I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world

It started off with an innocent rumble of thunder. Innocent, that is, except for the lack of clouds in the sky or storms in the forecast. And was it just the imagination or was the sky tinged an oh so slight shade of green? Not that faded pea soup green that storms can sometimes get, either, but almost neon streaks circling overhead in lazy patterns. Patterns that changed with a wind that wasn’t there.

Another crack of thunder, this one deep enough to be felt in the bones. No one else reacted. No one else commented on the impossible weather, or even seemed to hear the loud crash of thunder, despite how close it seemed to be. People milled, people walked, drove, biked, ran. All like nothing was amis.

CRACKBOOM

This time it was almost deafening. It vibrated up the body, triggering that part of the lizard brain that stands up all the little hairs on the body. Goosebumps, a jolt of adrenaline, the works. Fight or flight at its most primal, most basic and uncalculated. The body poised on a precipice of blind action…

It happened in the span of a blink. One last wetting of the eyes and then that tightly coiled action would snap open...except that when the blink was over, everything was changed. Overhead, the sky was black. No stars, nothing save for a moon so full it seemed to sag low enough to touch the vibrant ribbons of varied greens, each shade more toxic than the last. Like an aurora, but far too turbulent and something about the movement set the skin to crawling.

It wasn’t just the sky, either. No matter what the surroundings were before, it was just as different as the alien sky above. A clearing in a forest, a shock of freezing wind whipping through snow laden branches. It was almost dark, but the cloudless storm reflected back off the moon’s surface, casting the deep snow of the clearing into sharp relief for the small crowd that was gathered. Small, but confused.

CRACKBOOM

Kraa

What kind of bird flies in a storm? Overhead, low enough to almost touch, a crow fought the winds, heading off into the trees. And once the eye was drawn there, it was easy enough to see the path. The path that had a single light shining, far off in the distance.