Little One

Allison Marie Conway

Little moth wings crawl their way up the screen and I watch as its tiny legs move its tiny body higher and higher at a crushingly helpless pace. It is trapped inside the window. Between the glass and the screen. I can see it from the inside and it could see me but it is facing the the other way. Its eyes can see the sky.

It’s crawling against the meshing, trying to get free. I don’t know how it got in there. I know it can breathe. I see it can move but cannot fly, it keeps tumbling back down into the well. It is a most pitiful sight.

Why does it even try.

Because it has no other choice. It can either make attempts at freedom or sit and wait and die, return to dust.

The house is quiet and dim, only the sounds of the heater, crackling…

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