I/II. The Butterfly Alphabet

A is a being in a state of flux. Certainly though, that’s not the explanation A would have given you as to why he prefers such a mononym all those years ago. A seven year old justification would have probably brought up the pleasing geometry in the arrangement of graphemes; how it resembled a triangle, his favourite shape, except with the bottom line raised to the centre. Perhaps A would also remark on the letter’s predilection in English semiotics; it is the premier letter of the alphabet as well as the asseverative emblem for the highest achievement we should strive to have our tests and assignments and examinations and artwork littered with. And indeed it was a title befitting the wearer; A was a prototypical straight-A student. Naturally gifted in absorbing juvenile academia, A soon grew resentful of his classmates using his mononym to equate him to an “apple polisher” or an overachiever. Over time, A proliferated the anonymity that the letter granted, allowing him to elude any and all preconceptions of what it is A actually is. He became something of an enigma in high school; many classmates would remark on the deep mystery and august disposition gleaned from their first impression of him. They would then note the idiosyncratic shock to find his goofy nature hidden behind the stoicism. A was assuredly deliberate in perpetrating this type of mercurial persona. A has now seen many incarnations of himself borne into that singular letter, each one just an elaboration on the previous concept. A welcomes all manifestations of what A could mean so that he can live truly untethered. A is a human, however. The way that A provides continuous reconstruction is not consonant to the maintenance of societal structures. As such, A has a birthday. A has an address. A lives in the neighbourhood of Malvern, in the division of Scarborough, in the city of Toronto. A is a Canadian citizen from a middle class family of Indian and Trinidadian heritage. A was meant to withdraw from the abstractions of life after a certain point and n​ arrow​ in on a singular focus. All that A could think about, however, was how Toronto was named for a n​ arrow ​ channel of water north of Lake Simcoe - from the Mohawk word “Tkaronto”, meaning “place where the trees stand in the water”. It could have also been named after a Huron word for “plenty”, which was documented as another possible origin around the same time by the French. An arbitrary name for absconded lands befit the topography of A’s identity. A is a being in a state of flux, however. A grew weary of the arbitrary names and rebuffed the idea of standing like a tree in the water for the rest of one’s waking life. A retreated towards the heart of the Rouge forest, by which his house rested at the edge. The pathways, carved by lawn mower or trodden by deer hooves, have become familiar avenues over the last ten years for A to traverse when his mind is lost. On this particular day, A decided to finally resign his University studies. He was never particularly confident with his choice in enrolling in the Bachelor of Business program at Schulich - the prestige of the school, akin to the prescribed desire to receive A’s on our tests and assignments and examinations and artwork, led to the unanimous, no-brainer

counsel from his family and peers to accept the offer of admission. A was equally as complicit in this belief that he was foreordained to go down a coveted path of post-secondary academia - given his grades, his brothers’ career paths, and the cultural indoctrination he grew up with like most children of immigrant families to value University degrees and an financially esteemed career above all else. He also hoped that Business could be the centre line between Math and English, his two favourite subjects - this would quickly prove itself not to be the case. A’s attendance was steadily becoming more sparse, so during this now rare appearance in an Economics lecture, his desire to continue his time at University had been finally absolved. A got into a progressively heated argument with his professor over a comment A made during the lecture regarding the professor’s assumption that Toronto’s name was French in origin. A pointed out the Mohawk or Huron origin of the name, to which the professor responded with an escalating level of personal attacks on A’s identity and demeanour towards the class. A could feel the way the narrowness of the professor’s anger very neatly encapsulated his entire dissatisfaction with being in school for Business. His soul didn’t belong in the world of finance and industry. And so, before returning home to inform his family of his decision, A made a retreat to the Rouge beach. The familiar wind crept through the crevices of the grass, awakening their balmy aroma. As A reached the initial stretch of sand overlooking the Rouge shores, the wind leapt off the forest trail above and dove headstrong towards the water before skittering off. Some of the wind found itself enticed by the healthy, yet docile flame that purred by the makeshift pit. The blooming tendrils played like puppets against the backdrop of rocks and trees. Leaning against a log nearest to the fire, the flame’s light introduced her silken visage set ablaze by the luminescence in her eyes.

My name is Mara, she said. A had never been more transfixed by a primordial encounter. He stared at the palm lines etched into his hand, as if partly to affirm his reality as well as admire the mulberry satin glow of his skin against the warmth of the flame.

What is your name? A. A? A. What does A mean?

A stumbled over a branch as though his motor functions tuned to his entrancement with Mara like moth to flame. Mara smiled at A’s unplanned comedic timing.

A can be a clown, if that’s what you need.

Mara laughed and entered further. No really, what does A mean?

A’s eyes wandered deeper into the heart of the flame, trying and failing to locate the singular root through which its erratic stalks bloom in and out of visibility.

