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The sky was calm like the midnight that stood guard over people's silent wishes. Unlike the morning, the night could keep a secret forever. And although the morning was often too noisy, the faint voices of the night were more traumatizing to those who could hear them. Another difference was that people liked the morning because they weren't afraid of it; while the few who liked the night did because of the horrors it hid.
A meteor, silvery and bright, glinted in the sky as it crossed it like a scar that eventually faded. The sky winced, but her countenance broke into a smile the moment she caught the pair of eyes watching her with concern.
"Does it hurt?" The little girl asked with curiosity that matched the worry in her voice.
"It hurt," the sky didn't lie. "But it no longer does. It was beautiful, though. Am I right?"
The girl bit her lips, thinking, and the sky waited for her response patiently.
"No," she answered after a whole minute. "Pain is not beautiful. It's - it's painful."
The sky chuckled and the little girl gave her a reproachful look. She was proud of her answer, and the last thing she wanted was her best friend laughing at her.
"I wasn't talking about pain," said the sky. "I was talking about the meteor. Meteors are beautiful, I am told."
"Yes, sort of," the girl said, lying down on the ground and letting the sky caress her hair. She gazed into the sky's face for a moment, then added, "although I think stars look better."
"Of course," the sky replied. She bent down and gave the girl's forehead a kiss, causing her to fall abruptly into peaceful sleep that wouldn't be disturbed until the rising of the sun.
The sky, then, heaved a sigh so deep that the tree leaves swayed, and the clouds moved faster along the heavens. How tranquil was the whole world at such an hour, but also how lonely and how boring. Another meteor passed and it felt to the sky like a sting of a bee, albeit more brief. She winced again. She was growing annoyed, but what increased her irritation was a familiar giggle she heard.
"What are you laughing at?" she rolled her eyes.
"At you," snickered the moon, who had just appeared from behind a billow of clouds. "At everything you have just said."
"It's rude to eavesdrop, you know?" hissed the sky.
"I wasn't eavesdropping!" retorted the moon. A cloud swept over his fulgent disk and muffled his voice for a moment. Then when it had drifted away, he said, "I don't think it's surprising to you that I'm here most of the time. But look at you, you pick a night when I'm full and whole to have this chat with your little princess, then blame me for hearing it. That's ridiculous."
"Oh, shut up," the sky told him, not allowing her anger to rise.
"I never knew you were that good at lying, though," the moon said in a teasing tone.
"I did not lie," answered the sky, looking down at some stray animal and observing it with pretentious interest.
"Why yes, you did," shrugged the moon. "When you told her that -"
But his words were cut off by a short groan the sky made. Two meteors at once? That didn't feel good at all.
"What I was saying is," continued the moon after a second of silence during which the sky seemed to recover her attention. "why didn't you tell her the truth?"
"She is too young to know," said the sky quietly. "Far too young and too innocent."
"But she will know one day," argued the moon. "And she might not believe anything you say afterwards because of your first lie."
"By the time she knows, she will have forgotten all about this night, and all about my so called first lie," said the sky. "You know they don't tend to have our memory."
"Oh, really?" scoffed the moon. "Ask me, I accidentally hear their conversations every night-"
"Meaning that you eavesdrop on them," the sky muttered to herself.
"- and I can tell that their memory has improved."
The sky said nothing, so the moon went on, "Listen. If you don't tell her the truth, be sure that I will."
"Don't you dare!" cried the sky, her color suddenly turning an unpleasant shade as heavy clouds gathered on top of the moon. He gagged and tried to shake them off, but it was the sky who made them move away.
"You are losing your temper again," he said with a cough. "I'd be careful if I were you."
"Shut up and I won't lose it," said the sky.
"Very well," replied the moon. "But mark my words, she will know in the future, so you'd better tell her now. If not for her own sake, then for yours. Goodbye."
The moon said no more, and although he was still present, it didn't seem that he wished to speak again, nor to listen for that matter. The sky was now left alone with her thoughts.
Despite how irksome the moon could seriously be sometimes, she had to admit that his advice, no matter how absurd it sounded at first, usually had a good point behind it. She considered what he had said for a moment, then contemplated it for what felt like hours. She thought she would have reached a decision after thinking so deeply about the matter, but she didn't. The sky didn't know how to tell her friend about the pain that never ceased, nor about the day she became so angry that she had to face her everlasting punishment.
It was a very long time ago, long enough for the sky to forget what had made her that furious in the first place. She only remembered that on that nameless day, every single part of her was seething with wrath. She was fuming. She wanted nothing more but to tear the world apart for merely its existence. And even as she poured rain, she hoped that some of her spite would pass on to the drops of water and burn everything they touched. She bellowed, and with every shriek that pierced the very ears of the universe, her color became a horrific red, showing only a little of the flames she wanted to cast. And surely, the universe was enraged, and their anger was not less terrible than hers, though with a more plausible justification. They told the sky that if she wanted fire, they would grant her an inferno; and if the inferno didn't satisfy her, they would make it hell. Therefore the universe gave her the stars, and thus an eternity of grief was dictated upon her.
As the sun emerged into sight, and a new day was gently awakening the world, the sky remembered how much she hated the stars, and how she never, ever found them beautiful.
