One night a year, the Black Moon comes out and the dead dance.
I, being 15 years old am not aloud to join them. Mother and father say that the dead will take me with them and won’t let me come back. This year though, I go anyways. The streets are dark and the Black Moon is out in the sky. All the lights are out. I am guided only by the stars up above. I hear laughter and a voice yelling at someone to be quiet. I keep walking, but pick up my pace. I am wearing all black, my blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. I pull my hood up, afraid that someone or something will see me. I start to hear footsteps so I run to the nearest alleyway. Someone stops in front of the entrance. The person is tall and pale, his eyes are a bright green. He starts to walk towards me. I back up until I hit the wall. What he says next surprises me.
“Shhh.” he tells me, holding a finger to his lips. “The dead are coming. Be quiet and follow me.”
I hesitated. Why was he talking to me? He doesn't even know me. He puts his hand out and I take it.
We launch up. That’s when I realize that he is dead. We land on top of a building.
“What are you?” I ask.
“More like who am I darling. The name's Jack. I was killed in a car accident.”
I respond, “Lyla, and I’m not coming with you anywhere.”
With this, he laughs. “Lyla, I am not going to take you anywhere.”
“Then why do you only come out on the Black Moon?” I asked him.
“Because we need to dance.”
Everyday I am forced to watch as the people of this city walk by me. The tourists stop to take my picture. Occasionally an artist will tag the wall next to me. I can do nothing about this. I was born a year ago when my creator was inspired by a Japanese character. I remember when she drew my eyes. I remember the song she was whistling while spraying on my nose. When she was done she took one last look at me and left. I dream of hearing something other than passing cars and barking dogs. I dream of wind, trees, and birds singing. I dream of sweet smelling flowers. I dream of being free.
