and feast and molt, but all I found was a sharp pain in my back and a sudden trip into the sky. As soon as I passed through the clouds I woke up back in my lawn, secure in my human form, wet with dew and urine and gin and a splash of lime. I lifted my hands, watched my fingers shake against the blue sky.

At least I made it to the property intact with my keys and my wallet and my phone which was able to catch a sliver of service, enough for a notification to pop up framed by the cracks in the screen: Giant bird – hatched out of the moon – on route to Earth.

Clicking on “bird” lead to footage of the moon spinning along its axis with nothing out of the ordinary except for the beak jutting out of its north pole like a stem to an apple. The beak cracked away the mantle, making room for a head and a pair of wings unfolding to black out the stars and end the clip.

They named it Selene after the Greek goddess of the moon, tweeted a clock counting down from fourteen minutes fifteen seconds, and traced its trajectory to find its landing site, which happened to be my address, of course.

I was going to be sick. I crawled up towards the house and filled the basement window well with vomit, then rolled back down the lawn and filled my stomach with handfuls of grass as the shadow of a wing drew like a curtain over the sun.

 

 

Anthony Cordello has work in decomP, Jersey Devil Press, Jellyfish Review, and Apocrypha and Abstractions. He has a MFA from Fairfield University.

 

 

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