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Evo didn’t care; he was a rebel; he’d say it to himself all the time. “Evo is a rebel,” he’d say, “Evo doesn’t care!” And it was true. Countless times he had proved it. Who was I to doubt him.
The time: around midnight.
The season: Fall.
The place: the outskirts of Florido village.
The landscape before Evo mirrored his form: dark. I saw him leap over a fence and career into rolling fields. I saw him - a magical shadow - running with dazzling speed towards the crest of the tallest hillock. I saw him flatten long grass with the wave of an arm. I saw him call an owl to his side and have circle above his head a twain of bats. I saw him make the ready-to-fall leaves of a nearby tree dance in anticlockwise spirals. Yes, Evo was in a playful, extra-rebellious mood that night.
Fatefully, he stopped - deadly still and silent - his silhouette stark against the amber nightlights of Florido village. (What is he thinking? What is he planning?) I just knew he had an agenda; he only ventured into the hills when he was about to do something that would upset the authorities.
The moon (as full as a glutton’s belly) had been there all the while, hanging like a bauble in the lusciously black sky - a pearl in the night: the queen amid starry spangles; and it was Evo’s target. (What ambition.) I saw him stretch out his right arm and wriggle his long fingers towards it … (Surely not!) - Oh but yes! I watched those magically dark fabulistic fingers take the moon from the heavens as if it were a white button plucked from a cardigan and slip it into one of his trouser pockets. (A rebellious act indeed, Evo.) I was impressed. Who wouldn’t be! But the authorities would certainly not be amused. I immediately switched on the TV - for I knew that Evo’s unprecedented act would not go unnoticed for long.
During an advert in which a youthful pensioner extolled the benefits of a miracle moisturizer - NEWSFLASH! - : “The moon has been stolen. Witnesses claim to have seen a giant, shadowy hand shroud the moon and palm it away as if it were a silver penny in a magician’s trick.” The moon-stealing culprit was described as a “treacherous pickpocket”, and the authorities were already “homing in on the perpetrator - confident of making a swift arrest.”
I flashed back to Evo, who was still standing atop the dark hill, facing the nightlights of Florido, seemingly churning loose change in his trouser pockets. He wanted to be caught - no doubt about it. This was the greatest rebellious act he had ever done. I tuned in to his thoughts: Twill make me famous yond the confines of Florido. I will be legend.
It wasn’t long before spotlights from helicopters beamed down on the nonchalant Evo; the authorities had tracked him. Turning the loose change in his pockets, Evo waited to be arrested. Voices boomed through loudhailers commanding Evo to put his hands in the air. Evo complied. There was no need to rebel further.
I saw them - with my spying eye and live on TV: dark figures marching Evo into one of the landed choppers accompanied by the triumphant headline: THE GUILTY ONE DETAINED. I watched childhood photographs of Evo plastered all over the news broadcasts. Experts in the studio were saying, “He always was a troubled child,” and “He was a ticking timebomb,” and - oh it doesn’t matter now! The long-and-short-of-it is I never saw strange, enchanting Evo ever again. He was tried and found guilty in a matter of days, slung into a faraway prison, and - well, even his parents were deported.
But what about the moon? you ask. How did he do it? No one can steal the moon!
The answer to the second question is simply: oh but it can be! And Evo did it - from a hill near the village of Florido on a clear Autumn night. I saw it with my own eyes.
The first question: what happened to the moon? is a little trickier to answer. But let me say this: if we were to go outside right now, and if we were to gaze at the starry heavens, we would certainly and indisputably see the moon … but something would be different: it would be full - always full, and bigger than ever it was before; and upon its surface we would see a shape, an outline, the profile of a human head; and if we looked carefully we would see that the profile was that of Evo’s. Yes. “Give us back our moon!” the authorities demanded (threatening torture). So he did, and flicked to their catching gloves one of the special coins from his pocket. “Throw it at the sky,“ Evo told them, “and you’ll have your precious moon back.”
And so a few nights later the moon returned to the skies. Astronomers were flabbergasted. Every TV channel gave airtime to the story of the disappearing, re-appearing moon. Politicians were asked to comment. The people of Florido named the hill overlooking their village, Evo Hill. The President promised a lunar mission to explore the strange phenomenon. Public opinion overwhelmingly wanted Evo’s immediate release from the faraway, unknown prison.
But alas it wasn’t to be. Evo was never seen or heard from again. His rebellious act on the lonely hill overlooking Florido village had proved to be his last. - But it made you an earthly legend, Evo. As long as there is night your name will live in the human mind … and deep down, that’s the only thing you always wanted.
The time: around midnight.
The season: Fall.
The place: the outskirts of Florido village.