A is a being in a state of flux. In one afternoon I fundamentally changed so much about what I should have been, but I feel much the same. I think I’ve tried to be open to so many things that I’m not sure of the one thing that would unify myself in a harmonious way. The whole attempt at Business school was all to just try and satisfy some illusory societal perception of where and how my life should go given the circumstances I was born into. Based on the economic status and inherent moral value in academic success that exists in the South Asian culture I was born with, I should go and receive this degree as if it proffers some divine essence. And more degrees is just objectively better. As if nobody has done anything noble in the history of the world without a degree. I think my privileges in life from the sacrifices my parents made should have afforded me the ability to seek happiness as my main priority rather than financial success. My parents needed to take the first job they could get when they came here, which is basically the same story for most people I know who came here from the same places. I’m not trying to shit on Business or anything, I just don’t believe I need to force myself to do something I don’t want to do because it’s a privilege to do it and so I should be grateful. I think if we’re entitled to anything, it should be a chance to explore what we really desire. And that’s the true privilege my parents awarded me; I don’t have to narrow my choices. Look at the river ending there. It opens and narrows at different turns, responding to the trees and rocks and land and sand that stand in its way. I’ve been to different parts of the river my by house and looking since I was like nine, and it’s always looked the same. Yet it’s always moving, constantly changing. And then it comes down and throws itself out into the lake here, and the cycle continues. Stillness and motion, like two ways of looking at the same thing. Can’t we ascribe to that life? To live as free as the water and the fire and the trees and the wind? Sorry, I feel like I’m rambling now, and to a complete stranger no less.

It’s flattering, actually, that you can be so open. And damn, you’re certainly good with words, A.

You know, I feel like as you said that I’m just now starting to realize I’ve been told my whole life that my biggest skill was in storytelling. Basically every teacher I’ve had has always remarked on my ability to write and tell stories. I just never thought that telling stories could be the thing that defines you. I remember trying to conceptualize being a writer or author for a career as a child, but it just didn’t seem plausible. It also seemed like being a writer wouldn’t be a comprehensive use of my talents, but I guess that’s just me letting everybody get to my head about being smart. I really did enjoy writing stories as a kid though, and I just didn’t do enough of it in high school because there was no motivation or incentive. I guess we’ll always find what’s looking for us in some way. Maybe I’ll try writing tonight, clearly I’ve got too much to say. Either that or there’s something about you

that makes me want to tell you everything about me. You’re not like, a sorceress or something right? A bonfire by a cliff on a weekday afternoon? I’m just kidding. I mean, I’m here too, so either it’s normal or we’re both weird.

I don’t think I’m a sorceress but I have been told I’m a good listener so maybe it’s just that. Or maybe it’s like you said, we’ll always find what’s looking for us. So why not start by telling me some more stories, A?

III/IV. The Freebird Rule

The Event Horizon Telescope is a network of synchronized telescopes spread across the globe that synchronize to act as one giant telescope with an aperture the size of Earth’s diameter. This expanded aperture allows the network of telescopes to come together and capture images from far greater distances than any one telescope has been able to capture before. This ability of the Event Horizon Telescope allowed it to deliver on its purpose when it captured the first human image of a black hole’s event horizon — a first glimpse into the endless unknown.

The triplets of the Fleming House were a most precocious group of minds. From the earliest of ages they exhibited a prodigious ability for coordination. Their main showmanship as infants came from their ability to work in cohesion and create magnificent structures from all sorts of juvenile materials. From stacking wooden blocks in their cribs to crafting intricate and magnificent architectural models of clay and Lego, their particularly outstanding skill was their way of organizing and distributing tasks in a nearly unspoken way. They would begin their building by organizing the materials by their colour, shape, size, placement. The more complicated the building materials, the more complicated their stratification of tasks became. They operated as if with one mind, needing only the slightest bits of verbal or facial communication to accomplish the collective task. While it was a fascinating and peculiar behaviour pattern to witness in its process, they seemed to experience their childhood as any child would. They played by themselves on occasion, or with neighbouring children, communicating and interacting in what would be deemed a normal manner. The distinct selfhood in each of the triplets was identifiable even at this tender age. Sofia was a charismatic, temperate, and well-spoken child. She often played peacemaker between her two siblings. Adele was slightly more brash and outspoken, often acting as the main spokesperson as a child whenever a local newspaper or television channel caught wind of the story of the triplets of the Fleming house. Adele was acutely aware of her siblings’ ability and was not afraid to make light of their idiosyncratic talents. Adele did however become the first triplet to start revolting against the press and curious bystanders. Felix tried to reaffirm the good-natured intentions of the people. He was more soft-spoken than his siblings, but he was passionate and meticulous in his efforts to make people happy. Felix wanted to believe that people’s fascination in the story of the triplets meant that people want to believe in something greater than that which seems conventional. Perhaps their seemingly otherworldly gift of communication could inspire more belief in a certain magic that has all but dissipated in the world. But after the public fascination devolved into a world of groundless conjecture, even Felix acquiesced to align more with Adele’s disposition of contempt towards the rest of the world. The family name of the triplets of the Fleming House was in fact Metellus. Their father was of Haitian heritage and their mother of Jamaican-Chinese heritage. They resided in the historically preserved James Fleming House,

