In another world, whilst diving for pearls, we might have learnt a lesson or two from the manta rays, somersaulting in the depths.
On another world, when all the primes were revealed, and dark energy was sold at the pumps, we might have agreed to differ and gone out dancing.
In another time, making the minutes count, we might have held our noses and congregated on the common ground between the chasms of dislike.
You would be queen, and I would dance all the time.
The Sphinx says that all the parallel lines that she has visited are the same. You still have to make choices, but the trees are a different colour.
If one found oneself in a clearing in the woods, for instance, perhaps with an well, part covered in ivy or a small broken dwelling, a saddled horse tied lightly, browsing the weed bank. But the trees and food are all silver, you would know that you’ve crossed over.
It wasn’t what we expected, there were not shelves full of handy answers and solutions falling over themselves. More of a building site really, without the portacabins, skips, ladders and stacks of materials. We saw space suit paraphernalia littering the down sides of the moon dunes, where the solar wind had dropped them in contempt as we came in to land.
Following the blue strip lights, we slid down the exit ramps, leaving behind our personalities and keeping our arms crossed. At the base camp, the stewardess helped us to our feet and gently pointed to a group of would be moon kings and queens who had found a resting place by the gantry.
I wish you weren’t here, they said to each other, I thought I was the only one.
On the moon ball, dust and the occasional fridge magnet lay undisturbed since the last invasion.
The Moononauts put up spikes and barriers, so that other would be moonsters would find nowhere to land and began to burrow down into the regolith. Icy blocks and fumaroles, also known as underground tube stations, abounded, which had been imagined earlier by space romantics. Here, under bright work lamps, they began assembling the geodesic domes which would finally allow them to take off their suits and scratch the tips of their noses and change their socks, they had brought spares.
The next project was to design and build a great monument, preferably visible from earth, which would prove beyond a shadow, their full moon ownership and exclusivity. Unfortunately, all the other landers were doing the same and soon the moon surface resembled a tacky sculpture park. Cultural markers of all descriptions were erected beneath, as the blue marble planet earth watched in disbelief.
It wasn’t what we thought, the people just gave up and lay down. The lax took away their drive and moon buggies, leaving them depressed and listless.
Each new moon grouping constructed a range of duplicated moon structures with false identities.
Soon, the moon, no longer a balloon or a pizza, resembling a closed down theme park, fell out of the sky in shame and sank into a lake, following its reflection.
The Guardians of the Cave 