She was concerned.

What if something happened to her and her family went into her phone?

Perhaps she should do something about all those pictures... so many pictures of the same weird things.

The subjects of her photography are things others may find creepy, odd, and perhaps even downright repulsive.

Her photos were taken from different angles (some were quite tricky to manage), and most were taken outdoors. Some pictures even bore funny captions and stickers she had added, putting her strange sense of humor on full display.

Yeah...

Way too weird.

Select All. Hide.

Now, if anyone glimpsed her photo files, they would not see all those close-up pictures of the insect life she found so intriguing. Moths, spiders, praying mantis, centipedes, scorpions, walking sticks-- basically most crawling or winged creatures she'd encounter on her daily hikes.

No one else ever seemed to understand the appeal of their intricate beauty.

Nope. Not a soul. Just her.

So she would continue to keep her odd insect fascination hidden away.

They call you a loveliness, but I don’t think that’s true.

Yes, you look splendid in your spotted red coats, with wings poking out in a hint of black lace, but your splendor does hide something wicked beneath.

You are a monster, truly.

A devourer.

A cannibal.

I release you into my garden, not because I like to look upon your colors, but so you will destroy.

I want you to feast on other small green, and white, and red little bodies.

I want you to devour their young until they are obliterated in my small corner of the world.

Oh, how I hate a purposeless insect.

But you are not that.

You are my wicked little friends.

You are the only creature with six legs permitted to crawl along my skin without being promptly batted at or, more likely, murdered without a second thought.

Your friend the mantis is also allowed to live, but never to touch, for her devouring spirit is not cloaked in pretty robes of red– her monstrosity is plain to see. She need not hide her true intent, being such a large, battle-adorned creature. But you are small: lovely.

You must be unassuming as you crawl across fingertips and freckled cheeks, for if one knew your true nature, surely such a little thing would not be allowed to live? To feast on soft bodies?

Yes, you look lovely, but the red on your back may as well be blood.

It is at the very least armor.

Perhaps that is why in every iteration of your name, they call you lady.

A pretty thing.

Unassuming armor to hide a hungry monster.

No.

You in mass form are not a loveliness, but rather a lethality– at least to the other garden bugs.

But.

I do know you. Deeply. You and I are not so different, are we?

That is why when I let you out, I found myself alight in genuine surprise…

Because I did not think: Monster. Beast. Cannibal. Destroyer.

I did not smile my usual wicked grin at the havoc you would unleash upon my garden foes.

Instead, as you crawled across the fingertips and forearms of my own little ladies, I could think of but one word:

Loveliness.

they crawl on the inside

from bullet wound to bullet wound

eating

feeding

the way of the world

I am an ant on the earth. Insignificant.

I am a bee at my job. Busy.

I am a butterfly to my family. Beautiful.

I wonder if I am a pest. Do I bug you?

I saw you at the crossroads

Of the chimera and the dream...

Both had grown out of the flowers

In the garden where I knelt

To embrace the scent of summer...

It was hidden in this veldt...

And then like flash lightening

Over ink black sky

It spread like wildfire in one night

Through stone pits and cherry blossoms...

Through every inch of breathing dirt,

Until the cold parts glowed with girth,

Packing a punch of pungent life

That brought the baby spikes return!...

O, please...bless them on their crooked, broken paths...

Just like light people float through veins,

Those networks of loosened street and asphalt,

Or alleyways with restless feet

That fret, and dally...

Dive, and dip...

And dance so awkwardly with death...

It comes so unexpected through romances of blind intent...

I saw you at the crossroads

Of the chimera and the dream...

Both had grown out of the flowers

In the garden where I knelt

To embrace the scent of summer...

Now the petals twice their size!...

I never will forget the curiosity of bugs,

And caterpillars that ran their entire length

Through my long finger tents

With fine finesse...

Now it is I,

Beneath the flesh

Of some great unknown hand

That's propped so calm

Inside the sweet, and succulent feast that's laid

In this garden at night where

I practiced my

Transition...

The flowers stretch so tall now,

I can barely see their bobbing heads...

The pollen drops like giant pixie dust exploding softly at the left and right of me...

I am within a wall of grass blades and

I'm inhaling the sights of

Enlarged life at night...

The flowers talk to me in dreamy hushed tones,

And they tell me I'm alright...

I have been here for sometime, but for how long

One can't tell...

I only know I'm off the grid,

And it makes my heart feel well...

Bunny Villaire

6/2/23

Edit #2

I live in Mississippi. Back in 2002 we were invaded by these horrible looking bugs. They made loud noise and had big wings and just all together freaked me the hell out. I would not leave my house unless I absolutely had to. Friends would pop in and if one got in the door way I would scream bloody murder and have someone get it out. One day one was on my car and I didn't want to get out of my truck and that thing get near me- so my crazy ass gets on the interstate...climbing speeds trying to knock that sucker off with the wind. Did it work? Nope. That thing rode with me through 3 different towns and back. Finally my friends mom just knocked it off like it was nothing. Another night during this nightmarish event we stopped at the Bowling Alley to speak to the on duty cop that was working. He walked up to the car and they were crawling all over him and he was just OK with it...mean while I screamed for my friend to roll the window up. I had a diary at the time and drew pictures of my hatred for these things. I was terrified. Finally, one night, I was getting ready to go out and one landed on me. I started screaming, ripping my clothes off out in my front yard, tumbled down the hill and was so stressed I started my period right then. LOL After that, they slowly started to go away...but they will be back- AND I WILL NOT BE ready. Just saying.....

