Shooting the moon - Edward Cullen

chapter 9

Over the next two weeks Edward and I spent a lot of time together, since I wasn't in school he'd come over when it was sunny in his world or when school was out. My parents had gotten used to him just always being there when they got in. Mum was always pleased to see him because he was polite and somehow he had managed to build some kind of relationship with my Dad. Probably so that Dad could even out the male to female balance in our house.

Today was one of the few days that it was predicted to be sunny in Forks, so here I lay on my bed waiting for Edward to appear through the portal, so that we could carry out our plans.

The idea was to take a trip into Newcastle. I knew it was a risky move taking Edward into the centre of town, but I was getting bored of staying in. I knew if I was getting bored, Edward was most certainly getting anxious for a change of scenery.

For once my ears weren't filled with music; instead I was enjoying some peace and quiet since the whole family was out at either work or school.

The only irritant in the whole peaceful environment of my room was the constant buzzing coming from a fly that was determined it was physically possible to fly through the window.

It would never cease to amaze me how stupid nature could be sometimes.

Since I was waiting for Edward I let my mind wander.

Where did the fly learn that if it repeatedly head-buts the window pane it will eventually make it to the other side?

Was there some high class fly lecturer that educated all other flies that a method of constant head-butting was the only way to get through to the outside air?

Was there some high class fly lecturer that educated all other flies that a method of constant head-butting was the only way to get through to the outside air?

I could just imagine an old dusty lecture theatre filled with little fly students all hanging on the every word of the worldly fly professor as he asked 'What do you do if you are confronted with such a problem as a closed window?'

Hush would of course follow his question as all the students used their eager, but limited, brains to try and figure out such a puzzling conundrum.

Finally a young, superstar, genius fly would raise his spindly leg, and hope he had the answer right. 'If one cannot fly straight through the glass' - he would cogitate as the lecture room fell silent, the other flies sensing they were truly in the presence of their generations Einstein- 'and we have established that the window is closed' he continued, his brow furrowed in total concentration, 'then surely the logical thing to do...would be... to fly repeatedly at the glass, buzzing a lot?'

The other pupils would glance eagerly at the professor to see if the genius had the solution.

He'd merely smile and shake his head. 'No' he would say. 'The answer is that there is no solution to this conundrum. It is an impossible problem, like putting a definitive value on pi. It is a philosophical trick question that cannot be answered, but buzzing a lot does seem to have some kind of positive effect.'

I felt my mood turn irritable when the buzzing and bumping continued. I had to praise the fly's persistence but I couldn't stand the idea of having to listen to another minute of annoying sound.

My body lurched up off the bed. I quickly made my way towards the window to open it and allow the fly out. Perhaps it would run to all its other fly friends and claim that the head-butting theory definitely worked, since it had managed to escape.

I eased the window open and my irritable mood left along with the fly. The breeze fluttered against my skin as I turned my face to look at the houses that surrounded ours. Their shadows stretched across the gardens as the sun rose. I loved the peace and quiet of the morning. It was the only time in the day when all that could be heard was the happy birdsong and the very faint rush of the ocean as each wave crashed onto the shore. Soon the lunchtime rush would hit and all the tranquillity would be drowned out my cars and babbling.