They are sitting around the table in a small kitchen in a summer house in lovely summer town by the river, eating pancakes with jam and drinking tea so sweet as the childhood itself.
The night is approaching their house from outside, with all sorts of spirits and witches wandering in the woods, but the boy feels comfortable and safe inside.
In their shining ship that is floating through the darkness bearing on board the last remnants of civilization, the sole purpose of why the universe was created. That means him.
Broken rays of light scattered in his teacup. Ten thousand pieces of memories of today that is about to remain in the past forever. Very soon. Just when the supper is over.
There is a mosquito net on the window and hordes of six legged beasts are trying to brake their way through it.
Armies of zombies blinded by light and instinct.
Insects as we know them are just the ending phase of the actual animal. That's when they are grown up ready to reproduce and die.
“Another day had passed,” sighs the man behind the table. His dark eyes are shining and devoid of any expression. And by the emptiness of his phrase and his voice the boy instantly recognizes the ending phase of an insect in him.
It looks like his black thick mustache is growing longer and longer, becoming a pair of antennae. Trembling, getting dizzy in fumes of sweet smell of strawberry jam.
It's sad and terrifying for the boy to understand that this man beloved so much is dead already.
He wanders: “if this will happen to me also?” but he says nothing.
Boy remembers this evening until the end of his days. Not exactly the whole evening. Just the phrase and the moment when the mustache starts growing.
One of those ten thousand pieces of memories of the days as a caterpillar
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