built in the early 1900s and integrated into a small suburban residential area in Scarborough while maintaining its turn of the century exterior. When the Metellus’ first moved into the Fleming House while the triplets were still newborns, the neighbourhood accepted the magnet of attention they would soon become. As the “prodigal children” act seemed to wane, the predominant narrative mutated to something more maliciously designed regarding rumoured Voodoo affiliations stemming from their fathers’ heritage. The unwarranted Voodoo portraiture along with the coincidentally newborn rumour that the Fleming house was haunted by the ghosts of the Fleming family became the two favourite materials of schoolyard and community lore. Both children and adults alike seemed intent on perpetrating an elegiac tale of the triplets. The Metellus triplets did not allow for extant social trivialities to impede their determination for absolute knowledge of order and mastery of their ability. By their early adolescence, the Metellus triplets transitioned from building with physical materials to building using digital coding. They built computers for each of themselves, along with a program that allowed for simultaneous workflow using one centralized interface. They started by creating digital models of architectural figures as if expanding the breadth of their childhood predilections. Their early work focused on precise geometry and perfect shapes, showing a particular fondness for triangles and circles. They soon expanded the scope of their work from single buildings to entire neighbourhoods. The larger the concept of space they were working with, the more they could explore their coordinated ability in a progressively more nuanced and complicated way. They initially began with a layout based on their neighbourhood of Malvern. Incorporating the fundamental aspects of a suburban settlement - a school, residences, a library, hospital, food and service amenities, etc. - the triplets worked towards executing a perfectly functioning simulation of a human community. They included a healthy amount of trees, animals, rivers, and farms as an homage to the geography and history of Malvern but moreover as an exploration into the extent to which human concepts of civilization and nature can coexist. They finally began to craft their sentient life that would take on the role of humans in their coded world, which would be colloquially referred to as Metellans. They were as geometrically aligned as their surroundings, programmed to operate out of a sort of coded free will within the confines of the neighbourhood. The Metellus triplets found the most difficult task to be programming the Metellans with enough freedom to act using their own interpretation of the environment in that moment, but at the same time make a choice that benefits the entire functionality of the model. Too much freedom seemed to yield too much room for erratic and random behaviour, yet too much programming seemed to freeze the Metellans completely. The triplets tried to distribute the Metellan population according to a proportionally congruent number of public servants, lawmakers and law enforcers, children, teachers, all within the framework of optimizing the efficiency of the societal sustainability. The Metellans either could not work out their ultimate function within society, or they began to act solely out of self interest. While they all worked on each coding task together, they found time to cultivate their individualities. Sofia was keen on the understanding of the connectedness of everything - how every line and pixel placed into their digital

model was interdependent on one another. Creating a perfectly functioning insulated model was her primary drive. Adele shared Sofia’s curiosity for perfectly insulated sustainability, but her interests laid more in the way things rebuild and adapt to the constant variability of life’s forces. Adele enjoyed programming theoretical natural disasters into the configuration of their model, in order to test the resilience and capacity for change of their Metellan community. Felix had a proclivity for experimenting with forces of love and positive social interactions such as bonding exercises within their digital world. As such, the triplets experimented with the idea of dividing the Metellan population equally into thirds and attributing each group with a function modelled after each of the triplets’ individual interests. The hypothesis was that if the triplets work with such efficient synchronicity, perhaps modelling a community after the dynamic of their relationship would yield a perfectly functioning model. This would not be the case, however, as the Metellans continued to reach chaos and disorder through every iteration of the simulation they ran. This collective passion that started out of the pursuit of architectural perfection began to weigh on the Metellus triplets as they believed in the idea of a perfectly functioning digital model less and less and the days went on. Their adolescent experiment with a perfectly efficient societal model was all for naught, but it still served as a portent display of their truly prodigal levels of talent. As such, they caught the attention of every notable neuroscience and computational science program across the continent as early as the ages of fifteen. At the age of sixteen, the triplets agreed to enrolment in Harvard’s neuroscience program. Their focus took a turn from the network of societal behaviour and returned back inwards into their own distinct neurological synchronicities. Perhaps learning more about how and why the Metellus triplets’ brains seem to synchronize in a perfectly efficient manner can shed insight into healthier manifestations of human interactivity. They began their work by developing a comprehensive neural mapping of each of their brains - the first attempt at such a work of its kind. Their work focused on chemical fluctuations, electromagnetic pulses, thermal concentrations, and synaptic pulses. The triplets took neural images of each of their brains in a state of rest, and while they were performing a rudimentary test of their synchronized work ability such as building a digital architectural model. They began to identify terminals of concentrated electromagnetic energy that seemed to appear when the triplets were engaged in some sort of collective activity. They seemed to be able to pass along and receive these electromagnetic pulses of information with no awareness of how to control or translate the information received. Of course further research and analysis into these neurological processes slowly allowed them to open up their communicative functions in a way. It began with simple words and sentences like a text message conversation read aloud in their minds. They slowly began to balance more sophisticated and layered conversations, as if they could send and process messages all at once. On the afternoon of January 4, the Metellus triplets revealed a new truth about themselves. Two years into their neurological analyses, their work continued to explore each fundamental detail of their electromagnetic

