Wincey
He's a caterpillar. This is part of my larger fantasy series. It's just a very small section, but I thought it was fun.
He was tired.
Caterpillars did not sleep. They did rest sometimes though, between meals.
Wincey lived a simple life.
He ate.
He rested.
He ate more.
He didn’t know why, but eating was the most important thing.
He had not been alive very long. The sky had changed from light to dark once for each of his sixteen feet.
He didn’t know why, but that was important too.
He was very tired.
He lived in Signy’s pocket. She always gave him fresh leaves.
Signy called him Wincey.
He didn’t know what that meant.
Signy said words to him. She talked a lot. He liked it when she talked to him, although he didn’t understand most of what she said. He wanted to understand, but it was hard with the constant gnawing and chewing.
Wincey felt more tired than he had ever felt before.
He also had the strangest feeling. Being not hungry.
There were leaves all around him, but none of them looked good.
He had never been not hungry before.
It was time for something. Something new.
He found the widest, most sturdy leaf and crawled onto it.
Wincey trusted his body to do what it needed.
He built a sort of greenish shell around himself.
It was cozy and warm and tight.
It was perfect.
Wincey was too tired. Maybe he would sleep after all.
He covered himself completely.
He became still.
He began to dream.
Rest well, Wincey! And good luck!!
This is a great little story, but wait. Didn’t Wincy transform into a butterfly or a moth? The story could have gone further.