I swallowed the moth.

The texture was sweet.

Not so much for the taste.

Kanya pov:

I wished, and wished to not feel anything. But, I didn't have to wish. I already felt nothing.

nothing.

at.

all.

I was a child, children don't know how to react to such things. Such nightmarish things.

That's what Pa used to tell me.

I think he was more confused than I was.

The things is -

I did know how to react to such things, I just didn't know how to give a reaction.

Whether I was scared, frightened , terrified.

No.

Because I didn't know the plenitude of those solitude emotions that were meant to be engraved in one's spirit.

I just

existed.

So, I stood and watched that night of the turbulence that shook the town. It was grave. I could see the flashings auras of human species penetrating each corner of my pineal vision, left to left, right to right. They were more busier than the stars that ran in the sky. Oh, how I knew the moon envied such a scene down below. I was so afar, but so close to the tension that arose at Aunt Lamai's festive. And, it seemed like the screams were too. They balanced each other out like Ying and Yang, a perfect periodic table of unfortunate events aligned. The world was so slow, so static, so blurred, and so shuttered. The choking voices were muted one second, then crystal clear the next. The moths that danced in that blood began to dance on the heads of the villagers, and of the mouths of the innocents.

It was therapeutic.

"You can't hate, what you don't understand."

And so I didn't.

I don't.

I enjoyed it rather.

Mæ̀ just sat there in the blood, cold holding onto her 5 other cold children. I wondered if she remembered her other two, that were also so cold.

And a man that was rather hot.

Pa.

Mæ̀ was a weird woman, I could stare at her all day, and I could never get bored. She was filled with mystery, and collective energy. She was a source, a power chain.

If you stared at her too much and didn't parallel with her energy, you would die..of sickness. I stared at that woman so long with no parallel whatsoever....did I die? Was this death?!! Instead, the scene around me fit the descriptions of my crawling maginations well. I lied to myself.

I do that a lot. ha.

So don't ever believe what I tell you.

Looking into the distance where Mæ̀ sat I could see Dao, my poor sister, revising a line from an old folk story it was called "มอดและหิ่งห้อย" ( the moth and the firefly ). I knew by the way her lips ran over words fast and rough but so elegant. Like her.

"And on this night I shall close my eyes, not because the sun has said it's goodbyes, not because the waves have finally touched the skies. But, because the firefly that never sleeps finally got to say it's slept, to the moth that rained the sky like thousand butterflies."

Dao closed those imperfect lines with a soft yawn that completed her for the night. And lastly, with one last glanced that pierced into mines.

Her eyes were cold, but not as cold and never as cold, as the cold that touched each and every one of us that were there that night.

If determination was a humanly action, and not feeling or behavior. This village would crumble up like the skies that swallow us, down below.

If our actions that night, we're the actions of scared humanoids...I wondered deeply what civilization rooted from? What tree, what anima, what intellect, whose heart? Was it what or even whose?

Who knows? Do you?

What, whose body would we have to eat and drink again, for it to be ours. sacrificially with no cross.

All those running people, running roosters, running seas, running winds all had a question in mind. I question that what whose did not know.

I am child.

I look at aunt Lamai, and a grave emotion of regret refurnished over me. She was ashen like the white dust I imagined in the Middle East, her eyes drooped from out of her sockets like a lose breast. Her lips blue, like the eyes that sat within of me. Her lips cracked and bust, mirroring the floor that we all stood on. She was overcome with frustration and pain as the seconds roamed on, and finally in the last second she was laid flat on the distorted patterned road. I watched solemnly as the moths left their dancing circle of blood, and quickly ran to P'Lamai to start a new one.

I could tell they loved the smell of her mushroom scented lips, and her cauliflower chest that was faint.

Up down. Up down.

As time flew by so much as they did, the moths imprinted their wings and legs that wrapped around her nestled. Crowned her queen of immortal death and dance. They stomped her like the ground they despised, and then fluttered her with a million kisses that were unexplored and mischievous. I swear her body lit up right there and then, and so did the smile of the faces of those villagers that surround that scene, happily. What glorious death is this? Who am I of such status? For I am a poor child, a widow, a fisherman, a crook, a town's person... having such rich opportunity to witness such a glorious hangmen-ship.

Was this her punishment?