And on this pleasant summer June’s morn,

I drift –

in my footing and in my smile,

as I gallop among the forest’s carpeting.

The velvety moss cushioning my glide as I enter,

and then presenting me with a seat

upon the collapsed limb it encloses.

Then upon my ankle,

see here,

there fashioned himself a little caterpillar –

and so sleek and nimble he was in his ascent!

A shiver overcomes my bones,

my flesh pulsating with its tingling legs marching to its own tiny tune.

I imagine a symphony of insects within this forest bed!

And in procession,

as if to follow in whimsical order,

trotted along 3 small, brown-spotted snails -

hurriedly, though mucky,

in pursuit to the ticklish feet before them.

Shine on, little snails! Keep at it!

And, oh!

As if the ants had heard the thunder

of this miniature forest parade I am witness to,

here they come!

Stylish in color –

trod on brown wood ants!

Come forth ants so black!

Fire ants! Assemble in line!

Oh, this glorious ensemble on my scuffed and dirty knee –

how nature’s blessed insect colonies

bless me this dawn with their fruitful delight!

And look! See here!

That monarch with its wings

burning bright as a summer California sunset;

oh, how she purrs in my ear like a fiddle out of place –

but ever so welcome all the same.

There is no rhyme to a forest lullaby -

everything in motion,

everything abstract in its own spectrum of life.

A dear fellow of a bee struck my vision;

and behind him,

a tiny mosquito humming faintly.

I can hear their splendid songs of a summer in its prime

as they chase upon the sweat beads racing down my arm.

And, in the outro of this June forest chorus,

those bark beetles and jewel beetles come out of hiding

(from under this tree limb I settle upon);

and in wishing me a blessed day,

they ceremoniously move on.

A whispering ballad that fades like an echo.

John and Rose are sitting in a car. They are sixteen years old and dating. Its summertime in the late 1990s in New York City. John's driving. The traffic is bad.

JOHN: So what movie do you want to watch?

ROSE: There's a new one "Sleepless in Seattle". It seems romantic

JOHN: No way. I am not watching some stupid lovey-dovey romantic movie. Let's watch something action. Lots of blood and guts. The Terminator is playing.

ROSE: What is wrong with men.

JOHN: Everything.

They pull up to the theater.

JOHN(to the ticket saleswoman): Hi we'd like two tickets. What do you recommend "Sleepless in Seattle" or "The Terminator"?

SALESWOMAN: Well, they're both good, but both sold out.

JOHN: Sold out? How'd that happen?

SALESWOMAN(Bored and tired): Well people came here gave me money and now they're sold out. Look I'm not here to answer your stupid questions I have a life you know.

JOHN: It's Friday night and your working alone, I don't know about the life part.

SALESWOMAN: Do you want to watch "Dead Man's Ghost?" It's a horror movie just came out. Guaranteed to scare you.

JOHN: Nothing scares me. I'll take two tickets.

ROSE: I don't know, I don't like scary movies.

JOHN: It's fine, I'll be there to protect you.

ROSE(sarcastic): Oh I feel so much better now.

They go and sit in the movie.

A few minutes later JOHN is terrified and ROSE is incredibly calm.

JOHN: This is terrifying.

ROSE: I thought you wanted to watch something scary with bloods and guts.

JOHN: I think I overestimated my bravery.

Cut to later back in the car.

ROSE: You scream like a little girl.

JOHN: I do not. It's not my fault that genetically I come from a long line of high pitched voices.

ROSE: You seem so proud of it too.

JOHN: How were you not scared? When he came back and slit her throat.

ROSE: I guess I'm just braver than you.

JOHN: Hey!

They drive on for a few minutes in silence. Then out of nowhere ROSE screams:

ROSE: OH MY GOSH!! THERE'S A BUG!

JOHN: Are you okay?

ROSE: NO! IT WAS ON THE BAG I WAS HOLDING. THE THING IS HUGE.

JOHN: Believe it or not you are huger.

ROSE: I can't deal with this. Its coming near me. John what do I do?

JOHN: I don't know it's a bug, kill it.

ROSE:I am not touching that thing. Help me, JOHN, help me. I'm terrified.

JOHN: Now this is what I imagined the movie to be like.

ROSE: I'm not kidding help me, kill it.

JOHN: I'm driving there's nothing I can do about it.

ROSE: Let me out.

JOHN: Here? There's like ten blocks left.

ROSE: I don't care, let me out, LET ME OUT.

She gets out of the car.

Later; John is back in his house sitting watching TV. The doorbell rings. ROSE has finally arrived panting and sweating.

