It's nice to die under a full moon

The harvest moon came to see me. One last time. It knelt beside me and caressed my hot forehead. It washed the filth from me. Its gentle glow filled the cold air with warmth. As if melting away the frantic moths of nervousness that were trying to tear my stomach to pieces and crawl out to freedom. “It’ll be all right,” it whispered, stroking me. I cried. “Will you… will you take me away from here?” I whispered to it. It kissed my cheek. “Close your eyes,” it whispered in my ear. Our gazes met briefly. It must have hurt, but it didn't squint. I saw two beautiful, dark, and almost perfect almonds. I was trembling. Finally, I gave an imperceptible nod and obeyed. It had always been there for me. And I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe it with everything I had, and so I closed my eyes and kept them closed, even as salty tears forced their way through my eyelids and onto my cheeks.