In a desolate, supernatural landscape filled with tall, fantastic mountains and dreary lava beds, there was no vegetation, and bitter cold reigned. The sky was filled with immense stars that shone with a wan and spectral light, and the earth gleamed with a lurid, blood-like glow. On a lofty mountain that hung above an ink-black sea, there was a dwelling built of stone. From its solitary window, a bright light gleamed upon the misshapen rocks.
The scene was one of supernatural weirdness. Tall, fantastic mountains reared their seamed peaks over a dreary waste of igneous rock and burned-out lava beds.
One day, the door of the dwelling opened, and two men emerged, locked in a deadly struggle. They swayed and twisted upon the edge of the precipice, each trying to gain the advantage over the other. They were strong men, and stone rolled from their feet into the valley as they fought.
They swayed and twisted upon the edge of the precipice, now one gaining the advantage, now the other.
Eventually, one of the men prevailed. He seized his opponent, raised him high above his head, and hurled him into space. The vanquished combatant shot through the air like a stone from a catapult, heading in the direction of the luminous earth.
The Man in the Moon, who had been watching the struggle, lit a cigarette and turned back into the house. He remarked that this was the third such incident that week, and expressed his annoyance at the persistence of New York interviewers.