The Dog & The Moth

Introduction

The first time I saw you, you were so small. You had walked away from your mother in the farmer's market. The stupid woman didn't even notice. Your wide, sunken brown eyes welled with tears, as any ten year old would. But you knew better than to cry. It wasn't the thing to do in a state of panic. Oh, how I admired that.

I was nineteen at the time, just had been accepted into Harvard University, where I'd be studying philosophy and religion.

Either you were too young to be taught or your mother was stupider than she looked, perhaps both, but your innocence and need for help had so beautifully made you trust me. I could have taken you with me then and there, but it wasn't quite the time yet.

I walked behind to you, your back to me, and stopped right behind you. Your light brown hair falling loosely on your shoulders, more than likely in need of a haircut. I repulsed the urge to touch it, tug it, and instead tapped your shoulder. You turned and looked like the easiest prey a wolf could've snatched. Your eyes gleamed with fear and a tinge of hope at that single look is what really made me hunger for you.

I asked if you needed help.

You nodded.

I held out my hand and you took it gratefully.

Such tiny, childish, naive hands.

The question was brought up if you knew where that old bitch was, to which you replied with, "At the meat market." I, however, already knew where she was.

She was looking for chicken in the wrong bird isle; the duck isle.

I can't blame her, or anyone else for being so incredibly stupid, but honestly, woman, fucking try.

Your eyes lit up when you caught a glimpse of her dress: a black one with pink roses spotted all over it.

I asked if you were sure it was her, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, so I walked up to her, your tiny hand in mine, as I almost unwillingly let you out of my grasp.

Your mother made a sound of surprise and hugged you, thanked me, and walked away.

That was the last time I'd see you for ten years and all I can remember is your sunken brown eyes, shaggy hair, your tiny hands, a scar on your eyebrow where hair would never grow, and your mother calling you by your name.

"Adam."