Moonbeam Hill....

Silvery moonbeams still shone benignly in tranquil translucence as Alex stormed away from the lounge room of the unrequited. He was in his default moody mode again, glowering into the evening air, sulking in his grey hood. Philly, the Fenian, shrugged, their evenings usually ended like this. She got ready for bed. Yes, her monthly stranger had arrived, all part of being a woman. She took care of that, sighing in the loo. It was only another unfilled egg follicle, vanishing into the sewerage system. Her dreams of cute blond haired, blue eyed handsome children had stood still. She had chanced upon Alex when she joined the local community Dr. Who Society, hoping to meet and greet some eligible sperm donor for her boudoir. She was holding many a film version of her favorite classic episodes of Dr. Who, always fascinating, worth a view.

Sometimes Alex visited, lured by their common interest in all Time Lording. Sometimes, sitting together on her couch, he would hold her hand. Sometimes he didn't. Tonight, she had tried to peck him on the lips, snogging might shut up their awkward attempts at small talk. Now she wondered if she was being a bit obvious, if not desperate for that big L word, LOVE!

"Well, that pissed him off. He's only a juvenile infant!" she told herself, rolling into bed. "He's so disappointing. Get over it!" The moon gazed at these humble human foibles and aspirations. Philly, that Fenian descendant in the great southern land, stared back at the moon. Really, she supposed it didn't matter, male moods, all their negative chaff and chatter, or glum silence.

Maybe she was being too sensitive about the ticking of her biological clock. She longed for a baby bump, to keep up with her married gal pals, who kept on trying to sell her the virtues of their maternity years. She even had queer gal pals who were expecting, the bros after their same sex wedding. Chicks were doing it for themselves! "Anything goes these days..." Philly told herself, as fatigue sprinkled some magical hope in her slumbers.

Philly and Alex had never got past Ground Zero in his sperm winning the race, so Philly woke up, and got on with her Monday routine, as the full moon faded away in the morning light. "Maybe Alex is asexual...." she told herself. He probably only visited her because she made good pizzas for their Dr. Who evenings.

"Gotta face it!" she said, getting dressed for work, "we're not getting any younger, or fading away to a shadow." They were each their own version of one acceptable diversity quota tick-a-box: more than withdrawn, introverted Dr. Who addicts, who totally appreciated being where the people weren't.

Philly the Fenian caught her commuting train to "town' once more, one of the few in her workplace who was still making an effort to no longer work at home. She was professional, even in winter she tried to wear feminine skirts, at the expense of her white arms clashing with her conformity standards of cinnamon colored pantyhose, covering her pallid legs. This day in particular, she found she had her senior administrative coffee maker was hers and hers alone. So she completed all her office duties, swiped her clerical lanyard, and exited right on time. Traveling to her home station in the dusk, she wondered why the rising moon was ever so serene. She was trying to envisage God's vast plan for her objectives. She could save up and get an IVF baby, be a single mother in society. But she wondered what she would do with the leftover fertilized eggs, she could not imagine donating all her children to bizarre medical experiments, let alone flushing her leftover cute babies down the loo as frozen embryos. destroyed in the sewer. She did not discuss this with anyone, but her objectives included living according to her own ethical principles. Maybe the plan would unfold solutions, an opportunity in life, to build on her strengths and kindness to all.

Philly the Fenian was happy in her own company most of the time, probably just as well. Maybe she was sighing for the moon, as she arrived home, bringing in the bins, and emptying her letterbox of mostly spams. But there appeared a letter from a strange legal office. It was practically gold-plated. Her estranged, but very wealthy aunt Rachelle, had finally passed of old age, and left Philly her vast mansion way off north, all her fortune, and her wildlife sanctuary. Philly had been her only living relative in that lucky land.

Was that part of the plan? The moon was smiling, all right! But wait! This wildlife sanctuary did not contain cute, silent nocturnal and furry kangaroos or wallabies to pat and cuddle. No, her eccentric aunt Rachelle, of noble Irish ancestry somewhere in Oz, had surrounded her superior mansion right on an estuary to manage a saltwater crocodile farm. Philly the Fenian used to visit her relly in the past. She had been inveigled to cuddle a baby croc, which had its impressive jaws, wired closed, so it would not eat the underwhelmed Philly. The niece had not done too many visits after that. "Still, it is family first!" Philly told herself. "Alex will say I am a rich bitch!"

Philly went to bed, the rich letter at her side, so was the moon, winking! "Gifts are for gifting!" definitely. Philly and the moon hatched a plan. She kept her job, she could work online anywhere she lived in this digital age. It would keep her brain engaged .She emigrated to reside in the palace for her Dr. Who collection. Her aunt Rachelle had left behind her good family name in her community, money always speaks very well. Philly the Fenian hired some local house cleaners, and updated the decor.

Moonbeam Hill had its own cinema, so Philly the Fenian planned to open a convention center, specializing in genre film festivals. Yes, she was so kind. She orchestrated a mass wiring of all the reptiles' giant jaws, engaging her late aunty's sanctuary staff to load these very hungry Australian pets onto an ocean going, but large, yacht. This was the plan.

Philly the Fenian exported all the salt water crocodiles to the Middle East, posting them right to every military armed personnel, for 'doing lunch'. The very hungry crocodiles on a second vessel were deposited right in the Kremlin's palatial dining room, jaws released. We cannot starve wildlife. It was all about preservation, part of Philly's principles.

Philly the Fenian was regarded globally as a legend. Peace settled on the planet, finally. No one wanted hungry reptiles for sharing, Oz can even send great white sharks in abundance, for kind sharing of our lovely unique species, acquiring new food sources.

The manager of the sanctuary drove up one evening, in a black glossy Mercedes Sports, he had been well rewarded for enabling peace. His name was Jaunty Jack, debonair, also from Irish eyes. (or sperm). He winked, loved pizza, perhaps this was more of God's plan. Maybe this was the missing ingredient she had been seeking. The moon paused, still benign and calm, smiling at hopes and kindness, over there, in Moonbeam Hill.....