FindChaos
patreon
Moths - A Short Horror Story
🕑 Added 2014-10-30 18:57:35 +0000 UTC In the mornings, she’s alone. She’s hungry. She never worries if they’re hungry. The moths don’t matter. She climbs from the bed’s warm embrace, the cold air rushing against her naked skin. She wraps the silk robe around her, locking her body heat in. It’s easy to get distracted when you’re alone. Having a routine matters. The rain has collected in bowls and buckets. She empties them diligently, lining them up afterwards with the holes in the roof again. She uses the toilet, takes a cold shower and combs out her long hair. Your hygiene matters. It’s not up for debate. Her bare feet make their way across the antique rug, and she cracks open an old book. The rain plods steadily against the thick glass windows next to her as she reads. She doesn’t look up for hours. She rereads the parts that matter. Educating yourself matters. Do not be distracted. The book finished, she makes her way to the kitchen. She eats a single piece of bread, an orange, a small piece of meat and washes it all down with a glass of milk. She’s still hungry. She takes out the tin of bones, counting them. Don’t forget to eat. If you’re hungry, it’s okay to eat more. Your hunger matters. She takes the smallest pair of garden shears to the basement. A moment and it’s done. She takes the meat back upstairs. She cooks it with butter, sucking the flesh from the tiny bones. The bones go in the tin. It’s healthy to have a collection. It’s good to keep track of something that’s yours. Your passion matters. She gets dressed and makes her way into town. The drive is lined with bare trees and rolling, green hills. The people in the city smile and laugh. She picks a man this time — he wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t laughing. His groceries topple over as he falls to the ground. She carefully picks them up again. Dragging him to her car is difficult. Exercise is crucial. Being healthy is about being fit, too — don’t be afraid to sweat. Being strong matters. In the basement, he’s quiet, like all the others. She’s sewn his mouth shut. They cannot speak to one another. She cuts off their fingers one by one. Like beautiful Luna Moths, they’ll starve slowly, only living long enough to give their life to something that matters. She gorges herself on their flesh. It’s okay to be alone sometimes. Just make sure you take care of yourself, you matter. She’s alone in the mornings. She’s hungry. She never worries if they’re hungry. They never mattered. They’re just moths.
Comments
I will be ruminating on this for days. I already have a half-formed backstory for "her" and I'm sure it will be discarded and started anew at least a dozen times. I do find it strange that as a very empathetic person (who cannot stand to see a withered houseplant) that I care not for the "moths" in the basement, nor their fate. I am intrigued by "her." I think that is the horror for me. Realizing that I identify with "the monster" more than the victims in this story. Well done.
