The Return Of The Muse

“They’ve just nuked the moon!” shouted the professor through his respirator.

            It was an odd scene indeed, something out of a classic science fiction novel. Professor Z and I were standing on top of the lifeless concrete steps beside the classic architecture of the chemistry building wearing white chemical suits that almost seemed to glitter in the starlight. Up above us at the end of our stares the moon gave off a radioactive glow surrounded by a circle of smoke that looked a little like the rings of Saturn. We were both carrying cases of glassware and chemicals in our gloves that made the spectacle seem that much more surreal.

            “It’s beautiful!—in an ugly way,” said Professor Z. It could have been our imagination, but somehow the surface of the moon looked different now. It appeared darker in places reminding me of the speckled look that certain species of bird’s eggs have. Some spots looked completely white, but others appeared to be burnt like a marshmallow.

            The professor and I returned to the fall out shelter as quickly as we could. News of our escape preceded our arrival. The radio and TV had just blacked out and no one knew what had happened. There was a general consensus that there had been another attack somewhere, and some people were worried that the two of us would never come back.

            So when we walked through the door alive everyone started cheering. They waited impatiently for us to take off our suits and reveal our skin. I think some of them expected to see us covered with radioactive sores or something. There was a general sigh of relief when it was discovered that we were OK. Everyone started clamoring for answers. We quieted them down the best we could and told them what we saw.

            “I can’t believe it!” professor Barnes, the college president said. “They nuked the moon! Why would Al Qaeda nuke the moon?”

            “I don’t think it was Al Qaeda!” I said. “There’s something else going on here besides Islamic terrorism, and we all know it. It wasn’t terrorists who bombed those cities, and it definitely wasn’t terrorists who planted nukes on the moon. Whoever it was is a lot more powerful and a lot more scarier.”

            “That is enough!” shouted the college president. “Will you listen to yourself talk? You’re spreading fear here. Who do you think it is? Aliens? Do you think it’s aliens?”

            “Maybe it is!” I said. “But it doesn’t matter whoever it is. There’s nothing we can do against that kind of firepower. That attack was just a show of strength. Next time we won’t be so lucky.”

            “I said that’s enough Phillip Anderson!” The president’s face became grim and he stared me straight in the eyes. Suddenly I regretted what I had said. His features bore a tough exterior, but down near his eyelids I could see tear-drops welling up inside. That’s when I knew that he didn’t think it was Al Qaeda either.

            There would be no sleeping for the rest of the night. Throughout the tunnels no one spoke or rested. Most of them were quiet and sullen, some were crying. I tried to locate Jenny, but I couldn’t find her in the crowd. I retreated to a corner of the furnace room and tried to hide from everybody. I was ashamed of myself: not only because of what I said, but because of what I saw.

            Eventually morning came. I didn’t really know how that was possible. I just assumed that the sun would never rise again after a night that horrible.

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