As I sit and watch in the dark, the moths are fluttering. Into and out of the light from my computer screen they spin. They bang against the LCD screen, attracted to the bright light from a browser page that I left open.
I contemplate for a moment how alike we are. A blank page fascinates me as well. I flit and hover ever closer, waiting for the bug-zapper of inspiration to strike or the crash against the glass that warns me to change directions.
Immolation is my distant fluttering hope, to burn in the bright, hot fire of recognition.
100 words. Inspired by this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
ParkInkSpot 