The Moth

• Gian Cornale, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2019

The trees. They’re my refuge. I’ll just sit in there for hours. Nobody can see me, because I blend in. I can see everything from there too. The forest, the animals, the things that want to kill me. Because everyone’s after the simple moth. What did I ever do to them? But the world seems to be a cruel place, and I have to hide among the light colour of the trees, staying perfectly still so I don’t get noticed. I’m near the edge of the forest. Near where those bipedal savages choose to raze my home in order to build their own. Why do they choose to live in such ugly places? Huge cubes made of every material imaginable, with only 2 or 3 of each of their kind living in each one. It’s a massive waste of space. And especially now they made that huge pillar. I can always see dirty, musky, putrid black clouds spilling out the top of it. I have to be careful if the wind is blowing the clouds towards the forest, because those clouds are really something bad. They turn the very forest around me black.

I’m running, I’m fleeing, I’ve got to get out of here. They’re after me again. The things that only appear in my nightmares. Snapping at me, inches from ending my life in a flash. I look to the trees. They’re black. I can’t hide! The place that once held my safety is now the source of my demise. Panic is taking over me. My wings… they’re hurting. I can’t go on much further. I’m falling, falling down... it’s been a great time, world...

The trees. Black as charcoal. They’re my refuge. I blend in with them. It hasn’t always been easy for me. I used to have to stick to the shadows. But then those bipedal saviours came along and built that huge pillar. Those beautiful black clouds, pouring out in droves. They turn the forest black and allow me to hide from the things that wish to hunt me down. I feel sorry for those white moths, though. They used to be able to disappear into the trees like they were never there. But now, safe places for them is few and far between. Now they know what’s it was like to be us. How do you feel, being so vulnerable? It’s amazing how quick the tables turn on those who are not prepared. But that’s not the concern of those who are sitting pretty. After all, they are the ones who are untouchable.