connectivity and how it relates to their communicative ability. As such, they began to realize they were all working their most efficiently the smaller they made the size of the messages they were exchanging. Together they continued to shrink down each iota of information from sentences, to words, to the fundamental graphemes of neural communication. It was at that point in the Metellus triplets’ exploration of synchronization that the proverbial floodgates started to tear open. No longer were they in control of the information they were sending and receiving with one another. Each of triplets’ memories, sensory receptors, and motor functions began to unify into one consciousness. It felt as though one centralized mind had the ability to experience life from three different points in space and time. Visual space was not perceived in mere stereoscopic vision, but some compounded image of exponentially greater detail. Their collectivized memories allowed them to catalogue a vaster and more retrievable past. Certain memories that all the triplets shared due to proximity of time and space morphed into something more multidimensional, as if the emotional responses and different vantage points of each triplet created a multilayered, lenticular image of their memories. In effect, the Metellus triplets seemed to alleviate themselves of the singularly dimensioned confines of life that has historically plagued human existence since the ability to conceptualize purpose. They whispered on into the river and became unceasing, never once the same.

***

No written or other recorded evidence exists beyond this point in the story of the Metellus triplets. All that is known for sure is that they were last seen on January 4 in their laboratory alone, and that they were never seen again. It seems as though this is the particular moment in time where the paths of speculation and truth surrounding the disappearance of the Metellus triplets diverge. Some claim their physical bodies were offered up to become the primordial energies of wisdom, strength, and love. Some return to the Voodoo and ghost stereotypes that permeated their earlier years, propagating some Voodoo ritual gone awry. Some believe in a collective exile or suicide due to surmounting pressure from a lack of progress with their work. There are those who wish to gather evidence surrounding the triplets’ discovery of wormholes or time travel. The intersectionality of religious, scientific, pseudoscientific, mathematical, and spiritual explanations of their fate became as boundless as the questions left in the wake of their absolute disappearance. It may be a case where it is some inexplicable combination of all of these theories that turned out to be the triplets’ ultimate fate. It merely could be an example of the moment where singularly conscious realities can no longer comprehend a certain happening to its supposed end. Many religious, philosophical, and scientific doctrines can agree on the theoretical existence of this most inexplicable event. I refer to a favourite tenet of the Metellus triplets from Laozi’s ​Dao De Jing,​ one that their parents read to them as children that became an unofficial motto around the

Fleming house. One that was left hastily scribbled in the triplets’ notebooks as the suspected ‘last words’ of the triplets of the Fleming house.

Dao gives birth to One One gives birth to Two Two give birth to Three Three give birth to ten-thousand things

V/VI. The Assignment

Yeah so you already know what it is, I’m Marcus, and for my history assignment I’m going to presentate about the Greek myth of Orpheus. I’m not gonna lie, I picked his name because I thought it had something to do with mandem from the Matrix and it wasn’t - either way it was a pretty sick story still. So once upon a time or whatever, like bare time ago, something like twenty five hunnid years ago, this guy Orpheus was a king and a musician in Greece. He played this old Greek guitar ting called a lyre, and apparently he was so nasty with it, he was like Jimi Hendrix of ancient Greece basically. Or maybe Future Hendrix even. Anyway, he had bare women and even goddesses who were thirsting off of him so hard because he sang so blessed. Orpheus is an old school man though, he’s about that monogamy ting, so he falls in love with this woman named Eurydice and they get married. Apparently it was a doomed ting from day one though, after some man named Hymen - no capping his name was Hymen, I couldn’t believe my eyes too - but yeah he was supposed to bless the wedding but instead he was like, “Nah this marriage is getting done off real fast still, sorry to be the one to tell you.” So you don’t know if it was Hymen who sussed the runs or it was just a coincidence, but the runs ended up sussed either way. Eurydice is dancing in the forest one day or something - I guess that’s all mans could do for fun back in the day, just play a string box and dance in the forest with random creatures and shit. Sorry for swearing Ms. M, it just slipped. Anyways, she apparently fell into a snake pit while she was dancing and got bit up on her ankle and died. This part basically meant like, watch out for the snakes in the grass you know? That’s how I saw it. But yeah I’ll save the reflection for the end like you said. So Orpheus finally finds Eurydice and he’s skressed right away. Off the top he comes with this super slow jam freestyle banger, like some super Greek God version of Marvin’s Room, and basically like every single ting in the entire world feels his strife off this song. After that he was basically advised by a bunch of different mans to try and pull up on the underworld to see if he could bring his wife back from the dead like Chief Keef. So he walks down into the underworld, and normally a human would die but — oh shoot yeah, fricking, his pops was apparently the god Apollo and his moms was the goddess Calliope, so it was like he had God mode activated even though he’s a human. So he pulls up on the god of the underworld Hades and he’s like, “Hades, say hey to deez nuts.” I’m so sorry Ms. M, I had to. Please don’t deduct marks. But no seriously, he pulled up on Hades and his wife… ​purse-phone?​ Wait, how do you pronounce it? P​er-sef-uh-nee? Y​ ou call her Persephone? I call her Headphanieeeee! What’s that Ms. M? Oh no, it’s just from this song from a couple years ago, it means… don’t worry about it. Sorry, I’ll get back on track. Yeah so Orpheus hits Hades and Persephone with another banger off the dome, like take in that the track hit so deep that he had the god of death feeling ways. The song was so fire that Hades allowed Orpheus to bring Eurydice back home with him. There was one rule though — Eurydice had to follow behind