The landscape before Evo mirrored his form: dark. I saw him leap over a fence and career into rolling fields. I saw him - a magical shadow - running with dazzling speed towards the crest of the tallest hillock. I saw him flatten long grass with the wave of an arm. I saw him call an owl to his side and have circle above his head a twain of bats. I saw him make the ready-to-fall leaves of a nearby tree dance in anticlockwise spirals. Yes, Evo was in a playful, extra-rebellious mood that night.
Fatefully, he stopped - deadly still and silent - his silhouette stark against the amber nightlights of Florido village. (What is he thinking? What is he planning?) I just knew he had an agenda; he only ventured into the hills when he was about to do something that would upset the authorities.
The moon (as full as a glutton’s belly) had been there all the while, hanging like a bauble in the lusciously black sky - a pearl in the night: the queen amid starry spangles; and it was Evo’s target. (What ambition.) I saw him stretch out his right arm and wriggle his long fingers towards it … (Surely not!) - Oh but yes! I watched those magically dark fabulistic fingers take the moon from the heavens as if it were a white button plucked from a cardigan and slip it into one of his trouser pockets. (A rebellious act indeed, Evo.) I was impressed. Who wouldn’t be! But the authorities would certainly not be amused. I immediately switched on the TV - for I knew that Evo’s unprecedented act would not go unnoticed for long.
During an advert in which a youthful pensioner extolled the benefits of a miracle moisturizer - NEWSFLASH! - : “The moon has been stolen. Witnesses claim to have seen a giant, shadowy hand shroud the moon and palm it away as if it were a silver penny in a magician’s trick.” The moon-stealing culprit was described as a “treacherous pickpocket”, and the authorities were already “homing in on the perpetrator - confident of making a swift arrest.”
I flashed back to Evo, who was still standing atop the dark hill, facing the nightlights of Florido, seemingly churning loose change in his trouser pockets. He wanted to be caught - no doubt about it. This was the greatest rebellious act he had ever done. I tuned in to his thoughts: Twill make me famous yond the confines of Florido. I will be legend.
It wasn’t long before spotlights from helicopters beamed down on the nonchalant Evo; the authorities had tracked him. Turning the loose change in his pockets, Evo waited to be arrested. Voices boomed through loudhailers commanding Evo to put his hands in the air. Evo complied. There was no need to rebel further.
I saw them - with my spying eye and live on TV: dark figures marching Evo into one of the landed choppers accompanied by the triumphant headline: THE GUILTY ONE DETAINED. I watched childhood photographs of Evo plastered all over the news broadcasts. Experts in the studio were saying, “He always was a troubled child,” and “He was a ticking timebomb,” and - oh it doesn’t matter now! The long-and-short-of-it is I never saw strange, enchanting Evo ever again. He was tried and found guilty in a matter of days, slung into a faraway prison, and - well, even his parents were deported.
But what about the moon? you ask. How did he do it? No one can steal the moon!
The answer to the second question is simply: oh but it can be! And Evo did it - from a hill near the village of Florido on a clear Autumn night. I saw it with my own eyes.
The first question: what happened to the moon? is a little trickier to answer. But let me say this: if we were to go outside right now, and if we were to gaze at the starry heavens, we would certainly and indisputably see the moon … but something would be different: it would be full - always full, and bigger than ever it was before; and upon its surface we would see a shape, an outline, the profile of a human head; and if we looked carefully we would see that the profile was that of Evo’s. Yes. “Give us back our moon!” the authorities demanded (threatening torture). So he did, and flicked to their catching gloves one of the special coins from his pocket. “Throw it at the sky,“ Evo told them, “and you’ll have your precious moon back.”
And so a few nights later the moon returned to the skies. Astronomers were flabbergasted. Every TV channel gave airtime to the story of the disappearing, re-appearing moon. Politicians were asked to comment. The people of Florido named the hill overlooking their village, Evo Hill. The President promised a lunar mission to explore the strange phenomenon. Public opinion overwhelmingly wanted Evo’s immediate release from the faraway, unknown prison.
But alas it wasn’t to be. Evo was never seen or heard from again. His rebellious act on the lonely hill overlooking Florido village had proved to be his last. - But it made you an earthly legend, Evo. As long as there is night your name will live in the human mind … and deep down, that’s the only thing you always wanted.
Ineedsleep wrote:
> A change of name and a return to the lighter side of your story
> telling?
I think I've drained the bottle of darkness (but you never know) :)
And the SSC seems to be growing again.
Thanks for the comments.
> A change of name and a return to the lighter side of your story
> telling?
I think I've drained the bottle of darkness (but you never know) :)
And the SSC seems to be growing again.
Thanks for the comments.
