The Butterfly Moth by Amy Lucas | Flash Fiction | #thesideshow
The speckled moth, usually so aware of the nuances shaping his world, was too troubled to notice the trespass of a single bougainvillea vine, the sap spilling from the flowering petals of a warrior tree, or the beguiling way greenery kissed concrete. Were the moth not so consumed by self-reflection, he would have rejoiced in these beacons of spring and celebrated with a nap on the vine, a taste of the sap, and a welcoming dance on the grass. Instead, the moth perched on a nearby tree trunk and did his best to assume a critical expression.
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