When I woke up, there were three moons in the sky.
At first, I thought working overtime had made me hallucinate, until I saw the news headline: “Three Moons Shine Together Around the Globe.”
The boss posted in the group chat: “More moons don’t mean more overtime pay. I expect everyone at work on time.”
I squeezed onto the subway. Helium balloons filled the carriage, and everyone had a rope tied around their waist to keep from floating away.
The convenience store shelves held nothing but cilantro-flavored instant noodles. As I crouched by the road eating, Xiaomei, the coworker I’d secretly loved for three years, suddenly asked me to go moon-watching.
That night, she cried and said three moons made it the perfect time to break up. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
I handed her a tissue. “I’ll help you curse him out.”
But the words that came out were: “Look at the third moon. Doesn’t it look like the strawberry hair tie you left at my place?”
As she laughed through her tears, a blood-red crack suddenly split the third moon.
It turned out this world had given up on living a long time ago.