JOHN: How was your nighttime run through New York City?

ROSE: Awful. There was this bee that started chasing me and wouldn't let me go. I hate bugs.

We say bugs and insects

as if they're synonymous,

one and the same in the

sense that they bother us,

each at some intersection;

...meanwhile scientifically

all bugs maybe insects &

not all suspected insects

are bugs specifically....

though body segmented,

crawlies like spiders are

neither, bug nor insect,

as 8-legged Arachnids;

nor are Anilids such as

worms "bugs," no more

so, then slugs, who are

single-lunged mollusks,

nor multileg arthropods

like the long centipede;

All insects and bugs

have 6 legs and stiff

exoskeleton-covered

segmented-bodies...

& then it gets shady,

as it's said that all the

insects have no more

than three parts total,

two antennas & two

compounded eyes;

while bug bods are

multisegmented with

straw mouth suckers:

Butterflies, bees, and

beetles are insects...

while fleas, flies and

mosquitos are bugs.

But most notably it's

underscored, bugs don't

undergo Metamorphosis

except in our phobias,

nightmares & fears...

06.10.2023

Bugs & Insects challenge @Last

The year is 2097.

The city is but one of few left standing in the Midwest since the big disaster in 2021. That was the year the two world powers went at it tooth and nail for all of eleven hours, and within the pressing seconds of two phone calls, the majority of the world went up in a huge ball of nuclear scintillation. After nearly seventy-seven years, what is left of the human race is no longer the majority.

My name is Eddie McCabe. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones if you could call me that. My mother was born in 2053, but was also born without legs, thanks to the fallout. She gave birth to me in 2074, and two years after my birth, she went away, and I never saw or heard from her again.

As a child, I had asked many questions but was told that one day I would find all the answers I was looking for, but until then it was best not to ask.

During the course of my upbringing by a small group of men and women, we were constantly moving from place to place, trying to find the safest, if not warmest places to live. The explosions had changed the weather and living conditions considerably. I had heard from the Elders how summer was hot, and winter was cold; how the days were clear, and the nights were dark but filled with tiny crystals in the shadows of blackness.

Now, none of that is the same. Winter is almost every day. The winds blow a heat that chills my bones because of the radiation. Ever since I was a child, there has never been anything more than a hazy light during the day. The ozone layer has dropped so badly, what sun we can see, appears to be nothing more than a dull-gray circle nearing death.

I had heard what it was like before the destruction; about the technology, science, medicine; even a thing called a television. Would you believe some magician was able to put people in a small box and make them perform for other people to enjoy? They wouldn’t perform until you pressed a button, and they would come to life and act all sorts of weird things. That’s scary.

Whatever there was before is gone now. As I got older, I learned from the Elders why we move so much. We are a portion of the last of the human race. In my group, there are nearly two thousand, with another four or five thousand elsewhere in the country; maybe a hundred thousand left in the world, but our numbers grow smaller each week.

A few years before I was born, the Other’s of this world have gained full control and have become the intelligent, dominant race. They control the law, politics, and have virtually become the New Establishment.

The Elders have told me the only hope we have is to wander forever and that I should pray I die from either natural causes or by what’s left of earth’s environment as we know it.

The Others have adapted to the air and have taken over. The Others are animals.

Not the larger ones, but the smaller ones. Those animals that do exist are constantly at war with each other to attain complete domination, but the ones we run from are eaters of human flesh.

Because of the radiation fallout, those who search us out are white rats, flies, and cockroaches. They have mutated to a thousand times their original size. As a child, I was shielded and protected from them as it became evident small children are the best meat they can eat.

For now, we are camped near a dry riverbed that separates two cities that prospered a long time ago. Almost all the buildings stand in disarray while the rest are nothing more that dusted rubble. They were once known as Council Bluffs and Omaha.

The Elders motion to me just now that a sighting has been made of nearly a hundred rats approaching from the east, and coming from the north, a swarming sound of another hundred or more flies approach us. Several hundred cockroaches were seen marching from the southwest. It looks as if my dying naturally will not happen.

One of the Elders mentioned it is Wednesday. It is always on Wednesday the deaths of my people occur. Every Wednesday at three o’clock like clockwork. Why Wednesday? Thursday is the big supermarket special. Every Thursday, the supermarkets (what we really call food suppliers), advertise their daily special of freshly cut and quartered Grade H (for human) meat.

We have become their favorite meal.

I’m going to leave this letter under this old iron plate in hopes one day someone might find it and learn a lesson from what death and destruction causes. But who will learn if we are all dead? Hope is all that is left, and there isn’t much of that left either. One day we may be able to defeat the Other’s, survive the fallout, and make a life for all people again. That won’t happen today.

Looking around, I know, along with the Elders, we can’t win this one. The new race of the world has us surrounded and have begun to herd us into cages to be shipped back to the slaughterhouse.

I hope one day, someone can find a way to defeat them and regain our freedom from this tragedy that has befallen the world. If man doesn’t survive, if we can’t prevail and move on to a better, if not more tolerable existence, then it won’t matter.

Nothing will.