The moth who took responsibility

Alfian Sa’at

Once there was a moth who always had bright ideas. One day, he came rushing to his village to announce to his fellow moths that he had secured a tender.

“We’re going to host the Games!” he cried.

The other moths looked at him doubtfully.

“What games?” they asked.

“It’s like the Moth Games, but with a difference. Instead of having mature moths compete, we’ll showcase our younger moths instead!”

“You mean, larvae?” one of the moths asked.

The bright-idea moth fluttered his wings excitedly. “Exactly! Our village is one of the youngest ones around, and it’ll be such a meaningful match. Young village hosting young talent! It’ll put us on the world map! What do we think of when we hear the word ‘youth’? Energy! Vibrancy! Exuberance!”

“But won’t the whole thing be like some kind of preview for the real Games? Who wants to watch a preview?” one skeptical moth asked.

“We’ll show the world that everyone has to start somewhere,” the moth beamed, which is the equivalent of twitching his proboscis.

So the whole moth village devoted their resources to the inaugural Caterpillar Games. Volunteers were conscripted. Leaves were farmed to feed the workers (some of them came from a diseased tree, but this was discovered too late). The budget ballooned. Cynicism was outlawed, and a slogan introduced: ‘Don’t Pour Cold Water On The Flame’.

During the Opening Ceremony, the moth’s proboscis was twitching feverishly, which is the equivalent of him beaming uncontrollably. The Caterpillar Games had arrived! Their moth village, too, had arrived. When he saw the Games Cauldron being lit, the moth knew that this was a beacon that would mesmerize the entire insect kingdom, or at least those species that exhibit positive phototaxis.

Over the next few weeks, the moth gradually realized that the Caterpillar Games weren’t quite commanding the rapt attention that he had expected it to. But still he put on a brave front. He attended as many competitions as he could, cheering deliriously as two caterpillars inched their way past the finish line. Pincer-to-pincer; it was a photo finish!

After the games wrapped up, the moth was expected to deliver an evaluation report to the village. He stayed awake the whole night, penning and crossing out words like ‘intangible benefits’, ‘future projected tourism dollars’ and ‘it’s OK if we didn’t get any gold medals, we were the hosts, let our guests win.’

When he ascended the podium, however, the moth saw the faces of his fellow villagers and knew he had let them down. He could tell them, with a steely, unwavering grin (a high-strung proboscis) what a success the Caterpillar Games had been. Or he could…

“My dear villagers,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m sorry to say that I will not be delivering a post-mortem today. But you can post-mortem this…”

The moth spread out his wings, ascended into the air, and crashed straight into the blazing heart of the Games Cauldron. The other moths watched as he burnt soundlessly, casting large and tragic shadows over their faces.

Note:
The word ‘burn’ here is used literally, meaning, ‘to undergo combustion’. The word ‘moth’ here also means ‘a night-flying lepidopteran insect’.

There are no metaphors in this work, or anything that might suggest parody or allegory. Also, a real moth was killed in the making of this story.

Non-Singaporeans should read this Straits Times article for context.

Photo courtesy of Jeffery Pippen