Sing of the Moon - 1.

He’d gone to bed at 10:30 PM Eastern Standard Time, the sun well on its way to the other side of the Earth. He’d hoped it would give him an extra hour of sleep, maybe two, before his mind simply couldn’t take it anymore.

But at exactly 1:01 AM, even against his best efforts, his eyes popped open. Right on time.

He got up with a sigh and went to his piano, where the Moon shone brightly onto the keys through the window. “Hey, old friend,” he whispered. A, B, C, D, E, then back again. “Top of the morning.”

I’m glad you’re doing well.

“Well?” He almost laughed. “Sure. Well.”

It was his (their?) standard routine—each morning at 1:01 AM, when Harlan Fletcher’s brain decided sleep was just too much trouble, he’d come back to his keyboard, play the same songs he’d been playing for three years now, and have a conversation with the Moon. A, C#, E. “How is it up there?”

Well, he called it a conversation. D, F, A.

Don’t you wish I could tell you?

If he were honest with you, he’d tell you he was just…tired. Tired of being alone and unsteady and ridden with fear, and the Moon gave him a bit of constance, normalcy, companionship. C, E, G.

If he were honest with himself…well, we wouldn’t have much of a story then, would we?

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Each morning at 1:01 AM, a man speaks to the moon, and each morning, the moon speaks back. Sing of the Moon is a stage play first written in prose, a method designed to flesh out each character and each scene before its translation to the stage.