Orpheus when they were dipping from the underworld caves and Orpheus couldn’t look back at her while they were walking through or Hades is going to hold dat. Orpheus in his head was like, “That’s it yo? This is easy breezy. No covergirl.” But he obviously did a fakeaz in front of the god of death, and was just like, “alright say less fam, respects for sending my wife back.” So mans were walking, but he wasn’t hearing Eurydice’s footsteps behind him. He started thinking Hades was pulling a snake ting this whole time, because why not, the man runs death fam. Like if YMCMB was death, he’s Birdman. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if Birdman is some kind of Hades in modern form, but that’s another story. What actually happened though was Eurydice was still just like a shadow — like half duppy, half human; she would get her full body back when they were completely out the caves. But of course, like two centimetres from the exit, my guy decides to turn his head back and look for her. After that — bop! Hades gripsed her ghost body right back into the underworld and that was that. After that, Orpheus tried to reach the underworld again but humans can’t see Hades twice while they’re alive. So in some versions of his story, because there’s bare versions of Greek myths so you have to pick and choose, he apparently sings this ultimate slow joint where he’s asking for death so he could be with Eurydice again. He died pretty soon after, and there’s a couple different versions of how that happened too. Some of them say he was shredded up by beasts. Some say there was this group of shorties called the Maenads who just sat around and prayed to Dionysus, the god of turn up, and got dumb lit, and one day their heads were so twist they decided to off my man Orpheus. There’s also versions of how Zeus had him offed because he didn’t want Orpheus telling mans the secrets of the underworld. I believe that one still, because Zeus was a man to always be up in everyone’s business just when he was bored or just for fun, and it’s kind of a great metaphor for our government today, you know? But yeah in conclusion I thought the whole myth was pretty hard still, I think there’s a lot of lessons we can take from it today. I think it shows how you have to trust in what you believe, especially things like love and how everything is connected and stuff. I think it’s about how Orpheus doubted himself, which is fine, but then when he acted on his doubt he sussed it for everyone. Sometimes you just have to move forward and look toward the light. But now the more I’m thinking about it, it’s also kind of sounding like a mind control type of ting actually. Basically they’re telling you to follow the orders of anybody, even if the man who gave you orders also handles everybody’s death. I don’t know how I feel about it now. Like, you’re always telling us there’s no such thing as a stupid question right Ms. M? And how we should question everything we’re told? I’m not going to lie to you Ms. M, I just read up on this in the morning so I didn’t think much about the ending, but I think I ended it pretty nice there showing how you could look at it both ways right? I guess I could have just not told you that. Anyways, that’s my presentation. Deuces.

VII. The Curious Little Silkworm

Sericulture is the historical practice of breeding domesticated silkworms for the purposes of harvesting raw silk. The practice started as early as 5000 years ago in China, and quickly spread elsewhere in Asia before finally spreading to the West; China and India are still the leading silk manufacturers to this day. The process involves the use of a certain species of domesticated silkworm (bombyx mori), which has been artificially evolved through human intervention so that it is crucially dependent on humans for survival - they have lost their ability to fly and have also lost most of the function of their other senses compared to their wild counterparts. These completely codependent silkworms live their entire life eating mulberry leaves provided by silkworm farmers, at which point they are boiled inside of their cocoon made of silk threads so they do not exit the cocoon and ruin the thread. The process has been refined for efficiency throughout the years from concentrated experiments in breeding and genetics; corn is the only species that humans have done more genetic and breeding experiments on than the domestic silkworm. There has historically been a resistance to this practice of commercial genetic maximization and exploitation, including the alternative harvesting of silk from wild silkworms.

