Icarus

“Untitled” by Patty Boltman

by Jada Burke

I want to prove to them. Prove to them that I am a moth.

My neighbors, the other bugs of Old Oak Tree, didn’t know what I was. First, there was the ladybug couple that lived two plants away from mine. They told me that I held pollen on my legs, had fur, and was black like a bumblebee. Next, there was Barry, a beetle who resided under the tree’s roots. He stated that I had the skinny body and head of a butterfly. In response to the ladybugs and Barry’s opinions, I recounted how my mom told my fifty siblings and I that we were actually moths. “Unique moths,” I recalled vividly from my larvae stage.

As expected, they rejected my memory in laughter and disbelief.

Then, there was Sylvia, a mosquito who visited Old Oak Tree periodically from the human world. She stated if I were a moth, why did I drink the juice of the flowers and rise with the bright Sun Goddess? Why didn’t I rise with the dark Moon Goddess and eat the furs of humans?

She even joked that my mom must have been born with only one antenna.

I was the only moth of my kind to live around Old Oak Tree. The only black moth with white and orange dots on his wings who carried orange pollen on his legs. The only moth who looked like a confused concoction between a bee, butterfly, and moth.

I was originally from the other side of the forest, where there were more of us. The tree of my youth was called Wise Old Maple. But I flew away from Wise Old Maple to Old Oak Tree to start my own life away from my family. There, a nesting plant several plants away from Old Oak Tree became my new home.

Even with my ignorant new neighbors, a scent of hospitality was prevalent.  No hostility had come my way. I did get along with Old Oak Tree’s residents, even though they isolated me more than everyone else. The isolation made me feel like a mutant. They predicted that I will not reproduce with a female and die alone.

I didn’t want to be alone.

So I embarked on a journey of self discovery to see if I was a bee or butterfly instead of a moth. Maybe I could live and mix with bees or butterflies. Sylvia did make a valid point: I couldn’t be a moth. Maybe my mom was born with one antennae. My senses weren’t fully developed yet when I was young.

The journey became a plight.

I met up with the bumblebees in the underground hive under Old Oak Tree’s shadow: a short flight from my nesting plant. When I told them that I was a fellow bee, they laughed and told me I flew too slow and graceful. They decided I looked more like a dark butterfly. My colors were mostly black but also white and orange, whereas the bees were black and yellow. A visit to the butterflies was to be next, the bees suggested. The suggestion was true. I did fly and look like a butterfly. I stayed up during the day like one too. I departed the bees in determination of living with the butterflies.

When I encountered a couple of butterflies feeding on some flower juice, I confessed I was a butterfly like them. They were two female butterflies with orange and black striped wings with white dots at the corners. Their wings towered over me in beauty and size. One responded that I was not beautiful enough because I was too black. Butterflies were supposed to match the colors of the flowers and plants around them. What black thing existed around Old Oak Tree? The other laughed in response. I lost my appetite and flew away, hearing them laughing and calling me stupid. I thought the butterflies would act as nice as they looked, but their arrogance matched their superior looks instead.

When flying away in shame, I realized my mom was not born with one antennae. She was born with two. She was able to take care of me and accept my slowness and ugliness. I started to believe that I was a unique moth.

I needed to find other moths. I needed to find a female to have my offspring. I needed acceptance.

***

Tonight, I have forced myself to stay up until the white, round Goddess appears on the black ground above with Her bright larvae. When She gracefully appears, I fly away from my nesting plant and Old Oak Tree into the shadows of the outer trees outlined by

Her shine.

I hope I’m the reason for a moth to wake up, I think, as I flap my wings in determination to find my peers. Peers that have my legs and body. Peers that are slow and ugly like me. Once in a while, I stop flapping for Her breath to guide me through the trees. My antennae senses an unfamiliar but captivating sweetness. Like flower juice but stronger. But there are no flowers around.

It is her, my mate. I say to myself as I flap with more determination than before.

Through the trees in front of me, I see a smaller Sun Goddess. She is even yellow like Her. I thought She went away when Her sister rose? And why was She closer to the earth? But then I realize it could be a spot on my mate’s wing, I never saw a female of my kind that was related to me. But before I can imagine what her spots will look like on her back, more girls appear. The girls diverge from her sides, one by one, in a line. The sweetness increases.

“Thank you, lovely Moon, for blessing me with multiple mates!” I say ecstatically.

I finally make it out of the trees and land on one of its leaves. I want to rest from my flight to witness the beauty and ugliness in front of me.

The beauties are lined up in two lines like two logs lying next to each other, being viewed from the longer side. The logs don’t have ends, measuring the whole Earth Herself.

I wasn’t the only one to be enchanted by the moths.

There were other males like me crowding around each female. Their wings were mostly brown, but there are ones as bright as flowers. Pink, green, yellow, orange, red. If those butterflies were to meet these moths, they would be boiling in envy so much their wings will fall off.

A tasty scent guides me to a female away from the meetings. She is under one of the lined beauties facing my direction. She wants me.

I zoom past both lines, following her scent. When I get closer, I sadly discover that three other suitors followed too. Dancing around, hoping to woo her with their suaveness. I have to fight; to be accepted. I have to show the three suitors not to mess with what is mine.

Confidently, I approach her. The other guys see me and approach me.

“Back off, newbie. She’s mine,” one yells from my left side. He is a little bigger than me, but that is mostly because of his wings. He looks like a stick bug wearing moth’s wings. The other two moths are on my right. They have fur on their upper bodies like me and are stockier but the same height as their friend. They are also brown but also red.

