The Shimmer

For a moth the world has always been a very dark place, without any meaning.
That has never been a problem for the tiny moth. It lived.
This is all it needed to know at the end of the day.
It has always been satisfied with itself, with a tiny bit of brown fur, teeny-tiny legs that keeps it going and wings that don't tear even when they get stuck on a zipper in the biped's wardrobe.
It never has anything to lose and also nothing to think of.
But suddenly there is a shimmer, a tackling in the pit of the moth's stomach and for the very first time in it's life it felt curios, so curios it can't resist the desire to learn more about the shimmer.
The moth is crawling closer and closer.
It thinks by itself how cold the ground actually feels but so smooth.
One step. One more step and it is standing right were the shimmer was.
It feels irritated and disappointed.
It had chased the shimmer away, frightened it away.
But there is a warmth on it's back, a warmth that wasn't there before.
The warmth must come from above, thinks the moth so it lift the gaze.
Amazement makes the moth freeze.
Never has the moth seen something so beautiful.
A bright and clear light.
It wonders if it is the sun that has decided to come down from heaven to visit the moth.
The shimmer it saw must be the cone of light coming from the sun.
The moth is standing in this shimmer right now.
It never felt better.
It begins to stretch its wings, raise them up and down until it's legs finally lose contact to the ground.
The moth's wings carry it higher and higher, closer and closer to the cause of the shimmer.
A pleasing warmth is pouring trough it's whole body.
It is surrounded by light.
With every beat of it's wings the light's warmth slowly develops to heat.
The moth reaches for the light with it's teeny-tiny legs.
It is excited, hopeful.
But suddenly it feels a stabbing pain in it's feeler and legs.
It falls to the ground, unable to move.
For a very long moment the moth lays on it's back, staring at the light, wondering what just happened.
It gets back on it's feet, the pain fading.
The moth asks itself: what did it do wrong?
Did it hurt it on purpose?
The moth feels sad.
But it also feels the warmth again and this warmth comforts it.
It is determined to try it again, if it only were a little more careful.
The moth longs for the closeness to the most beautiful thing it has ever felt and seen.
So it lifts itself again into the air, draws long circles higher and higher towards the light.
The warmth gives it courage, it has to make it to the light.
The second attempt was even worse than the first, the wings glow and the legs are painfully bent by an unfortunate impact.
The moth feels like it is dying.
The wings the moth once was so proud of now look horrible and it doesn't even know if it's able to fly again.
The pain in it's legs are enormous but much greater than any pain is the disappointment and confusion.
The moth asks itself: how can something that be so beautiful yet destroy you so much?
Despite great pain, the moth tries to move it's wings.
And it works. Apparently they still serve their purpose.
The moth lies down, totally exhausted.
After a while the moth feels cold, the cold it had always felt, before it got to know the shimmer and it's invigorating warmth.
The moth doesn't want to lose this warmth or this bright light.
The moth has pushed it's legs under it's belly and while it is lying there it rediscovers the shimmer.
The moth drags itself to the shimmer.
To feel the warmth again, this incredible warmth.
When the moth reaches the shimmer it feels how the cold fades.
And it raises it's gaze again and there it still is.
The little sun that seems to exist only for the tiny moth.
But it thinks it's unlikely, because just like the moth it never had something to exist for either. It just exists.
Still, it longs to be near the light.
That is all that matters.
It starts to fly again.