It was in the afternoon when the poet looked out of the window, sitting against a pillow, he saw a perfectly rounded moon of a still shadow in the summer’s late noon, the moon was white, embryonic, waiting to replete which was the first phase of the moon, however, the poet also saw a beautiful girl running along a slip lane in a floral frock—a cluster of rose, dahlia, chrysanthemums, and forget-me-nots though in the second phase of the moon, when it moved up as the light of the day was fainter, the poet sensed her skin against his own and her searing lips to the lead up to the third phase of the moon, it was on a stiff incline, the poet inked his pen from the ink-pot, at this stage, in the third phase of the moon, the daylight had dimmed, the moon was waxing into a yellowish sheen, his love for this girl full to its brim which, in the fifth phase of the moon was plated in gold and the poet felt bold, a mad rush to woo, his murmured words found expression, cooed like the ringdoves of the blues, in the meantime, darkness had enveloped, the poet’s fondness grew to the effect that the moon rose to its maximum height, only, in the final stage of the moon, the ink was smeared all over the poet’s fingers, he put his pen down, into the empty ink-stand with blackened nails, no matter, the poem was done—with a smile of satisfaction, he read the words aloud like a song, he knew that his love was not denounced, the moonlight mirage had alluded to some delightful phases of romance.

2 thoughts on “May Flower Contest Fiction Winner: “The Phases of the Moon: One Sentence Story” by Mehreen Ahmed

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