The Chrysalis

-There's something on the wall.

I stopped placing the plates on the table when I heard the voice of my little brother. I turned
to see him pointing with his little hand at the wall with peeling paint. At first I didn't notice
anything strange, but paying attention I saw in the old dark green some stained brown wings.
It was a moth.

My brother, only six years old and known for his innate curiosity, stretched out his arm as
far as he could to reach it. In that, our mother placed the pot with dinner on the tablecloth
and, as she crouched beside him, she gently grabbed him by the shoulder.

-Don't bother it, they can bring good fortune," she said calmly, although her gaze was really
rigid. My brother nodded and took a seat at the table. Mom straightened up, and with a glance
she told me to keep setting the table. That's what I did and the three of us had noodle soup
with the winged one as a spectator.

The next day and the day after that, the visitor was in the same place, something that my
brother pointed out with enthusiasm. However, little by little he lost interest and began to
ignore it. I couldn't. It wasn't just that their stillness was constant, on the contrary, a couple
of times I saw it in other places.

On the kitchen counter over the almost empty can of cookies.

In the slabs of the shower, like a black stain between blue sky.

In the room where no one can enter, also known as my parents' room.

It moved without anyone seeing it. Like a ghost. But somehow I felt that it was watching us,
like judging us in silence.

A week after we found it, I asked my mother:

- Isn't the moth strange?

She was busy with that day's meal, because it was a special occasion.
-A girl like you shouldn't worry about something like that. I don't want your father to arrive
and see that they have become irresponsible.

Dad used to travel a lot for work and it was the first time in two months that he came back
from Washington on business. I didn't like it when he came, Mom was very nervous in his
presence, and we were forbidden to leave our rooms after lunch. I went to mine to obey her
and locked myself in with my textbooks.

A couple of hours later my brother opened the door saying that dinner was served. And Dad
was already here. It looked just like the last time I saw it, nothing out of place.

We received hugs and gifts from him, for my brother a new robot toy, for me a little statuette
of a rabbit carrying a basket of carrots.

We sat in silence, everyone except Dad, who was chattering about incompetent companions
and sleepless nights while cutting the chicken breast tightly. I could tell that all the time Mom
was twisting her hands under the table, and when we brought the dishes to the sink, he was
already kissing her neck. Mom dismissed us with a gesture, her whole rigid body under Dad's
lips.

Before closing the door to my room I heard him:

- How long has that thing been there?

-A few days. -Mom's voice sounded so neutral, barely alive.

- And they just left it there? That shit brings bad luck, but it must be dead by now.

I lay down under the sheets to cover the noises they made, I turned my stomach upside down
and wished my brother would sleep soundly. I don't know how long it was before the silence
fell like a blanket on us, and I heard a fluttering in my ear. I jumped out of the fright and then
I saw it, resting on the window of my room.

In a matter of seconds I lost sight of it.

I heard the flutter again and a chill runs down my spine. Despite the sheets that covered me,
I began to tremble. Despite feeling that I was freezing threads of cold sweat come down my
temples. The dream did not come.
Even though I was trembling, I managed to get out of bed and reach the door, dragging my
feet. Silently I set foot in the hallway. Only the rumor of the night was heard. It was so late
that through the window I could only see a wolf's mouth, the lights showing.

I tiptoed to the living room and there I stumbled on some glass. A bottle, which rolled to a
halt on the leg of the sofa. With the sight already accustomed to the darkness I could see that
there were several of the same, empty, watered on the table and the floor. A steady breath
indicated to me that there was Dad, asleep on the sofa surrounded by glass, under the
changing light of the TV on. I crossed the room without looking at him too much.

I didn't want to notice his alcoholic breath.

Neither his wrinkled shirt, nor his unbuttoned trousers.

If I didn't look at him I would forget for a moment that hopefully he would stay alone that
night and leave early because he made a call saying that his flight was delayed, nor would
we have to say goodbye and see him go home to his real home, just two hours from here.

With another family. The real one.

On the other side of the room, delicately perched on the glass of the entrance door, was that
moth. Even in the shadows, I noticed the stains on its wings and its curious antennae, much
like fluffy feathers.

I stretched out a hand trying not to scare it, attracted as if I were the moth and that was the
light.

I didn't smell anything. I completely ignored it; I ignored that Dad not only drank that
night, because in his hand, which hung from the sofa and was inches away from the
tablecloth of the coffee table, there was a point of light that barely released smoke... A
cigarette still lit.

Nor that the moment I was about to touch those hypnotic wings, Dad's fingers loosened and
released the brightest spark. Then a couple of thin brown wings wrapped me, leading me
into complete darkness.
I woke up wrapped in softness.

I stretched out surrounded by scorched objects, my bed, my books.

I crawled out of the softness, my body asleep, witness of all that burned.

On my knees I felt heavy. My back wanted to drag me to unconsciousness.

Slowly I reached my brother's room. I saw black and white, silk and ashes, his bed wrapped
in silk and his small arm sticking out at a strange angle, his skin blackened. What were
once fingers, twisted like twigs.

I couldn't get into Mom's room, because it collapsed. Through the collapsed wall I barely
saw her blankets mixed with white silk and knew she was underneath.

I went back to the living room, something big melted on the sofa, among the remains of
broken bottles.

The only thing without silk.

I walked, but I actually floated, for I have beautiful wings and hairy antennas that help me
to see the disaster.

Without remorse I kissed his head. The ashes painted my lips and I smiled.

In an impeccable circle, alien to the tragedy, was the moth, as charred as my house.

I cradled it in my hands with care, finally touching it. I caressed it, whispered words of
thanks and wrapped it in the beautiful silk it gave me. My fingers now held the grave and I
laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Then I heard the sirens.