Moths

It was around 4am, the coca-cola flavoured smoke had already filled every gap of the room and most of the guests were gone. I watched her sitting on the couch across from me, cross-legged. There was no class and no grace in the way she let the smoke escape but something about her was different that night. I saw a new dimension.

She was scared. "All the time," she told me. Petrified, even.

Why? She could not glue the words together. There was no sound explanation and there didn't have to be. I knew the feeling too well. Awkward words put together made meaningless phrases but she still tried to come up with an accurate description. Her blue eyes seemed to widen with each sentence until she appeared to be blind. We weren't in the same room anymore. I was translucent to her.

Her voice was gradually coming down to a whisper. Eventually, there was no sound. I knew better not to speak nor to ruin her blissful, full of nothingness coma. Her teeth started clenching and her appendages were seemingly vellicating. Watching this, breathing still slowly became a job.

Another painful minute later, she snapped out of it.

"..I feel like I've got moths quivering in my stomach." - was all she faintly whispered before getting up and leaving, never to be seen again.