With the ​crrrick!​ and the ​crrrack! ​ of her tiny little egg, the tiny little silkworm was born into a bright little world of buzzing machines and fuzzy friends munching mulberry leaves. She wiggled and waggled her curious little head to look at her family and friends all feasting on the mulberry leaves on the ground beneath them. The sweet smell of the leaves tingled the tips of her fuzzy black hairs, and she too was about to join the feast until she heard a curious song in the distance.

As the leaves must follow To the water We hear the calling, bless Her sound!

With a t​ wwwist!​ of her body, the curious little silkworm turned around and followed the sound of the curious little song. As she got closer, the little song became bigger and louder and more beautiful to the ears. Atop a ledge, the curious little silkworm spotted a beautiful white creature with giant wings singing the curious little song.

“My beautiful child,” the curious little silkworm’s mother said with a voice serene, “you look upon your world with curious little eyes. Why do you not join your family and friends in the mulberry feast?”

“I was about to eat the leaves until I heard your song. It’s so beautiful! What does it mean?” The curious little silkworm replied.

“It’s the song that has been passed down throughout the generations of our history. The song assures us how eating the leaves help us make our best offering to the heavens when we rest for judgment in the giants’ pool. But that’s nothing you need to worry about now, my young little silkworm. Listen to its sweet melody as you take in the sweet little leaves,” Mother responded.

The curious little silkworm followed her mother’s words. With a wriggle of her head, she picked up a sliver of delicious mulberry leaf with her teeth. C​ rrruunch!​ The first bite, so juicy and sweet, she felt a rush of joy shoot through her little legs and up to her fuzzy black hairs.

As if in a ravenous daze, the voracious little silkworm ate the entire pile of mulberry leaves closest to her. Nearly three days had passed like a matter of mere minutes as she devoured the leaves incessantly. While finishing up on her last morsel of leaf, she started to notice all her family and friends slowly becoming frozen still. She began to feel her body droop and stoop but she kept finding the courage to wiggle so she wouldn’t become frozen too.

“Don’t fight it my eager little silkworm. After the mulberry feast, your body needs time to rest and take in the nutrients of the divine leaves. When you wake up after a few days of rest, your body will be bigger and stronger and ready to enjoy more mulberry leaves. You have five of these important stages in your life - they are called instars. Now go on my child into your second instar, following the sound of my beautiful melody,” Mother said with a soothing swoon.

The dazed little silkworm sunk into Mother’s inviting words like cradled arms. She rested her head, and all became still.

The curious little silkworm arose from her sleep, longer and stronger than she was before the instar. Her fuzzy little black hairs were now replaced with a pale white skin and tiny spikes along her back. She retained her shiny black face, however.

As she bobbled her body over to the next pile of leaves, a giant pair of hands and eyes blocked out the light of the sky. They carried mountains of mulberry leaves, bringing them from some unknown place and laying them out on the exposed ground with a triumphant force. F​ whooossshh!​ The frightened little silkworm went scurrying to hide from these great beasts.

See the leaves are proffered

For our starving By hands of prophets, not to drown!

“My child, you mustn’t be afraid of the Giants. They are our guardians! Our creators! They offer us all the love, light, shelter, and mulberry leaves we could ever hope for, and in return we give them our greatest gift as repayment in the giants’ pool: our beautiful silk. The more that our silk threads please the Giants, the higher we fly when we reach C​ iru.​ Continue to feast to grow big and strong, and your silk threads will please our protectors for being the best and most beautiful,” Mother explained.

The pious little silkworm approached one of the giant hands offering a pile of mulberry leaves, studying the curious lines across the palms. W​ hooof! ​The pile of leaves landed with an oomph, taking the little silkworm slightly aback. She began her second feast on this pile of fresh leaves, each bite more satisfying than the last.

After six straight days of eating sweet mulberry leaves, the satisfied little silkworm felt her body start to make the familiar droop and stoop for her next instar. With Mother’s melody rocking her to rest, the curious little silkworm rested her head and all became still.

With eyes opening like crusted ground, the curious little silkworm awoke from her second instar. Her head felt much wider, her skin darkening from the prior pale white to a more foreboding gray. Her face slightly changed to a more subdued brown colour.

Up where the Giants reside, even past their hands up in the top of the wall where the light shines through, a strange white creature soared elegantly across the frame. ​Swooooohn! T​ he creature’s wings spoke in an angelic language, one that tickled the wriggling back of the curious silkworm.

The majestic beast soared expertly yet elegantly, as if the world had turned on its side and it rode the delicate azure waves amongst the clouds. She needed to find out how to fly just like that angel in the sky.

“Mother! Mother!” The curious little silkworm prodded as she ran towards her mother. “I just saw this thing by the light that was flying in the air! Can you fly like that too? Will I be able to fly like that too?”

