Little Moth
1–Little Moth
[Brooke]
Brooke tapped her fingernail against the coffee glass. Her other elbow leaned against the tabletop, palm cradling her chin. Rain pattered against the river-facing window on her right. It’d left dots on her favorite beanie with the little white skull on it. Storms had been going for the last three days. Parts of river street had flooded so she had to walk the long way to get home from the paranormal museum. Savannah was a southeastern relic preserved from the U.S. civil war. Its infrastructure was built directly atop the bones of the dead from the 1820s yellow fever outbreak. That’s why the ballast stones were more uneven near the cemeteries. Shallow mass graves extended below the roads, well beyond the boundaries. Everyone thought the city was haunted, even though it had modernity superimposed on it. So, the Starbucks Brooke was relaxing in, according to the regulars, was full of angry spirits. It was all the same to her–she just wanted out of the Georgia heat.
Brooke didn’t believe in ghosts. She was the blue-haired liberal arts lady, the paranormal museum’s programmer. In other words, she was a stressed-out logistics woman in her twenty-somethings who’d gone to college and come back believing in science. She wasn’t the one to go to for questions about Hoodoo, or if she prayed to a higher power, or if she agreed with the current state of something or another. A few days off was a rare treat unbound from the clock. The only reason she didn’t complain was because more tourists brought more money. At the moment, she only had to be concerned about how the pink-haired barista downstairs had made her cold brew with just the right amount of sweet to bitter. It was good enough to make her relax, if only a little. The upstairs was less crowded, maybe three other people spread out. In the dim light, they looked like grayish statues, focused on the bubble of their own lives. Outside, the rain had picked up, pounding harder on the glass. She stopped to sip her coffee. When she set the glass back down, she stiffened. Her eyes tracked a small, sudden movement on the windowsill. It was right by her sleeve. From above, it looked like a brown moth. If it hadn’t moved it would’ve blended with the wood. She squinted.
[Lily]
Lily brushed the bangs out of her eyes. She bent over to secure her fishhook in one of the windowsill’s splinters, and then, cast some attached twine to the floor as a rope. Behind her, the rain against the window was a dull, thudding background noise hinting at danger. It was too treacherous to be outside for her. When she’d looked last, the human at the table was zoning out on her coffee. But then the slow, lazy breathing suddenly stopped. The halting of breath from the human’s nose caused the coffee-air stirring around her to cease, changing the atmosphere itself. Her heart sank to her feet. At once she knew she’d been noticed from above.
“No, no,” she thought, “I still haven’t found what I need yet.”
Lily squeezed one hand on the fishhook’s curve. She stared directly ahead, at the wall of black denim sleeve in front of her. It shifted away. A large, low rumble vibrated through the table with the movement. The arm was separated from her by a chasm, extending from the windowsill’s edge. Between the gap was a long, fatal drop to the floor below. Hesitantly, Lily lifted her head to check the creature’s face. Her entire body seized. The human was looking at her. Her brown eyes flicked, studying, trying to understand what she was seeing. Meanwhile, Lily was on the verge of a panic attack. She was petrified by the human’s anti-tiny-people fashion. Her scary black earrings looked like spike-traps, and a silver skull charm hung around her necklace chain, matching the symbol on her beanie. Even though she was pretty and had makeup and blue hair, she was scary-pretty, Lily decided.
“That monster must have killed one of us, and kept their skull as a trophy!”
Lily trembled. Her eyes welled with tears, but she managed not to cry.
[Brooke]
Brooke held perfectly still.
“I’m overworked,”she thought,“It’s the late nights.”
The museum was breaking her brain. She’d been editing too many Hoodoo pamphlets, scheduling too many fake ghost tours. She closed her eyes, counted to two, and opened them again, expecting the tiny figure to transform back into a moth. It didn’t. The woman on the sill, who looked about her own age, stood her ground, shaking, tears shining in her eyes. Carefully, Brooke leaned back, the chair giving a low groan. The little lady flinched at the noise, but didn’t run. Brooke’s thin, fair-skinned fingers twitched, and though the thought crossed her mind, she resisted grabbing her. Instead, she reached for the cold brew like it was a pressure valve. She took a long, indulgent sip. Maybe she’d finally lost it and was hallucinating. Either that, or the laws of physics were crumbling. Even if she entertained the idea of a person that size existing, there was no way a normal human could survive at four inches tall without significant changes to their anatomy. They’d either freeze to death or die of starvation. The empiricist and absurdist in Brooke worked overtime, an occupied mind preventing her from startling.
That intellectual anchor ran alongside a growing sense of mischief. As cerebral as Brooke was, her emotional intelligence was stunted. She failed to fully empathize with the tiny creature, and so found herself contemplating all sorts of forbidden scenarios. The awful power imbalance made the perfect grounds for Brooke’s antics. For example, she could tease the girl without any consequences, or make her listen to her endless rambling about history and social injustice. She had a vivid image of subjecting the poor thing to her giant face up close, then sticking her in a corked test tube to carry her around the museum with her.
