Dogbane Beetle


A warm, orange light envelops the room, but the room has half fallen apart. It has no door. One short wall stands strong, the two beside it peeling back and cowering toward it.

Wooden floor boards stretch out half of the way across the room, then seem to scatter and break like mice encountering a cat. The cat is THE MOON-- huge in terms of the room, but small, knowing how big Earth's moon is meant to be. It hovers there, imposing-- something like a stranger standing at your front door as you pull into your driveway. Has it grown to fill the space of the room or shrinked from fitting the space of the sky?

Paintsplatter stars hold still around it.

The floorboards that do exist hold quite the clutter. A straw chair huddles in the top right corner of the room, blankets draped over its shoulder. It's bathed in a another light, born from what looks almost like a stage light in the center of the floor, a little mirror above it to reflect the light. The corner is lighter than the rest of the room-- cascading pale blues, greens, and yellows across the wall, only obscured by the chair's looming shadow.

The source of the moon's warm light is a paper lantern the size of the chair. Its light is overwhelming, yet calming. A tall mirror leans against the wall next to it, and next to that, a little cactus, its arms outstretched toward the light. Little things cover the floor; nothing is the right size. A pizza box with a knife sit a little too close to the edge-- tiny bottles, glasses, and a few magazines just a little further inward. A folded newspaper-- unread?-- rests under the chair, and a few books by the lantern.

A PERSON's shadow appears by the sole standing wall. They squeeze through, between the mirror and the lantern, and the light of the room bathes them. They look a lot like you.


God, this room is so hot... funny it doesn't have a sun, huh?


It warms your face to welcome you.

The PERSON flinches, their torso shriveling inward at her booming voice. She sounds like how a flower smells sweet, but she's too loud for them; it hurts. She takes a page from a whales' book and lowers her voice.

Come in-- take a seat. Stay for a while.

The PERSON shuffles toward the chair, and falls into it.