It was sudden. It was unimaginable. We didn’t see it coming, we didn’t it coming until it was there, standing as frightening to us as it intended too. Our eyes caught it at the same time. It stood there in its long black jacket, buttoned down. He wore a mask, the face of an old man with curly grey hair on the sides, it was ugly and had something in its hand, and it called out my name. It knew my name. Vicki and I both began screaming as loud as we could. I think we both began crying as we ran instantly, instinctually away, separating. She ran calling out for my mom and him. I ran as fast as my short, weak legs could carry me around the small apartment building, across the parking lot and into a small wooded area, no one coming as I screamed, knowing it was right behind me.

I took the face first tumble and bumped my head on a rock. My glasses fell and shattered. I don’t know how long I laid there before summoning myself to roll over and stare the demon in the face. Looking up, I stared at the knife that dangled in its hand, and began pleading. In an instant the laughing began. The voices resounded and were familiar. My mom, him, Vicki and the monster, who lifted the mask off his face, who was a teenage neighbor girl my parents talked into this, “to teach me a lesson.” The lesson was one, unnecessary- not to wander to far from the house, as if I ever did.

I didn’t want lunch anymore. I didn’t even want to start first grade anymore, I just didn’t want to be there, alive anymore. Tucked beneath my blankets, I closed my eyes so tight, and thought about the man on the moon and if he were real, and if so, did he talk to the angels that lived on the clouds with white feather wings that spanned so wide and halo’s of gold that shined immaculate lighting, like I’d seen in picture books. I didn’t know that I could talk to God. I really didn’t know much about God but just that he loved us like the other one, Jesus. I learned that song, and mentioned him in my prayers but it was time to ask.

Dear Mr. Man on the Moon,

“I know you don’t see me because I am inside, but my name is Jenny and I am 6 years old and I wondered if you could do me a favor? Could you talk to the angels and ask them if they could talk to God, and ask him if I can come live on the clouds too? I don’t have to have wings. I don’t need a halo, but I don’t want to be here anymore and heaven, sounds like it might be nice. I would be a really good girl and wont break the rules, if I can just live on the clouds with the angels?”

Who knew, then the seed that had been planted, nurtured and fostered to bloom in ways that break innocence, hope, inspiration, any sense of love at all, the year the first set of fingerprints marked me. Who knew it would grow so wild and unruly?