[Lily]
Loud shifting filled Lily’s ears, the noise of the human’s clothes brushing against her skin. A clean, aquatic fragrance filled the air–a scent she wore. Lily wondered if she doubled as a sea monster in her spare time. When the human lifted the coffee she jumped away reflexively, her back hitting the window’s glass. Droplets of condensation from the coffee’s outside dripped to the tabletop, splashing towards her. She shielded her face with both arms. The human watched from the side, taking note of her reactions with an almost clinical, detached eye. She casually rested her chin into her free hand, but had it angled in such a way that hid her jaw’s movements. When the human spoke, Lily could feel it vibrate softly through the floor beneath her shoes. Her tone was an annoying mixture of casual arrogance and playful amusement, like a fox that’d found a mildly entertaining mouse to prod.
“You react to your environment, so you do perceive,” the human said through a half-hidden smirk, setting the glass down with a dull, resonant thud, “Are you a complex illusion? A tiny robot?”
Lily shook her head. The rest of the human’s expression retained a smugness, but her eyes betrayed the threat she posed. They glared with a sharp, savage curiosity, piercing Lily through. She could tell she was frustrated, too. To a human like this, she realized, she represented a tiny, nonsensical blemish on the world. Thoroughly intimidated, Lily avoided the intense stare from across the way. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her cloak. Her instincts flared in the unexpected quiet, sensing an opportunity. For some reason, the monster had spared her. It could be her only chance for a tactical retreat. Keeping her eyes on the giant, she stepped back into the shadow created by the window’s frame, waiting for a lapse in the human’s attention. Once the human blinked, Lily dove for the twine she’d left hanging from the fishhook. Full of adrenaline, but methodical, she climbed for the hardwood plain below. Her hands burned from her firm, measured gripping. Anxiety ruled her, her mind in the cold, calculating tunnel of survival-mode. Thinking the human would be relieved to find the “illusion” gone, and too slow to catch her due to her giant size, she planned out several escape routes on her way down. She took advantage of the large blind spot created by the tabletop to save energy. Her reprieve didn’t last long. The human proved much faster than her size implied.
The twine-rope Lily was squeezing suddenly surged upward. Her stomach flipped. She cried out in pain. Some fingers slipped. At first she thought it was floating, but a glance above revealed a giant thumb and forefinger had pried the fishhook from the wood, and was holding it aloft. Lily’s heart sank as the floor became a distant refuge. She was brought to the vast expanse of the tabletop and dropped lazily but safely onto her rear. A lean, towering upper body cast a shadow over her. The human was still hiding an irritating smirk with one hand, elbow leaned on the table. Lily panted from exertion. She met eyes with the skull pendant around the human’s neck and swallowed nervously. In an instant, the beast had pocketed her fishhook and twine like it was a toy. The human chuckled, the sound rich and rolling.
“Well, at least you tried to get away. I’ll admit you almost had me fooled. You’re clever,” she said playfully.
Lily frowned. The monster didn’t bother to offer an explanation for her actions. She sluggishly ran the index finger of her free hand along the rim of her coffee-glass, taking her sweet time to think. When she was finished, her long fingers shifted to drum idly against the tabletop next to Lily. The huge, casual gesture sent vibrations through her bones, rattling her teeth.
“Why are you here, hm? For shelter from the rain?”
Lily’s lip quivered. She watched the beast avert her gaze to the grand, blurry space beyond her field of vision, checking to see if they were being watched by the other café-goers. A short, soft hum left the human’s lips. The drumming hand stopped. Lily cowered. The human’s fingers dragged across the table at a frightening speed, curving behind her with a giant whoosh to block her from view. They didn’t touch her, but rested like a tall, lazy curtain. At least she was entertaining the idea Lily might be visible to other people, but the issue remained.
“I’m not an illusion,” Lily thought, “How do I prove that to her?”
She had to be brave. Running away would only convey that she was a creature of instinct. Speaking might work, but she was too scared for that. Instead, she approached the coffee’s glass beside her, lifting one precise, miniature finger to it. In the freezing-cold fog that clung to the outside, she wrote a message, and then, looked up at the giant with her hands on her hips.
[Brooke + Lily]
Brooke’s eyes widened. The tiny lady had written a message for her. She leaned her face close, intrigued, only to find it read: “Hey, so I’m a real person, giant jerk <3” Brooke almost laughed out loud from the deadpan words. At the same time, the gears in her brain turned. The little woman was sassy, but more importantly, she could write. Hallucinations weren’t capable of such complex thought, and robots typically didn’t form their own opinions. Still, Brooke needed more proof. Her stupid, persistent smirk widened.
