The Moth

Chapter Eight: Rooftop// Moths and Butterflies

Abluvion: (n.) That which has been washed away

Chapter Eight: Rooftop// Moths and Butterflies

"Hey."

She grinned at me and sat down.

I nodded at her, yawning. Reaching over, I threw my homework back through the window. Screw it. I'd worry about it tomorrow.

"Look what I found this morning."
I turned to see her holding out her cupped hands carefully. I leaned forward and saw a tiny butterfly clinging to her fingers. It flapped its wings and fell backwards, landing in her palm.

"A butterfly. It's...nice."

She shook her head. "This isn't a butterfly. It's a moth."
"Euh."

She pursed her lips and shook her head again. "Not 'euh', it's a moth."

I chuckled. "Fine, it's a moth. Let it fly away. If it gets in my room, I'll have to kill it."

She frowned. "It can't fly. I think its wings broke." Facing forward again, she curled her knees towards her, cradling the moth in her hands. "...But you wouldn't kill it if it was a butterfly."

"Yeah I would."

She laughed. "No you wouldn't. You can't lie to me."

["You can't lie to me." A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hiccuped. Her eyes were dead.] 

She sighed, watching the moth crawl over the tops of her fingers. "...People don't hate butterflies like they hate moths."

I snorted. "Because moths are uglier."

"No, they aren't!"

"Well, they're not much to look at. Moths are this mottled brown, dirt color and annoying at night. Butterflies have colors." I paused. "They're both stupid though."

She rolled her eyes, reaching over to let the moth crawl off her hand and onto my windowsill.

"Hey!"

She stuck out her tongue at me and curled up again. "People don't like moths because they don't look at them. Really look at them. Butterflies stay in the sunlight, where it's convenient to equate them to beauty. But why hate moths, when they do the same thing, just at night?"

My lip twitched at that. "...You realize moths and butterflies aren't the same thing right? The timing isn't the only difference between them."

"Duh."

I pursed my lips and shoved away the slight feeling that she thought me stupid.

She stayed silent, staring up at the stars.

"...Hey, do you believe in love?"

I blinked, my movements awkward and tense as I shifted positions. "Uh...I... I guess? I mean..." I snorted. "Well, maybe. But then again, my parents... I don't know." I turned to her.

"Do you?"

She gave a shallow laugh. "There's this saying. 'I really don't know what "I love you" means. I think it means "don't leave me here alone."''...Neil Gaiman." She sniffed. "I believe in it, I guess."

"Care to explain?"

She laughed, seemingly thinking my question over in her head. Then:

"It's his birthday today."

Her voice cracked. My jaw tensed and I tried to shove away any emotion trying to bubble to the surface.

"Whose?"

She chuckled, tracing the squares on the roof. My heart dropped when she looked up at me. Her eyes were dull and empty again. Then they shone, and she looked up to the stars.

"Lyon."

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A/N: No, that short line in bold italics that didn't seem to fit isn't an accident. :)