“No, she’s mine,” I answer back.

“No, I saw her first,” The stocky one yelled in aggression.

“Buzz off, or I’ll knock you all out” I warn in a menacing tone. My aggression is increasing.

“‘I’ll knock you guys out of the air’ As if. I don’t think a shortie like you can defeat us,” teases the stocky one who claimed that he saw the girl first. He is getting close to me.

“I’ll show you -” I’m interrupted by a sudden rush of wind. I turn around to see what is behind me. I can’t believe my eyes.

It’s one of the butterfly-moths. Actually, he’s more a bird-moth. He towers over us. Great leaves flap on his back. His body is white as snow. His antennae can be mistaken for the ears of a fox. He is beautiful, but scary. Beautiful because of the luminous green wings. Scary because of his size, and the fact that he has no mouth.

He stares at us with soulless eyes. My rivals surrender the girl to him by flying away.

It’s just me and this bird.

We charge at each other with full force. The collision makes me fall from the air.

I’m falling to the sliver ground. I’ve lost. The bird-moth will obtain the mate, produce offspring, and all of them will eat me. My life is over.

I can find another.

I snap out of my daze and flee from the bird-moth. As I fly away, I scent another strong feminine aroma. It wasn’t the bird-moth’s girl or the lined beauties, but stronger. My antennae guides me above, and a bigger, rectangular female in a faint violet captivates me.

Unlike the bright yellow ladies I encountered, she reels my wings towards her instead of letting me follow her. When I reach, I discover that her shape is round and not rectangular. The rectangle only illuminates and guards her essence. I say guard because when I try to touch her, it kicks me out. The rectangle is in between my love and I.

I look around. No suitors approaching.

At the top of the rectangle, a cool air is detected. Her scent rides the air. She once again takes my wings to go past her rectangular invisible guard.

Past the guard, the cold air dominates the warm air. It sets the mood for both of us.

“Hey, babe. It’s just the two of us.” I say, flirting in admiration of her unique light. She’s a plum with her color and scent. She is the only thing I see in this strange dark world. She pulls me while I stare blankly in awe. It gets warmer as I get closer.

“You're getting warm, baby. Aww, it’s me, isn’t it?” I ask hopefully while being pulled in more. Finally, a mate for myself and myself for a mate.

My eyes get blurry when we touch.

For the first time, I touched a female of my kind.

Ouch! My front limb burns in an unfamiliar sting. Is she part bee?

My reflexes quickly turn me away, and my bottom left wing is stung. I roll over on my back. Man, it burns!

Even as I lay away from her, my burn is not going away. The sting slowly takes over my body. I’m on fire and I can’t fly.

My sight gets blurrier. She invades my eyes with stings.

“I’m sorry! I rarely have been around moths of my own kind. Please don’t kill me!” I look away from her. A big white blob waits in the distance.

I’m not a moth, but a mutant unable to breed within my own species.

***

The scientist drives home from his job on his street lit by the two rows of streetlights. He drives with his radio off so he can reflect on his hard working day. He had to conduct an investigation on the population control of pigeons for the federal government. They didn’t want the pigeons in New York to overpopulate: the city was crowded enough. So much research was done today. It will sadly have to continue tomorrow, but now he is tired and currently pulling up to his house.

The scientist parks his car and gets out quickly in anticipation. When approaching, he catches the upstairs window of his home lab lit up in purple light. He realizes that he forgot to turn off the UV flashlight when observing some urine stains from his lab from last night. He curses under his breath in response.

But the irritation halts when the most beautiful moth intercepts his path. It is about the size of a small bird. A bird with magnificent green wings covering its small white body with long branchy antennae. The beauty landed on the wall next to the front door.

He cannot believe that he is observing a Luna moth; he always saw the moth in captured pictures. It is a blessing to witness. What should he do? He does not want to capture the beauty because he does not want another death on his hands. So he takes his iPhone from the chest pocket of his white lab coat, and forms his own captured picture. With death comes life.

He forcibly runs his exhausted body up the stairs. When he reaches his under-developed home lab, he speedwalks to the turned on the UV. When he lifts up the light to turn it off, he sees a small dot near where the front of the light was. He turns it off and turns on the light of the lab from a wall switch near the door.

“Another moth?” he questions as he walks closer to the bug.

It is an Eight-Spotted Forester moth. Why is it out at this time of night? Aren’t they supposed to be up during the day?

Maybe it was sleeping in his house, the scientist predicts. He pokes on the moth with his index finger. He does it again, again, and again. The pokes do not spark a revival. Was it dead?

It was near the UV facing the illuminated light, so the answer is yes. Another death count.

The scientist knows that moths were attracted to lights, but UV also? He questions why moths are stupid enough to get burned by fires and UV. He wonders how this death happened.

He turns to the window. He sees that he left the window open from the crack above it. That’s how the moth got in his lab. Now, curiosity had burned it to death.

The scientist grabs an empty small jar from the shelf with the hand free of death.

He places the moth corpse in the jar and buries it with the lid. He grabs a sharpie from the drawer under the shelf and writes something on top of the jar right under the lid:

  Icarus

Like the mythological character, the moth was drawn to light and died. Like the mythological character, the moth raises curiosity from the viewer. Why was the moth drawn to this dangerous light?

The scientist decides to go to sleep.