The Decision by Tysolna
	Caught in the security of his favourite armchair he watched as the geese flew past. High above him, the screeching wedge pointed south and disappeared behind the roofs. The neighbour boy played the same old piano piece, making the same mistake again and again, and a floor further down the dinner dishes rattled in the sink. Fly with me to the moon, she had said. He sighed. In the flat across the street, the light turned on. He straightened up. The window opened, and even though the evening was cool she leaned out, a forbidden cigarette in her hand. Smoking was not allowed where she lived, and neither were pets, loud music or visits from strangers. She put on headphones, kissed her cigarette and sent the smoke flying after the geese. Fly with me to the moon, he thought and fell back into his armchair. The warmth of the chair hugged him and held him. She smiled and danced to unheard music. He heard the ticking of the clock. Time was cut to slivers. The light in his room paled, and the evening crept in. He allowed it. There would be light, later. It was a full moon. She stubbed out her cigarette decisively in the flower box and danced back into her room. Tomorrow, he would have to decide. Today, he would not think about it. Don't think, just be, feel the cushion in your back, breathe the night air, listen to the geese, watch the moon rise, maybe for the last time. The neighbour boy was spared further pain. His teacher left the house and drove off, his work done. Sitting in the chair, he could smell the exhaust on the air drifting into his room. A television next door shouted news and advertising at him. She was still dancing, eyes closed, hands holding on to the headphones, windows open, unconcerned. Fly with me to the moon. When he woke up, the moon was high in the sky, and across the street was darkness. In the distance, a siren howled. The next-door television was off, the neighbours asleep. Resounding snores drifted into the room like waves upon a shore. He should go to bed, sleep like the others did, but the armchair held him. He was going to have to decide. He was alone, unknown, ungreeted, a stranger. The geese flew south, but he was stuck. The moon slowly disappeared behind the window frame. He was safe, protected, that was always enough for him. Slowly, dawn approached. The house awoke. Alarm clocks went off, curtains were drawn, like every morning since he moved in. Across the street, it stayed dark. He stood up, closed his window, shook out the cushion still warm from his back, brushed off his clothes, looked around the room. Tidiness and order looked back. Safety. Loneliness. He took the suitcase off the bed, closed the door behind him and was gone. The moon would be waiting.