Cedes peered down at the upturned moth on the windowsill. She could feel the sense of desertion of this tiny lifeless creature in the universe. It was like the symbol of how every being on earth perished endlessly trying to articulate them selves. She couldn’t understand why people didn’t act the way she wanted or fit in with her version of perfection. Writing was the only way she could confirm to herself that she was as deserted as that moth on her windowsill and not to expect her dream version of what stared at her square in the face.
Unless… There was always room for unless. That moth’s life against the backdrop of her bedroom had all the ingredients of unless. Girls with crooked teeth, crooked fringes, crooked glasses and crooked smiles had long deserted their dreams but they believed in unless. Time pulled her away from her bedroom. She had said goodbye to him and he would never return no matter how much she wanted him to. Her green sparkling moth brooch pinned close to her chest. It was a witnessing power to the bizarre sights that appeared as feasts through her smudged spectacles.
Since she left, he had ignored her into non- existence. It’s funny what that state can help you recognise. Her paranoia always made her think of how her name rhymed with Hades and that was the cause of all her torment. Words were her most favourite thing in the world but when voiced to him they were despairingly null and void. She was the kind of girl you see that didn’t entertain some sort of rom com melodrama. She just wanted to be tucked in at night by her beloved who would read her a story until she fell asleep.
She was going to meet her brother Alistair. She always looked forward to seeing him. She knew he would be busy in his laboratory. He was a lepidopterist. Cedes stuck her head into the atmosphere of the New York streets and was greeted with all the attendant problems it grated on her nerves. She looked for a kind face, just one look that acted like medicine on her tangled brain waves. She caught glimpses like the butterflies in Alistair’s nets that he always let go, of course.
The moon filtered through the glass roof of Alistair’s apartment. Nothing stirred among the giant plants except for a moon moth dancing in the dust particles. Cedes cast a glance down at her watch. It was midnight. She frowned. “Alistair, come down from there!” she called to the moon moth. Like magic, Alistair shimmered into the light of his being. “Alistair when can I become a moon moth?” Cedes asked as he appeared before her. “Soon Cedes. Soon”, he said.
Lena O’ Connell
Lena O’ Connell graduated from the Limerick School of Art and Design in 2009. She specialised in fine art, sculpture. Lena currently lives and works in Tipperary, Ireland. She teaches art to children and is aspiring to undertake a higher diploma in art teaching.
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