A familiarly enchanting cadence does run through the tale. Divine...
A change of name and a return to the lighter side of your story telling?
Most welcome :)
A change of name and a return to the lighter side of your story telling?
Most welcome :)
Strange, enchanting story. Almost abstract in a way.
Brilliant. Very imaginitive.
An utterly bizarre story, albeit highly entertaining.
You've beat me by about a mile!
Evo didn’t care; he was a rebel; he’d say it to himself all the time. “Evo is a rebel,” he’d say, “Evo doesn’t care!” And it was true. Countless times he had proved it. Who was I to doubt him.
The time: around midnight.
The season: Fall.
The place: the outskirts of Florido village.
The landscape before Evo mirrored his form: dark. I saw him leap over a fence and career into rolling fields. I saw him - a magical shadow - running with dazzling speed towards the crest of the tallest hillock. I saw him flatten long grass with the wave of an arm. I saw him call an owl to his side and have circle above his head a twain of bats. I saw him make the ready-to-fall leaves of a nearby tree dance in anticlockwise spirals. Yes, Evo was in a playful, extra-rebellious mood that night.
Fatefully, he stopped - deadly still and silent - his silhouette stark against the amber nightlights of Florido village. (What is he thinking? What is he planning?) I just knew he had an agenda; he only ventured into the hills when he was about to do something that would upset the authorities.
The moon (as full as a glutton’s belly) had been there all the while, hanging like a bauble in the lusciously black sky - a pearl in the night: the queen amid starry spangles; and it was Evo’s target. (What ambition.) I saw him stretch out his right arm and wriggle his long fingers towards it … (Surely not!) - Oh but yes! I watched those magically dark fabulistic fingers take the moon from the heavens as if it were a white button plucked from a cardigan and slip it into one of his trouser pockets. (A rebellious act indeed, Evo.) I was impressed. Who wouldn’t be! But the authorities would certainly not be amused. I immediately switched on the TV - for I knew that Evo’s unprecedented act would not go unnoticed for long.
During an advert in which a youthful pensioner extolled the benefits of a miracle moisturizer - NEWSFLASH! - : “The moon has been stolen. Witnesses claim to have seen a giant, shadowy hand shroud the moon and palm it away as if it were a silver penny in a magician’s trick.” The moon-stealing culprit was described as a “treacherous pickpocket”, and the authorities were already “homing in on the perpetrator - confident of making a swift arrest.”
I flashed back to Evo, who was still standing atop the dark hill, facing the nightlights of Florido, seemingly churning loose change in his trouser pockets. He wanted to be caught - no doubt about it. This was the greatest rebellious act he had ever done. I tuned in to his thoughts: Twill make me famous yond the confines of Florido. I will be legend.
It wasn’t long before spotlights from helicopters beamed down on the nonchalant Evo; the authorities had tracked him. Turning the loose change in his pockets, Evo waited to be arrested. Voices boomed through loudhailers commanding Evo to put his hands in the air. Evo complied. There was no need to rebel further.
I saw them - with my spying eye and live on TV: dark figures marching Evo into one of the landed choppers accompanied by the triumphant headline: THE GUILTY ONE DETAINED. I watched childhood photographs of Evo plastered all over the news broadcasts. Experts in the studio were saying, “He always was a troubled child,” and “He was a ticking timebomb,” and - oh it doesn’t matter now! The long-and-short-of-it is I never saw strange, enchanting Evo ever again. He was tried and found guilty in a matter of days, slung into a faraway prison, and - well, even his parents were deported.
But what about the moon? you ask. How did he do it? No one can steal the moon!
The answer to the second question is simply: oh but it can be! And Evo did it - from a hill near the village of Florido on a clear Autumn night. I saw it with my own eyes.
The first question: what happened to the moon? is a little trickier to answer. But let me say this: if we were to go outside right now, and if we were to gaze at the starry heavens, we would certainly and indisputably see the moon … but something would be different: it would be full - always full, and bigger than ever it was before; and upon its surface we would see a shape, an outline, the profile of a human head; and if we looked carefully we would see that the profile was that of Evo’s. Yes. “Give us back our moon!” the authorities demanded (threatening torture). So he did, and flicked to their catching gloves one of the special coins from his pocket. “Throw it at the sky,“ Evo told them, “and you’ll have your precious moon back.”
And so a few nights later the moon returned to the skies. Astronomers were flabbergasted. Every TV channel gave airtime to the story of the disappearing, re-appearing moon. Politicians were asked to comment. The people of Florido named the hill overlooking their village, Evo Hill. The President promised a lunar mission to explore the strange phenomenon. Public opinion overwhelmingly wanted Evo’s immediate release from the faraway, unknown prison.
