I struck the moth on the wall as hard as I could and it virtually atomised in a cloud of brownish grey dust. It’s crumpled body fluttered, lifeless, to the floor where it laid, still and broken.
I hate moths. They bother me.
I don’t like the way they flutter and blindly bump into things. I don’t like the way they stupidly circle a light bulb thinking it’s the Sun when in fact it’s just a man-made invention. I don’t even like the way they look, drab and ugly with no colour or individuality to them.
It’s hard to see what purpose moths actually have in this world but, if they leave me alone, I will leave them alone, to carry on their drab little mothy lives.
But, when one bothered me, I used unnecessary force and took pleasure in seeing it lying broken on the floor in front of me.
Perhaps I’m just phobic.