To all those who wanted me to write of my travels, I’ve found a way to share my adventures in my own way. Please enjoy the first installment in The Chat Noir Chronicles. These tales are mostly, kinda, sorta true…ish.

The supermoon meant that the last few nights had been almost brighter than the day. That fact mixed with the “lazy” faire attitude I’d developed over the last month lead to me grabbing the bag of trash and heading off into the night sans flashlight.
               Luckily, my vision adjusts just enough to make out a few landmarks and the sound underfoot of rock, switching to dirt, switching back to rock provide enough of a map in my mind to find the way. The black sky, a canvas with pin-pricks reminiscent of Lite Brite stretches for miles overhead. So clear, so crisp, so dark.
               The farther I venture, away from life and towards decay, the darker it becomes. It is the kind of blackness where all the eye can see are the shadows the mind creates. My other senses dial up to eleven and make the night come alive.
               A rustle in the brush, the smell of campfire burning, the taste of coffee lingering on my tongue, smooth plastic crinkling in my hand as the trash bag sways back and forth with every step. The ground below my feet grows softer, more malleable. It still holds the last bit of moisture from a rainfall days ago. I’ve arrived at the one spot in the desert untouched by the warmth of the sun, blocked by the dumpster.
               Despite the chill in the air, the refuse still bleeds out the scents of rot and decay. Feeling my way towards the ramp, I get the strong urge to celebrate knowing I made it all this way in the dark without stumbling. I repress the urge, knowing all too well about counting chickens before they hatch.
               I take a moment to appreciate the star-speckled sky again. There is magic in the desert, in the dark, in the nothingness. What a philosophical moment as I dispose of that which I do not want or need.
               Winding up, I get ready to toss the bag and head back to warmth, and light, and tomorrow. Half-way through my swing…
               “Geez, Louise,” I say in a hushed yell.
               From the dumpster darts a black shadow, one not conjured by the mind. In one leap, the creature flies from trash to trailer and disappears just as quickly as it had appeared.
               I feel an extra beat in my chest, or maybe the lack of one. I throw away my trash and the night settles back into place.
               A rustle in the brush, the smell of a campfire burning, the taste of coffee lingering on my tongue, electricity in the air as the night envelops me.