The Moth by: Alexander Rivera

Anna stepped out of the warm shower and reeled as the air outside hit her, cold like reality after dream. She reached for the enormous green towel on the heated rail and cocooned herself inside its comfort, hugging it close to her quivering skin. The house was quiet, her day ahead empty – she would wait all day for the room to adjust to her body temperature if needed, tight in her own embrace.

Suddenly a black, shapeless object appeared in her vision, growing rapidly, its mass fluctuating erratically. In squeamish panic, Anna jumped backwards and flapped the corner of her towel wildly, knocking the giant moth sideways, but unrelented it came careering towards her again.

She swiped at it again, this time making a fuller contact, and the dazed insect meandered hazily towards the other side of the small bathroom. It crashed into the glass slide doors twice before eventually finding its way through the gap Anna had slipped through moments ago.

Trapped in this transparent prison it buffeted the shower sides, each blow making its flight more confused. Anna moved closer and slid the shower doors closed while she let her heart rate slow and adrenalin shock work its way out of her system. She watched the ugly grey moth flounder in blind circles and felt dizzy with divine power as she realised that all it would take to drown it would be to reach up and pull the external power cord. The warm water that had made her feel so invigorated could now wash life from the wretched creature in seconds.

But as her hand wavered on the cord, contemplating the moth’s fate like that of a hapless gladiator awaiting the emperor’s thumb, it took one blow to the head too many and dropped out of the air, spiralling like a sycamore seed.

It landed with a tiny splash in a small pool of water. Stranded on its back, the moth flapped desperately to free itself from the puddle’s grip. As it struggled, it spun in concentric patterns across the shower base – the vibrations of its delicate wings against the porcelain disrupted their tender structure and they began to crumble, leaving trails of grey dust in arching loops.

The moth became ever more frantic in its efforts, but as Anna watched on she knew it would not recover itself and – even if she helped it now – it would never fly again. The life she had held between her fingertips as they hovered near the power chord was now draining slowly down the plug hole in tiny fragments, piece by miniscule piece.

She had felt God-like when the moth’s life was in her hands, but now she could not save it she felt utterly weak and worthless. Humanity’s flaws flowed through her as she watched the moth’s final helpless twitches. She hugged the towel closer to herself.

The End.