An orange and gold butterfly lands on ground made barren by fire ants. These industrious creatures ignore the winged insect, too intent upon stripping the earth above and below to stop for neutral creatures. A young woman studying the ants switches her gaze to the butterfly, finding its vivid colors pleasing.
The butterfly does an odd thing, akin to a push-up with it forelegs. Up and down it moves, and it strikes the woman that the insect looks more like a moth than a butterfly. It's wings, although colorful, are smaller and lack the frilled delicacy of a butterfly's wings. The body is too thick, and stubby, and covered in thicker velvet coat.
It repeats the push-up move, flutters upwards a moment, lands near an ant, facing her as before. It lowers and raises itself. The wings flap in slow rhythm. She doesn't notice that it matches her heart, that her breathing has slowed. Her thoughts turn slowly; are simple before slipping into nonsense.
What an odd butterfly. Or moth. Day moth? Could be possible, where is it written that all moths are nocturnal? Don't step off the path, there could be a butterfly... or an ant...and miles to go before he slept. Sleep? And miles to go before?
She is very still, staring at the insect which does a final push up before flying at her, landing on her eye, piercing the orb with a curved talon its wings and body hid.
Her arms stop before she can fully raise them to protect herself. She is frozen, paralyzed. The insect lifts gracefully up from her eye as she falls backwards. It crawls into her mouth, burrows itself in her stomach, laying at thousand eggs along the way.
No one finds her. No one can.
A day later, bodies crumple and disappear as larvae consume flesh. Teeth form, the fattening worms feed on muscle and cartilage, while arranging skeletons to house them in the cocoon stage. During the night they attach themselves to pitted bones, enveloped by gray mucus the sun hardens.
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