I shudder in this cage of brittle bones, glacial pulse murmuring.
Buses thunder past, the background to an immeasurable span of time. Condensation fills my cavities, water welling me up, weighing me down.
Winter is grey, clouds fly past like migrating birds. The nights count down, a clock comprised of light and dark; the sky a porcelain face. Death is embraced in the falling leaves, brown then grey then nothing on the tree.
Warmth wakes me. My spiracles dry as air from the opening window frame kisses life into me like a flame.
I buzz and flip. Wings flutter. My proboscis twitches. My heart mutters against my abdomen. I leap aloft into the spring time zephyr, buzzing with joy of life renewed, revived.
BANG.
A rolled up newspaper slams the glass. The window vibrates. A smear of blood.
“Shit, I’m going to have to clean that up.”
The end.
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