“Oh, so that’s how it is? I didn’t think you had it in you, Thumbelina.”
The little lady shook her head. Beneath the first message, she wrote: “My name’s actually Lily.”
She underlined 'Lily,' throwing a sharp glare up at Brooke. Brooke let out a low, curious noise from her throat. Her finger traced the side of the coffee thoughtfully, causing the girl to flinch, but she stood her ground. A name, a personality, and a sense of self: it was safe to assume the tiny lady was real. Lightly, a prick of guilt slipped into Brooke’s awareness. She weighed the ethical issue of her power, and decided she wouldn’t cross any boundaries, to a point. However, she couldn’t stop herself from maintaining a teasing distance from the girl. Brooke wasn’t trying to be overly malicious, she was just amused by the imbalance.
“Lily, then,” Brooke mumbled into her palm, raising an eyebrow, “Why don’t you talk to me? I don’t bite, and I have more questions for you.”
Brooke looked down at Lily expectantly. Lily shrunk back into the hand that blocked her, desperate for a hiding place, but Brooke could see her thinking about it. Lily’s mouth opened, and closed, and finally opened:
“Fine. What do you want?” Lily managed, sharper than she meant.
Brooke’s snicker rushed from her nose, big enough to tousle Lily’s hair. The smaller girl’s spiciness only served to draw her in.
“Why were you on a windowsill in a public place? Shouldn’t you constantly be in hiding, with how tiny you are?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“For what?”
Lily hesitated. She scoffed.
“Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”
Brooke’s hand curled inward slightly, nearly touching Lily’s shoulders on either side. She tensed up, reading the curious playfulness in Brooke’s expression.
“Maybe I’d be willing to suspend my disbelief, given the evidence in my hand.”
Lily stared into Brooke’s dark eyes defiantly, as David would Goliath, but her voice cracked around the edges, her vulnerability seeping through.
“It’s a blue door,” she said, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself, “I’d almost reached it because I didn’t blink, but the rain started again. This place was closest. I know it’s moved somewhere else by now.”
Brooke snorted, glancing around briefly to make sure nobody had heard. She faced the window to seem inconspicuous.
“A door that moves?”
“It moves if you blink while you’re looking at it,” Lily said, with a certainty that made it difficult to doubt, “It’s a magic door.”
“What’s behind it?”
Lily looked down at her shoes. She shuffled her feet.
“I’m not telling you. All you need to know is that I’ve got to go through it, okay?”
“That’s fair.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me go?”
Brooke tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider it.
“Hmm, no. Not yet. I’m having too much fun.”
Lily gasped when Brooke’s fingers closed around her completely, erasing all her escape routes. Fully expecting to be crushed, Lily struggled, kicking uselessly against the heavy warmth. She found herself being gradually lifted towards the slope of Brooke’s lean shoulder. That aquatic perfume from earlier hit Lily like a wave, emitting from the neck. With surprising care, Brooke set her in the soft of her collarbone. Lily grabbed the edge of the human’s giant, white t-shirt to stabilize herself, brushing tufts of the long, blue hair out of her way. To Lily’s left, the collar of the black-denim jacket rose, providing a barrier from prying eyes.
“It’ll keep the rain out,” Lily thought, studying the side of Brooke’s face above, “Is she trying to help?”
Heat crept into Lily’s cheeks, flustered by the sudden closeness. Brooke’s posture slackened. She leaned back against her chair. Lily thought the human’s breathing sounded slow and greedy, taking in air enough to sate voluminous lungs.
“What are you doing?” Lily whispered, towards Brooke’s ear.
Brooke groaned, sluggishly shifting her shoulders. Lily gasped and gripped the shirt harder, afraid she’d fall.
“Mm–Coffee first, Thumbelina.”
Lily’s mouth fell open. This again!
“I told you, I’m Lily. I’m not some little damsel in distress.”
“Really? You sound pretty distressed to me,” Brooke murmured teasingly, between big, ravenous sips of cold brew, “Which suitor am I from the tale? Am I the mole, or the swallow? Or am I the big, smelly toad–”
“Oh, definitely the toad.”
Brooke wheeze-laughed, almost choking on the ice. She didn’t move at first, waiting to regain her composure so she didn’t draw attention to them. Once the cold brew was gone she slowly stood, so as not to jostle Lily. All was well until Brooke stretched her arms out in front of herself. The movement of Brooke’s collarbone bending inward pressed Lily tight against the side of her neck. For a moment she got an earful of colossal, pounding pulse from beneath the skin. It was a warm, dizzying sensation. Lily let out a soft, startled noise. When Brooke relaxed again, Lily’s face was beet red. She was embarrassed because deep down, she’d enjoyed the heat and the closeness. Being held by Brooke, even if she was kind of scary, was the safest she’d ever felt near a human.
