I’m in this store taking refuge from the unbearable heat outside. Sweat’s dripping down the nape of my neck causing my shirt to stick to my skin, so I move over to the fridges and stand there admiring a plethora of chilled goods. Picking up a can of Dr Pepper, I bring it to my forehead, and the sensations it conjures are enough to make me sigh as if I were in the act of making love or squeezing out a beer turd that’s on the verge of ripping me in two. Keeping hold of the can, I’m about to move away when my attention’s drawn to the bottom shelf of the meat section. Down there, among the packets of bacon and sawdust tasting sausages, I spy a strange sight. Seems like a lump of fluff, but on closer inspection, it turns out to be a plump moth. It looks dead, and I frown at the ungraceful end the little creature’s met, but as my body’s turning and I’m dreaming of the Dr Pepper sliding down my throat and quenching my thirst, I remember reading something online about insects being able to go into a deep sleep while in cold temperatures. At least I think I did. Hesitating, I take the can out of my hand and rest it on a shelf full of chicken wings then kneel down and scoop up the little thing that may or may not be alive. Its wings are pretty and full of subtle patterns, but when I blow a lungful of warm air upon them, it doesn’t move. Dead after all. Such a shame. But then I feel a slight tickle upon my sweaty skin, and when I squint my eyes, I see one of its legs move. The fucker’s alive! With a goofy smile spreading across my face, I spin around and dart towards the front of the store, and within seconds, the moth begins to spread its wings. Shaking its head as if waking from a deep sleep, I’m almost out the door when I’m met by a member of staff who no doubt thinks I’m stealing something. Pushing out my hands, I show him the moth. It’s a moth, I say. I’m saving the moth! The guy just looks at me. Uh-oh-kay, he splutters. Hurrying outside, I walk over to a plot of grass cast in shadow by a large oak tree. Looking down at my awakening friend, he turns in circles within my hands, and as if sensing that freedom is within his grasp, he flies away from my fingers up into the leafy branches above. Fly, fly, fly, my friend. Fly, fly, fly. I’m so happy I could almost cry, and later in the day when I’m on one of my long walks through the fields that surround town listening to some Arcade Fire, I imagine the moth flying through the sky until it reaches the window of X. It finds her smoking her cigarettes watching the sun go down on another day. The moth goes ahead and lands upon her arm, and as they observe the coming of night, when the moon appears from behind the clouds, so she begins to tell it all of her secrets, and together they change into something quite beautiful.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US