Caterpillar
Allie Park | Short Fiction
The Caterpillar was not very tall—only 3 inches from head to toe. He sat on
a mushroom, fuming clouds of smoke that went up to the sky in bright, circular
rings. He spent time waiting for anyone who happened to accidentally stumble
upon the small clearing that was hidden amongst the blades of grass. While he
waited, he thought. The caterpillar was a luminary among his friends, and he
pondered grave matters in solitude amongst the mushroom sprouts.
Most recently, he had solved the problem of the pond next to his glade.
Small in diameter—yet clear enough to reflect the smoke rings sprouting lazily
from the grass—the pond was a source of dispute among the mallard ducks. Spring
was nearing and each she-duck was intent on laying her eggs near the cattail
bushes. In fact, the entire pond was encircled in cattails that drooped limply
towards the water. But the ducks fought over a specific cattail bush—now, the
Caterpillar would not have looked down from his smoke rings were it not for the
noise. Good heavens! The ducks squabbled every morning so loudly that sometimes
the smoke rings would even come out crooked.
Peering down from his mushroom, which he only did ever so often, the
Caterpillar studied the cattail bushes. There were a total of five around the
pond, each equally dense with thick, protruding leaves. However, the bush
around which the ducks quarreled at one another was anchored to the ground at
a slightly lower altitude than the others and was bushier, allowing for more
space between the surface of the water and the bank. The space was perfect for
laying eggs, and each she-duck coveted it.
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