Moonlight at its zenith is brilliant.
Clearly, those of us are entranced because of it and pattern our lives according to its varying phases. In the park in the evening, others are overzealous and remove their clothing to show fealty to the bare moon in its truth. Or, so they claim. We are at the top of Koko Head Crater, waiting for the moon to awaken as it comes from the direction of Maui across the channel. Gathered around us are amateur astronomers, romantics, and curiosity seekers. Off to the side is a woman who, for some reason, looks out of place. She's dressed like anyone who's hiked these stairs, but she appears odd. Rabid with anticipation, the crowd squeals excitedly when the moon peaks its head from the east, rising near the Makapu'u lighthouse. But it's coming too fast; it doesn't take its hours-long ascent like a peacock showing off its plumage. Before we know it, the moon sits directly high overhead and bathes us in a brilliant light. A light that is so bright that it emits a buzzing sound that vibrates through our bodies. We have to cover our ears and eyes. Then, the light and everyone else is gone except for myself and the odd woman."They never take me," she wept. "I've been coming for years, and they never take me,"
"What?" I was stunned and stupefied. "What just happened? What was that?"
"Them," she said. "The aliens from the stars. They never take me."
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