“My curious little child. We do not operate like those wild beasts beyond our safe and comfortable home. The Giants have decided that we have no use to fly out here. Some of us grow wings while we are here, but we’ll only

need them to fly way up above in ​Ciru​. The most important thing we can do is make sure we eat our mulberry leaves and do everything we can to please the Giants before entering the Giants’ pool, ” Mother affirmed.

The curious little silkworm acknowledged her Mother’s words with a forced bow of the head, but that twitch in her back did not subside. She inhaled as she turned around, her eyes discretely scanning for remnants of the white, winged creature. A thin line pierced one of the faraway cloud forms, like a tiny little silkworm mowing through a line of mulberry leaf.

The will to fly consumed the curious silkworm. As she carved neat routes through her pile of mulberry leaves, she contorted her lower back as if preparing her unformed wings for flight. Her mother’s words pushed back like currents in her visual fantasy, but she continued. S​ wooo! ​ How blank and crystalline the air felt against her sleek moth wings. As the curious silkworm’s body froze up to settle down for the long sleep, she raised her head and continued to soar into the light.

The curious little silkworm entered her fourth instar not so little anymore. The geminate stripes across her back became more pronounced in their balance of satin grey segments patterned with ashen brown rings. Her body was noticeably larger and sturdier, but alas no wings still.

Because her passion for flight was a little peculiar, the curious little silkworm’s curiosities often left her isolated from the rest of her family and friends. The skeletal mulberry stalks became like highways for the silkworm community, built upon over generations of silkworms and mulberry alike to create more complex and sophisticated networks. The silkworm family and friends used these highways as pathways of efficiency, creating effective pathways between mulberry patches and optimizing time for social integration. Silkworm communities would gather together, eating piles of mulberry leaves while collectively humming along to the Mothers’ and Giants’ praises of ​Ciru.​

So we sing the songs told By the water Of Ciru’s providence, Her holy sound!

“My curious little silkworm, why do you not share in the congregation of your family and friends? The love of your kin, the love of your Giants, and the purity of your silk threads – these are the reasons we live our silkworm lives, and we can enjoy all of these things together so long as we prioritize our final calling to the Giants’ pool.”

“I know, Mother. I love all my family and friends. I guess, sometimes it feels like they don’t admit that maybe it’s not as simple as eating leaves and lifting up in the Giants’ pool to ​Ciru. L​ ike, don’t you ever wonder why you were given wings?”

“Some of us are given a different responsibility and ritual before we ascend to ​Ciru. W​ e must continue to sustain our silkworm life for generations to come, and so it is the Giants’ will that we are allowed to break our silkworm threads so that we can lay silkworm eggs as moths.”

“But don’t you still have wings? And what about the large white beast with wings outside that time? Doesn’t that at least prove that’s possible that we could live for more than the Giants’ pool? Maybe we could fly around here where the Giants are? If the Giants love us so much, wouldn’t they want us to fly with them? Why do they let the white beast fly around but not us? And if they love our silk so much, then can’t we be around to enjoy the silk we made?”

“My inquisitive little child. Many silkworms before you have entertained these kinds of thoughts at length, as it hasn’t gotten them anywhere except having impure threads from spending more time thinking impure thoughts than ingesting the nutrient mulberry leaves. I tell you this for your own good my dear little silkworm, I hope you can see my words are simply for the good of all my children - of all silkworms.”

The curious little silkworm could sense the air of tension in her Mother’s words, and so she prodded no further. Her imagination would not be grounded so easily, however. For the next five days, she spent her feasting time at a sort of compromise between her Mother’s bidding and her own ambitions. The curious little silkworm diligently followed the rigid palm lines of the mulberry leaves, carving magnificent wing-shaped designs out of the balmy canvas. The entire time she was carving her wings, the curious little silkworm created a regimented daily exercise of hoisting her body towards the Giants in concentrated bursts of strength, as if preparing for the act of flight. The excess strain of energy on her body from balancing her silkworm commitments with her own dreams of flight had the curious little silkworm particularly weary before her final instar. Her head drooped with ease from the weight of her labours, and all became still.

A consortium of blood curdling screams functioned like an unholy morning alarm for the curious silkworm. Her former, molted face clung like a withered parasite to her mandibles before gently wafting to the floor, staring up at her in a haunting symmetry.

Still sorting through the haziness of post-slumber, she followed the haunting reverberations that appeared to be on the floor adjacent to Mother. The wafting scent of brittled flesh entwined with the whining screams effectively highlighted the path to the point of interest.

With one knee to the ground, a Giant safeguarded the giant bubbling vat. Tiny curious wails came breaking through tiny curious silken walls tightly arrayed in the cauldron. The curious silkworm looked to Mother, whom she hadn’t spoken to since her dismissal of getting wings.

“Mother, what is that sound coming from that Giant’s pool? It’s horrifying!”

