So it’s bedtime, 00.00 AM, and I’m in the bathroom, washing my teeth.
In the toilet’s water I notice a moth, drowning, swimming turns. I get nervous, clean up, close the lights, off to bed. In bed, remorse does what writers cleverly describe as fang sharpening. Ten minutes pass, I’m out of my mind with guilt, jump off bed, get in the bathroom, pick an ice-cream wooden stick from the trash bin, and collect the ever struggling wingy-dingy thing. I lay it on the toilet, next to the flush button, alive and almost dead.
Conscience germ-free, I proceed to bed.
Hours later, you’re right, it’s morning again. On the toilet, the moth is gone but for this mad little spiral of wing dust, which I feel confident to say it’s the first work of art produced by an insect. It really got me buzzing.
© Bogdan Stamatin 2020