The porch light was on. A moth was trapped in the frosted-glass fixture. Through the screen door, Sara could hear the muffled knocking of its wings.
Her stepfather was asleep facedown on the sofa. One arm dangling. One limp hand defending an empty bottle. Her mother melted shards of ice between her swollen lip and a loose tooth. Her ear was pressed to the radio tuned low.
Sara stood poised near the door. Bare feet. Her pyjamas patterned with tiny pink hearts.
The garden gate swung open and then clanked behind her. The moth pummelled the bright walls of its cell.
Amazing, I can picture the scene with clarity and poignancy.
Wonderful and affecting writing. Both descriptions of the moth are poignant metaphors, and “One limp hand defending an empty bottle” creates such a vivid picture of the scene and the person.
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Did not mean to post question mark.
As a Sara who very much loves moths, this delighted me. As a lover of poignant prose. this touched my heart.
Great imagery. Sad.
Sad and wonderful
The ending hit me out of the blue