Lifting her flat face to the midnight sun,
thin legs pattering across
paper plains plagued with indecipherable symbols
like figures etched into the sand.
Nearly falling off the edge of land,
she clings with her feet,
continuing her journey along,
going under a ******* arch,
like entering a sacred place,
only this place looks like the one before,
and the one to come,
as she sees rows upon rows of black arches.
She is reminded of her home,
a land full of tall blades of grass,
where reside her brothers and sisters,
and all in her community,
full of life, unlike this lonely place.
Fearful of becoming lost,
she unfolds her wings,
and with her third set of limbs,
leaps and takes off.
But it is too late.
None of these lands are familiar
and there is no green in sight.
All that remains is darkness,
and unfamiliarity.
She is forever lost,
and is doomed to die alone.
A small insect was caught in my hair and ended up falling onto my journal while I was writing. I recognized it as a grasshopper, but not the ones that rassemble locusts; the ones with the flat faces void of dangerous-looking mandibles. This one had wings, though, so I thought it a queen or drone. I decided it was a princess, and wrote about her journey from there.