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Giant Moth

What's that fluttering around in my sheets?

I lift up the blanket, and it was as I expected: A Fluttery Moth!  I let out a piercing scream while it flutters it's way to the darker corners of my room.  I lay back down and to take more rest.  But it's no use.  The moth has flown directly above my head and is perching itself on the ceiling.  I can see it better now that my eyes have got their focus on.

I'm feeling a bit privileged.  If Don Juan were here he would be proud of me and this encounter.  The feeling of privilege, though, is not enough to mask my growing fear.  My fear is growing in proportion to the size of the moth.  Yes, the moth is getting bigger.  I can see his wing patterns change as he grows.  I know he's waiting for me to close  my eyes for the attack.  He wants to eat or scratch my face off, my eyes being the appetizer.

I think of getting the rifle from my gun rack and shooting him in his side and watching him sail to the ground in a puff of powder.  Maybe I'd have a meal myself - a meal o moth, not for it's delectable delights, but for revenge, and maybe it's spirit (I'm always looking for new spirits).  Then I remembered that I don't even own a rifle, or any gun, let alone a gun rack.

So I made do with my sling shot, making sure the rubber band was well oiled, so it wouldn't snap.

Not turning on any lights, and tip toeing for the element of surprise, I positioned myself just outside the door of my room and took aim.  There it was, a vile critter, it's beady little eyes speaking about nothing but death and dinner, dinner and death.

For ammo I used the closest thing I could find, which happened to be a chunk of meteorite, which I bought from the gemologist.  She said the meteorite would inspire masculine energy and create a higher tolerance for enemy interaction. 

"Get ready for the Ace From Space!" I yelled and let the meteorite fly.

It was a direct hit.  But it wasn't a mortal one.  The moth fluttered to the floor, it's wings causing a small wind in my room.  Thinking quickly, I grabbed my triple stuffed pillow and began wailing away on it, and eventually suffocated it.  All of it's six legs finally stopped thrashing around after sufficient amount of time with his ugly little face under the pillow.

I would eat well for weeks, develop many costumes, and have since taken a liking to running in circles around naked incandescent light bulbs.


sybil law said...

This calls for a painting. Maybe even a series of paintings!

John Dantzer said...

Maybe I'll do a crayon drawing.