|The Moth and the Chaos Theory|
I ripped off the wings of a moth, no reason
to feel guilty, as it was only small and helpless
being cornered in a dusty facility.
“It’s a moth, so it of course can’t feel anything.”
But years later I thought back to that moment.
It had happened in a church,
of all places. The little innocent
creature of beauty flapping its wings against
the wall hoping for
a chance of flying into the radiance of
vibrant light and freedom outside, to radiate
upon it as though coloring itself to fly out of the cocoon,
until it was forced to endure my childish greed.
So close, it was, as I could have opened the door and swat it
outside. But no. I chose to tear on
the poor creature as it tried to flutter out of its pain.
“It can’t feel it,” I reminded myself, but later
I realized it was too late. I hadn’t even bothered
to put it out of its misery, it wasn’t even a thought
to enter my mind and eventually steal my actions; after
all, I’d come this far, couldn’t I at least linger a little
and finish what I started, unneeded destruction?
destruction surfaced on the
news: a hurricane
of controversy, as the legs of a child were
amputated because the
experiment went beyond wrong.
I couldn’t help but think,
that was my fault.
Because I realized,
the ugly moth had really been
a better fly after all.
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