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FictionLiterary Fiction
Home›Fiction›Fly Me to the Moon

Fly Me to the Moon

By Andrew Wilson
August 4, 2025
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An orange and red nebula
Gerd Altmann / Pixabay
5
(5)

Content warning: Drug use. Intended for adult readers.

ā€œLet me play among the stars.ā€

Frank Sinatra’s relaxing voice caressed her ears as if a comforting hand brushed her hair back into place. She gazed up to the stars as she teetered back in her chair.

The sky was a vibrant amber and scarlet mixture. Yet the stars shone through, brilliant gemstones that shimmered in the luminescent air. Their beauty in her pale, glassy eyes was magnified by how they danced amongst the shades of night.

She took off into the sky, a journey into the unknown. She twirled and leaped and bounded for miles and lightyears on end. An attempt to witness the colors of the universe unfiltered.

The world spun as the chair tipped over backwards. Her golden locks flew up around her. Her hands loosened their grip upon the escape that she craved. It dropped to the floor over the course of one agonizing second.

ā€œLet me see what spring is like on a-Jupiter and Mars.ā€

Music surrounded her. It moved and pulled her across the cosmos, far away from the tumultuous life that she led. Miles apart from angry outbursts, messy arguments, her dead-end job, and broken dreams. No more hurting.

ā€œIn other words, hold my hand.ā€

As she soared across the galaxy, she looked on the moments of her life. Being on stage for the first time. That rush she got while she strummed her guitar and heard the crowd cheer. It was then that she’d found what she wanted to do forever. Their first kiss. He held her close and made her believe that everything would be okay.

ā€œIn other words, baby, kiss me.ā€

The stars pulled her in; their dazzling fancy entranced her as she waltzed to the song that filled her head. She waltzed as the brass swelled and crashed to the staccato beat of the drums. She twirled and whirled and spun away without a care in the world.

Blood started flowing as she leaned further back. A trickle from her nose slid down her philtrum until it reached her lips. It painted them a shade of red unlike any she’d worn before. A frozen smile wreathed in burgundy. It didn’t pull her from the dream.

ā€œFill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore.ā€

The faces of all those she had known danced with her. Parents, happy that their daughter had followed her dreams and succeeded. Friends, proud and inspired by her bravery. The man that she would fall in love with, a perfect facade of adoration as he stared at her. They moved with her. Their gaze never strayed.

The needle she had let fall from her hand hit the ground before she did. Her happiness clattered to the floor. A small metal and plastic syringe sounded like a gunshot against the wood.

ā€œYou are all I long for, all I worship and adore.ā€

The colors went sour, and the faces’ expressions changed with them. Her parents’ pride turned to grimaces as they saw their daughter with frazzled hair and smeared makeup. A ripped shoe, a torn dress, and a solitary mark on her forearm told them what they needed to know. Friends’ pride morphed to disgust when they saw how far from grace she had fallen. But none was worse than her love. His torn shirt and bloodied knuckles told a story all their own. He sought his own escape. Different from hers.

Her once-stunning face didn’t move as the rest of her body did. She did not emote at all as she fell farther and farther backwards, the ghost of her last smile burned into her. Not a sound came from her crimson lips. Her hazy eyes did not blink, though one was already swollen shut.

Her life’s movie continued headless of her desire to press pause. She saw the first time her parents had caught her, their shock mutating to fury. The first time she was rejected for an audition, then the next time, and the next. Worst of all, the first time he came home late, reeking of bad decisions.

ā€œIn other words, please be true.ā€

A glance in the mirror afterwards showed her someone she didn’t know. Her eye swelled, blood gushed from her lip, and marks ringed her neck, like he was still holding her. She’d do the same thing the next time it happened, and the next, and the next.

She’d reached it, the brightest and most marvelous star of all. She gazed in, adored how the light shone despite the darkness surrounding it. Icarus stared at the beauty of the sun.

She saw him strike her the last time.

ā€œIn other words,ā€

A fist with a wedding ring on it.

ā€œI-ā€

An empty bottle of wine they’d gotten for their anniversary.

ā€œLove-ā€

The guitar that she had long since hung on the wall.

ā€œYou.ā€

He dropped his bond as he walked out the door. It fell with a metallic ringing. She begged him to stay, but the door’s slam confirmed he was gone.

She hit the ground. Around her lay a shattered fretboard, shattered glass, and a solitary gold ring. A pool of blood gathered where her skull had made impact. Her eyes dull, and her mind no longer soaring. The radio continued to play her favorite Sinatra song.

When forensics analyzed her, cause of death deemed that the toxins in her veins killed her before she’d hit the hardwood. But the truth was she’d been dead for much longer.


Editor: Shannon Hensley

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TagsDepressiondeathdomestic abuseDrug AbuseFlash FictionAdult Fiction
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Andrew Wilson

Andrew started writing for Coffee House Writers in 2024. He is a fiction writer with both a Bachelors and Master's degree in Creative Writing. He loves writing morally ambiguous choices and characters. Andrew enjoys reading, playing games, and hiking in his free time.

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3 comments

  1. Leah 4 August, 2025 at 14:10 Reply

    Was not expecting that ending! The wedding ring was such a good detail to add, as sad as it is

  2. Leah 4 August, 2025 at 15:07 Reply

    Wow, was not expecting that ending! The detail of the wedding ring was so heartbreakingšŸ’”

  3. Akosa 8 August, 2025 at 12:16 Reply

    This story truly struck me Andrew, I’m looking forward to seeing more from you!

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    There are Facebook and Reddit groups dedicated to women expressing ongoing frustration over flying with breastmilk. ...

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    thank you!

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    Seth you have a magical way with words.

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    Ivor, your poems are always so uplifting as are your photos!

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    A very heartfelt message. I'm sorry for your loss.

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