The Moth

It’s been a while since I wrote something… it’s short with no plans on expanding it – maybe not anytime soon, anyways. As always: it’s unedited, so read at your own peril.


A loud scream ripped through the vail of silence; the curtains of darkness were ripped apart as she awakened. Her eyes hazily scanned the room. It was more akin to the squeal of a pig, or a large boar. Sweat slowly ran down her spine, a quick shiver of her body and an outbreak of goosebumps that covered her arms down to her wrists. What had she been dreaming about? Her mind was lost in a sea of confusion; all she could remember was a thick tar-like fluid covering her body- adrift in a sea of nightmares.

A cool light air settled in the room. She looked at her window yet it was still closed, covered by crimson curtains, as light from the street pierced through. Slowly sliding to a side of her bed, she slid both feet inside her sandals and walked over to the window. The closer she got, the cooler the air became. Opening the window, she was dumbfounded by the sight: a thick fog covered everything. The glow from the light post was completely hidden away, reduced to the image of a radiated pile of clouds slightly illuminating the room.

As she was about to turn around, a large brown moth crashed into the window. Startled, she let out a scream. The moth vanished. She leaned closer to the window, as she noticed the creature fluttering by till it settled on the glass. Inspecting the insect, she saw what appeared to be a face on its torso… a human face.  Stupefied, she collapsed on the floor. Gazing at the face, it smiled, revealing a full set of teeth.

She couldn’t scream; her legs became numb as her body slouched over to a side. The floor was cold. It all faded to black.

Awakened by an itch on her left hand, she clumsily got up. The window was covered by these moths, as their faces all moved… almost as if they were laughing, nibbling at the window. Their wings flapped, constantly hitting the window. The noise echoed inside her head, scratching and hitting. She fell on the floor, covering her ears with both hands, as tightly as she could. She tried screaming but to no avail, her screams drowned amidst the sound of the scratches.

Crawling to her bathroom, the itch continued. Scratching her hand, she noticed a small bump. Anxiety overwhelmed her. Her finger nails scratched the surface, still the pink irritation turned into red – her nails had pierced her skin. She couldn’t stop as the itch only worsened, spreading to her left arm and her right cheek. Scratching and scratching, it didn’t hurt, not even after the skin pealed before her eyes, not even after the flesh was ripped apart from her vessels and nerves. Her nails hit the bone, and even then, as fleshy chunks fell on the kitchen sink and blood turned the water scarlet red – she kept on scratching and ripping. Tears fell down cheeks and into the bone; horrified at the sight of her body.

The window shattered and the bathroom became flooded with moths as they attached to her flesh; nibbling, biting, hitting and ripping with their tiny legs; all dark brown with white antennas. A white moth, considerably bigger than the rest, landed on her eye – its face grinned and her world became dark.

She awakened, covered in a cold sweat. Her mother opened the door and walked into her room, “Now, now… lay down, your fever has yet to go down. You’ll be alright, honey.” A small towel soaked in cool water; she placed it on her daughter’s forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, baby.”


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