Sunday 2 February 2014

250 Words: Moth on the underground

The guiding lights are awfully confusing tonight; so long and thin and quite impossible to navigate by.  I keep going wrong, swooping here and there and flying forward and back like a demented thing (not unlike some of the humans I can see).  And it got suddenly so bright and then so stuffy after the cool breeze I’d felt before this shining area appeared before me and I was so sure this would be the way.  Now its too much like day for my liking, I feel like I should be finding a spot to nod off but my body clock says otherwise.  It’s all too confusing tonight, too much for one little moth.

*

Hey there little fella, how’d you get so far underground?  Work your way from light to light along the tunnels, did ya?  Dazzled and perplexed into the carriage, huh?  You chaps are funny things, continually flying into lights like they’re food or you’re besotted or something.  And you look funny, too- furry, ugly-beautiful creatures of the night.  Mad as hatters you are.  And bloody annoying buggers come bedtime.

*

The moth that had boarded at East Finchley found cool air once more at Morden but got confused  further by the lights of south London.  “It’s just one headache after another,” he thought as he flew around and around each light, never quite knowing where he was.  “Oh dear, if only I lived in the country like my cousin,” he sighed as flew up toward another streetlamp’s light.  

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