by David Miller
That night swarms of insects flew through the jungle. I could feel them landing on my face and neck, in my hair. I lit a candle and saw thousands of them moving silently along the walls, the floor, the table, my bed, everywhere inside and outside the shelter. They looked like flying ants but didn't seem to bite or sting. In the candlelight I could see that whenever they landed they left their wings behind and started crawling, and it occurred to me that this was the key metamorphosis in their lives. In the morning they were gone, but I was covered - everything was covered - with thousands of tiny wings.
David Miller is the Senior Editor at Matador and a busy young father. This Spring he'll be among a group of Pacific Northwest writers invited to read work for Drash: Northwest Mosaic. Follow along as he writes a novel in real-time on Twitter. (Click here to make a donation to David, half of which will support 6S.)