The Last Moonicorn, Part Six of Six

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Round the Earth, craving pie,

all the Martians gave chase,

and exploded!

—and gone was the mad Martian race.


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THE SIXTH AND FINAL SLICE

(in which something magical happens)

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The following morning, upon that clay mound,

a gold-speckled, silver-spun seedling she found.

She smiled, bittersweetly, her memories torn,

but returned to the sapling the very next morn.

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The sapling?—the tree!—every day the plant grew:

the most magical marvel of any she knew.

In a week it was fulsome, and fiery, and fruity,

each globe, dangling down from its branches, a beauty:

such fabulous fruit that they rippled and rolled,

new life locked inside them. Such things to behold!

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Yet the Star Girl resisted temptation to take them:

she felt if she bit them, she somehow might break them.

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And so, for another week, ripened each ball;

not a breath of wind blew; not one fruit was seen fall,

till the third week, when, suddenly, every fruit fell

(on a blanket of leaves, which had fallen as well),

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and the naked tree withered, and shrivelled, and shrank,

till the tip of the top of the last of it sank

through the clay—and the Star Girl, who’d watched it depart,

felt another great sadness enfolding her heart.

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As the sun set that day, Phobos rose in the sky,

and the Star Girl gazed up, and she started to cry

for the very first time since her fine friends had died,

and she lay on their clay, and she cried, and she cried.

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In the morning, she woke, as the sun warmed her through.

She sat up. She looked round. She saw something quite new:

every fruit from the tree, as the sun stroked its skin,

split wide open, exposing the kernel within.

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‘But these kernels are not seeds, or stones,’

gasped the girl, ‘They are eggs! They are eggs! Eggs of mother-of-pearl!’

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And what eggs!—tiny eggs, but so perfectly formed,

and she watched as the sun reached full height, and they warmed,

and then, all of a sudden, at once, and at noon,

in the blaze of the sun, on that small Martian moon ...

... every eggshell EXPLODED!—and BOOM!—they were born!

Each egg spawned a perfect, minute Moonicorn!

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That day, from the clay of a moon around Mars,

the Moonicorns leaped again under the stars,

and she played with them, afternoon, evening and night,

with such joy, and enchantment, such mystic delight;

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and the Star Girl departed, with love, in the dawn,

for she knew she had not known

the Last Moonicorn.

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Text copyright © Christopher Graeme Winchester 2011-2021

The author has asserted his moral rights


A thank you (and please) from the author:

The Last Moonicorn is a story that I hope as many people as possible will come to love. My ultimate goal is to have it published in fully illustrated form, though given the idiosyncrasies of traditional publishers that may prove a challenge to achieve! If I'm to self-publish I'll need to find funds to commission an illustrator before launching a dedicated crowdfunding campaign. Any tips you give through Vocal (or via my Ko-fi page) will help get me closer to making that happen.

Thanks for your support. Please do re-read the story to your friends and families (it's very much meant to be read aloud), like your favourite chapters, share (from the start of the story!) and do consider leaving a tip or a Ko-fi donation.

Much love,

Chris x

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