But alas it wasn’t to be. Evo was never seen or heard from again. His rebellious act on the lonely hill overlooking Florido village had proved to be his last. - But it made you an earthly legend, Evo. As long as there is night your name will live in the human mind … and deep down, that’s the only thing you always wanted.
The time: around midnight.
The season: Fall.
The place: the outskirts of Florido village.
The landscape before Evo mirrored his form: dark. I saw him leap over a fence and career into rolling fields. I saw him - a magical shadow - running with dazzling speed towards the crest of the tallest hillock. I saw him flatten long grass with the wave of an arm. I saw him call an owl to his side and have circle above his head a twain of bats. I saw him make the ready-to-fall leaves of a nearby tree dance in anticlockwise spirals. Yes, Evo was in a playful, extra-rebellious mood that night.
Fatefully, he stopped - deadly still and silent - his silhouette stark against the amber nightlights of Florido village. (What is he thinking? What is he planning?) I just knew he had an agenda; he only ventured into the hills when he was about to do something that would upset the authorities.
The moon (as full as a glutton’s belly) had been there all the while, hanging like a bauble in the lusciously black sky - a pearl in the night: the queen amid starry spangles; and it was Evo’s target. (What ambition.) I saw him stretch out his right arm and wriggle his long fingers towards it … (Surely not!) - Oh but yes! I watched those magically dark fabulistic fingers take the moon from the heavens as if it were a white button plucked from a cardigan and slip it into one of his trouser pockets. (A rebellious act indeed, Evo.) I was impressed. Who wouldn’t be! But the authorities would certainly not be amused. I immediately switched on the TV - for I knew that Evo’s unprecedented act would not go unnoticed for long.
During an advert in which a youthful pensioner extolled the benefits of a miracle moisturizer - NEWSFLASH! - : “The moon has been stolen. Witnesses claim to have seen a giant, shadowy hand shroud the moon and palm it away as if it were a silver penny in a magician’s trick.” The moon-stealing culprit was described as a “treacherous pickpocket”, and the authorities were already “homing in on the perpetrator - confident of making a swift arrest.”
I flashed back to Evo, who was still standing atop the dark hill, facing the nightlights of Florido, seemingly churning loose change in his trouser pockets. He wanted to be caught - no doubt about it. This was the greatest rebellious act he had ever done. I tuned in to his thoughts: Twill make me famous yond the confines of Florido. I will be legend.
It wasn’t long before spotlights from helicopters beamed down on the nonchalant Evo; the authorities had tracked him. Turning the loose change in his pockets, Evo waited to be arrested. Voices boomed through loudhailers commanding Evo to put his hands in the air. Evo complied. There was no need to rebel further.
I saw them - with my spying eye and live on TV: dark figures marching Evo into one of the landed choppers accompanied by the triumphant headline: THE GUILTY ONE DETAINED. I watched childhood photographs of Evo plastered all over the news broadcasts. Experts in the studio were saying, “He always was a troubled child,” and “He was a ticking timebomb,” and - oh it doesn’t matter now! The long-and-short-of-it is I never saw strange, enchanting Evo ever again. He was tried and found guilty in a matter of days, slung into a faraway prison, and - well, even his parents were deported.
But what about the moon? you ask. How did he do it? No one can steal the moon!
The answer to the second question is simply: oh but it can be! And Evo did it - from a hill near the village of Florido on a clear Autumn night. I saw it with my own eyes.
The first question: what happened to the moon? is a little trickier to answer. But let me say this: if we were to go outside right now, and if we were to gaze at the starry heavens, we would certainly and indisputably see the moon … but something would be different: it would be full - always full, and bigger than ever it was before; and upon its surface we would see a shape, an outline, the profile of a human head; and if we looked carefully we would see that the profile was that of Evo’s. Yes. “Give us back our moon!” the authorities demanded (threatening torture). So he did, and flicked to their catching gloves one of the special coins from his pocket. “Throw it at the sky,“ Evo told them, “and you’ll have your precious moon back.”
And so a few nights later the moon returned to the skies. Astronomers were flabbergasted. Every TV channel gave airtime to the story of the disappearing, re-appearing moon. Politicians were asked to comment. The people of Florido named the hill overlooking their village, Evo Hill. The President promised a lunar mission to explore the strange phenomenon. Public opinion overwhelmingly wanted Evo’s immediate release from the faraway, unknown prison.
But alas it wasn’t to be. Evo was never seen or heard from again. His rebellious act on the lonely hill overlooking Florido village had proved to be his last. - But it made you an earthly legend, Evo. As long as there is night your name will live in the human mind … and deep down, that’s the only thing you always wanted.