The moon today is a bright blot of brilliance, enclosed by a vapid glow, surrounded by a red lining. It looks like a pus-filled wound. Stone at the bottom of the well, and the (soon to be deflated by a tree branch) balloon are looking at the same sky, but only one is close enough to hear the moon whispering to it.
And it is not the balloon for it has impaled itself on a sharp object and bled rubber on the earth beneath.
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