He really never knew
what to make of it. All his life they just
came to him, in some
obscene parody of the
Hajj, to
pray at the
altar of his presence. All the
small things of the
Earth flocked
to the
Mecca of
Jay, and he never found out
why.
As a boy, in the
verdant fields of his home, he noticed that he
never got the
bites the other kids scratched. Not once did a
wasp
or
bee teach him the lessons all children learn. Even the
black flies stayed from his eyes,
swarming a
respectful distance
away.
Not long after, the first of the
visitors arrived.
Bizarre insects
from parts long removed, battered and withered from
fantastic
journeys across
impossible distances appeared before him. Many were the
last of their kind, destroyed by the
hand of man. They followed him like
disciples. Many died, but never at his hand. They simply
withered away, satisfied they finally arrived in the presence of their
confused messiah.
Jay never
spoke of this to anyone. He wasn't
ashamed, but rather felt that he should not
meddle in affairs
beyond his understanding. This
secret pilgrimage of the
tiny made him feel strangely
important, but also
sad in his
heart of hearts.
What do they
want? What do they
expect? When a
million tiny lives flare out each day, do they think they come to
me? Am I their
God?
For what ever reason, a
mystery to all but them, it continues to this day:
Bugs go to JayBonci.