By Curt Saltzman
The exhibit cases line an entire wall of her room.
“Lepidoptera,” she informs me.
“Are nets employed?”
“Usually. Certain specimens drop into the killing jar unaided, though.”
“How’s that?”
“Something draws them, I suppose.”
She edges closer, chin lifting, and my pristine mouthpart pierces the aperture of her lips. I drain her nectar before darting downstairs.
Fleeing the house by an open window, I cross the garden, archaic forces aroused within me, and avoiding the treacherous allure of lampposts aglow like moons in the deserted street, I flit off, both lightsome and beguiled, into the vast, benignant refuge of the night.
I like your story it’s interesting and creepy (in a good way).
Thank you.
Interestingly creepy in a good way. That’s me in a nutshell.
😉
One of my favourite 101s. Ever.
Thank you, Judith. Very kind.