Um... the coon and the moon?

[Art by cedar]I chose to carry on the story of cedars Coons. (The coon, along witht the moon, can speak English.) Just a short little story. :)
~~~

The racoon sat in the bush, curled in a small ball. He used his own tail as a pillow. He lay silently, watching the stars move across the sky. He occasionaly tried to bat one with his paw, but they were just a little out of his reach. He continued to try, though, in hopes of catching one and making a friend.
He turned to face the moon, watching the pale yellow 'C' moving around. He felt like he could hear it's whispers carrying along in the wind. He listened, hoping to hear a voice, but nothing came.
"Hello?" the little coon whispered, peeking further out of the bush and staring at the moon that hung in the night sky.
"Hello," it whispered back, it's voice carrying through the wind. The coon twitched. He had not expected a response.
The spoke in whispers throughout the night. The coon watched the moon, and the moon stared back.
Each night, the coon whispered to the moon and it whispered back. The coon sat in the same bush, watching as the moon shrank down until it was but a sliver of yellow in the sky.
"I must go," it whispered, the wind it used to travel on now barely a breeze. "I will be gone for one night."

~~~
I'm ending it there. The challenge said to watch the story grow. If you want to add on, please do! 
Thanks, cedar, for the original drawings. <3

 

EverlastingWaves

VT

15 years old

More by EverlastingWaves

  • Thoughts after the fair

    I’ve never enjoyed the feeling of being sick to your stomach on a fair ride. Maybe I just don’t have the iron-willed intestines that all of my friends seem to have, because I get sick from going on the teacups at a normal speed.

  • october, my love

    october,
    my love,
    it is good to see you once again.

    although it appears i have missed
    your grand entrance,
    while i left the room.

    i walked along the street to visit you,
    and looked up,
  • scratches

    skin pulled taut and tight
    burning like the light
    that seeps through cracks
    underneath the door

    from stray branches and walking
    throughout the woods, balking
    at the idea
    of no path

    water rests on skin