“My curious child, that is the ultimate fulfillment of a silkworm’s life. Your family and friends are singing out the praises of the Giants as they ascend to their place in ​Ciru. ​ The Giants will collect their silk threads and judge the virtue and quality of them, at which point their bodies will be offered into the primordial waters to reunite with the essence of ​Ciru​. That is the sound you hear right now, and it is a beautiful sound my child. Do not look at your family and friends in that cauldron with pity. They lived their lives perfectly, eating many mulberry leaves and enjoying all their instars, and now they sing out as they swim out into the sacred waters of the Giants’ pool, providing their ultimate offering in life to the ones we owe our lives to. ”

“So they’re just being boiled to death? Mother this doesn’t sound right! Why don’t you just fly away? You could live long and free. It doesn’t need to be about the silk! You have wings, why couldn’t the Giants’ plan be for you to fly?”

“I told you my child, our wings serve no purpose in our life as silkworms. In fact, once we lay our eggs as moths, we too reunite with ​Ciru​’s essence and are judged by the virtue of our children. You must accept this for yourself, for me, for all silkworms. We cannot fly.”

“But if you already laid your eggs, then how could you still be alive?”

The silkworm moth remained still in her place, still in the same place she had been in for the entire lifetime of the curious silkworm. The wan, winged beast waned off in the consciousness of the curious silkworm in syncopated time to the decrescendo in the wails of her imprisoned family and friends.

The silkworm, with a slump of her head and thump of her eyes, slowly rolled to the mulberry feast to prepare for her remaining slumber. She crumpled and crampled the brittled mulberry leaf, spending all her hours

watching as she dissolved the green ground beneath her to a stone gray and back to green in seconds by the Giants’ hand. After five final days she submitted her head, and all became still.

During her final instar, a warm, fibrous substance tickled the lining of the silkworm’s stomach. As she watched her family and friends uniformly beginning to weave their silken prisons, she turned to face her blank Mother one last time. She must have been wiped away by a Giant. The spindling fibroins began oozing out of her jaws. Shoooo! ​ And ​Spooooo! T​ he twined silk danced like wandering ribbons around the silkworm’s body.

As the threads began sealing the extant holes and imperfect crevasses, a familiar melody seeped in before full imprisonment. She faintly discerned the tones after half a life of monotonous patterns, but it touched a childlike wonder that had long been dormant.

I don’t see the bottom Of the water Still I fall in, for the sound

As you keep whispering nothings Sweet as salt stained waves Until I’m cotton, from the mouth

But I don’t see the problem With the water If I fall in, just to drown

Her breathing felt heavier in the sparse emptiness of the silk cocoon. The curious silkworm, motionless, felt the song unraveling itself as it ricocheted around the walls of her head. It was a repurposed meter of a memory long held, given new life through a new perspective to her fate. The manifestations of her existence weren’t the concern. The curious silkworm unearthed the fundamental drive of her being, which felt almost too simple of a notion to come to at this point in her life.

It was her destiny to fly. Unlike the curious silkworm’s previous attempts at flight, which were motivated by fear, her flight would come when she found the strength to drown in the boiling waters of the Giants’ pool. There used to be a fear of the water’s unforgiving tides of change in its gawking eternal face. There was a fear of

the uncontrollable fires that the Giants kept properly stoked to animate the hallowed waters. There was a fear that the mulberry leaves on the ground, as infinite and socially necessary as the entire infrastructure seemed, would never be enough to satiate the fervent passion for flight. Then there was the lingering, unrequited desire to become a moth that made her final days as a silkworm impossible to enjoy.

The curious silkworm realized that her lack of flight came not from these forces around her, but due to her fear of these forces that tethered her down. In one moment, she realized that there was a way of harmonizing the traditional duties of a righteous silkworm, as well as achieving her desired state as a soaring silkworm moth. In this all-encompassing moment tucked between the silk fibres of her beautiful spindling cocoon, the curious silkworm realized that she needed to become one with the kinetic essence coming from the heat of the sacramental waters. By accepting her fate, she welcomed the chance to drown if it meant she could fly out here, where the Giants reside.

As if spoken into existence, the curious little silkworm could feel the air moving as the Giants hoisted her cocoon and placed it in their pool. An immense heat began creeping onto her underbelly. The curious silkworm began wriggling and wraggling her back like when she was a child, and slowly felt tendrils beginning to poke out of her shoulders. The torrid waves began to engulf her body as she focused her movement on breaching upwards. A tremendous oscillation of force began to sweep through every fibre of her being.

And I suppose if tides arose With eyes aglow kaleidoscope Could I approach the skies afloat? Could I approach the skies afloat?

Whooooof! I​ n a swift bout of force, the curious silkworm moth heeded the calling of the song and soared in the direction of the sound, out into the bright little world of buzzing machines and fuzzy friends munching mulberry leaves.