She was a liar,

a thief,

a harlot,

a witch,

P'Lamai purposely killed 2 of newborn babies by poison.

Killed her husband by locking him to death in a burning hut , after learning shortly he was going to leave her.

she was the devil by itself, and all by itself.

So, I'm asking you, is this her rightful punishment?

Did she deserve such a meaningful death

publicized?

In the faces of other deceitful devils

themselves?

The Pierrot laughs.

"Help her!", you could hear a few villagers say this line over and over and over again, repetitive. You'd expect for how much they'd scream it, they'd help. Her. Ha. Aunt Lamai. My Aunt Lamai. They didn't.

Saddened to say those revolting screams of eager and concern, never once left the lips of my family.

They didn't even watch her, once. They watched each other instead. Sulking in discomfort, in embarrassment. Why were they embarrassed? This family was a confusion that drilled deep inside me for so long, even before this dawning night.

I asked so many questions, but forgot to question the ones close to me. What a hypocrite.

Should we have also been publicly terminated along with Aunt Lamai?

Yes.

But that's for another day.

The crowd around P'Lamai grew and grew like a flower that is watered routinely. They examined her body keenly, I heard nothing but gasps and slide remarks that slipped out of those devils mouths. Venomous.

Cough.

The sudden sound alerted me back to the waves that hit the grass behind me. I was so happy, I could take my eyes, my mind, off this thing in front me and could turn my back against it. It was the best feeling in that moment of my little brain, I felt saved, if it wasn't God, then it was his angels surely. And it was.

Buppha.

One of Gods angels.

Watching that small child rise her head and stretched her arms slowly, calmed me. I watched every one of her fidgets, to her flinching at the sudden coldness that brushed against her face, and to her quick head turn when she felt my presence standing behind her. She was so adorable. Her cheeks flushed rosemary red, with a soft tint of pink. Her light auburn hair spiraling in the wind, chasing her face while creating floating origamis. She made I and the wind breathless. I signaled my hand out to her without saying a word nor blinking an eye. And, she understood each and everything, she was a starseed, telekinetic.

Her body signaled towards my small hand, trailing towards me in a motion that was nuclear. It was mixed like candy in the air, so soft, mellow, enchanting. It felt like fireworks were lit in the dim of light. I felt her before she felt me. And, if she did feel me before I felt her, then this moment I described was right. Each and every part was right. When our hands touched the sky clapped with a ray of thunder, striking somewhere not so far, not so unknown.

Aunt Lamai, that was already perished on earths floor.

How, how Mother Nature was so cruel.

I and Bupphas backs turned towards the featured crowds of fakes and ritualistic bastards.

What a still sulking performance my family performed so well. If I had it in me, I would applaud.

And out of nowhere, I felt a sting hit the palm that knitted Bupphas hand to mine. The pain didn't surpise me as much, as for the unexpected expression that castaway on Bupphas face. I didn't know what I expected, but I didn't expect her to look scared. She was always the funny and energetic child, always finding rainbows even in the deepest of clouds. Why couldn't she find one in this cloud also?

" what is going on ?", the question I wished not to hear finally rained out of Bupphas mouth. If not rained, then surely stormed.

" go look and see", I told her this. I told her not because, I actually wanted her to go and see, but because, I was too scared to actually go look and see for myself. I'm a hypocrite.

Buppha challenged my words confidently. Wasn't she afraid? Her sudden changes of emotions that flipped like pages in a book, made it so hard understanding her. But, made it so much easier to feel her.

I ran behind Buppha with a flock of roosters following along, passing by my parents that I didn't once glance at. And they didn't either. Me and Buppha pushed through the crowd, holding our noses as the stench was impactful. I watched in front of me where Buppha was, she switched her hands on her nose to her ears, and did this action consistently. You could tell she was conflicted.

The crowd was settled in the middle of the road. Each person we passed had a undeveloped emotion on their face, it was tiring trying to understand them for the spilt second I had. They were just people after all, why did I have the need to want to know them? Getting to the middle of that crowd felt like being stuck in maze that was never ending. The desperate need of air became apparent, and with this growing hungry of needing so much, Buppha grew disrespectful in the crowd. She'd push people out of the way by biting, hitting, spiting, she was catastrophic. But, her methods helped us get to the middle faster. And, when we got to the middle...

There was P'Lamai of course, but there was also a picture none of us were prepared for....