I was expelled in a river of foam when I was just an egg. It was mom’s deal, I was just along for the ride. I wasn’t alone. I was riding along with at least a couple hundred other eggs. There wasn’t a lot of chatter; we were a sedate bunch. It was good to flex for a bit, that much I remember. Then the foam began to harden and none of us could flex any more. Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted, even though it didn’t exactly push the fun envelope very far. I remember this time so well because the period that followed was pretty damn boring. Like it wasn’t bad enough that we couldn’t move, it started getting cold. Real cold. Freezing. Our minds began to numb, and they seemed to mostly stay that way for an eternity — what seemed like it, anyway. Maybe it was just a few months.
I remember one day which stood out from the rest during this period of waiting. It was sunny. I know this because the foam we were trapped in wasn’t completely opaque. On sunny days it would be all glowy and warm inside. One of my better memories for sure. Anyway, we were sitting there enjoying the sun’s warmth when it suddenly got dark. Pitch black. But it didn’t get cold like it did at night. It got warmer. Very nice in fact. It didn’t last long, though. It ended with a bright flash as the darkness, like a warm blanketing hand, released us and sun hit us again. Free-fall didn’t last very long. We came to a sudden stop. It didn’t hurt at all, the foam protected us pretty well. It was still bright. But that changed all too soon.
We were not alone. During a brief lull in our varied mental conversations we could hear faint murmurings coming from neighboring egg-cases, or whatever you’d call the foam balls we were in. Focusing our minds on these murmurings we came to realize that we were just one egg sack among perhaps thousands of others. In a pail?, I wondered for some strange reason. Anyway, it all stopped pretty soon. We were jostled for a bit, kind of like when our foam ball was stuck to the bush on a really windy day, but then all the motion died and it became cold and dark. It was time for some rest, it had been a long day, so we didn’t mind.
Disturbingly it didn’t get sunny for the rest of the time we were together. All murmurings ceased, we couldn’t get our thoughts past the near-constant humming. We stayed cold and dark. Until one day in, um— okay, forgive me if I get this wrong. It was my first experience with the spoken word. April. That’s what it said, that’s the sound it made. This is what I think I heard: “It’s April. Time to ship the egg-cases.” I don’t know why, but I understood this and have remembered it all this time. Right up until today as I sit here with my transcriber telling you my tale. I was taken from the dark and our foam ball was removed from the rest. We were put in something again as it once again got dark, but this time it was nice. Not hot, but warm. We jostled around again for a couple of days. Savagely it seemed this time. Then it stopped. Once again we were in the sun, undisturbed, quiet. It was nice. It was then I later realized that my life really began.
It happened maybe one full moon cycle from when we got there. And it was not a pleasant experience. It, exactly, was our hatch-out. Oh, my, what a fiasco that was. Check this out, and I kid you not: Over three-quarters of my brothers and sisters, the same ones that shared friendly thoughts in the foam ball, ate each other. Legs, heads, crunch. Me? I ran like heck around the papery enclosure making the whole thing rock, trying desperately to not get one of my feet caught in the web material that was everywhere. I guess the rocking enclosure got someone’s attention because we were lifted, which stopped the cannibalism momentarily, and carried a short distance. The top of our bag-like enclosure was suddenly opened and we were awash with unfiltered light and fresh air for the first time in our lives. It was nice — then we were brutally turned completely upside down and dumped on the ground. I thought it was the end for sure. I was wrong.
I didn’t exactly land on the ground, but rather softly in some plants. Crimson clover I later learned. It was awesome. I wanted to stay but there were four others looking at my clover patch. I knew if I were to stay I would very likely have to get down, bare knuckles, and duke it out with the others. As it turns out I didn’t have to. One of the four turned on his buddies. He snapped one’s neck with his forearm, another he bit in the head incapacitating him, and the third got the message and ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him. Now it was just me and him. I squinted and looked at him, mustering up as much angry glare as I could. It didn’t work. That %$@# smiled at me. My strategy wasn’t working. Time to try another approach. I walked up to him and told him he could have my clover patch. It was cool I told him. Have a nice life, yada, yada, yada. He looked at me suspiciously and asked me what the deal was.
I told him, “no deal, just gonna live on the dill over yonder.”
“Dill?” he asked.
“Yeah, dill.” I began to smirk. “Plants with lots of bugs on them; I’m going over there.”
“No!” he stormed.
“Whadaya mean, no?” I asked innocently.
“You stay here, punk, I’m taking the dill!” he commanded.
I pretended to be dejected and slunk off towards my clover while he left. I looked over my shoulder, maybe having second thoughts about staying. I imagined I’d be seeing him back, madder than ever, but on his way to the dill plants he was eaten by a bird. Talk about a bad day turned good.
I lived on the clover for a long time. I studied my Mantis Manual like a good nymph. I developed a surefire way to get food. What I did was to sit there, really still, for days sometimes, waiting for something like a fly or little beetle to come close enough for me to snag him. I’d always be sitting there at the ready. The ladybugs in the area joked about my methodology. It’s from them I got the “Reverend” part of my name. I mean I do pray a lot, but I’m not a real Reverend. Funny, funny ladybugs. Ha-ha. They thought they were safe, and they were at a distance, but if one of them came too close, oh, yeah, I could’ve and I would’ve. I’m not a picky eater, just a slow hunter.
I enjoyed my time on the clover. Every now and then I’d have to deal with molting as they called it in my Manual. Basically I’d have to find something like a thorn or a rough surface, and snag my skin on it. It wasn’t painful, but it took me a while and was a rather annoying task. I’d struggle for a while, but then I’d pull myself free of my old skin. I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but I felt, well, very fresh, new. It’d wear off in a few days and I’d feel normal again. Not weird like I do when my skin is papery and loose, and not fresh as a daisy like after I molt. It was quite the time, I must have done this like four or five times, I don’t even remember.
The last time I did it, though is a time I will never, ever forget. It stands out not for the experience of it, that was pretty standard, but for the result. I, I changed, let me put it that way. I wasn’t really aware of it right away, but I had changed significantly. The first thing I recall was feeling large and in charge for lack of a better description. I had an air of authority about me. The ladybugs were not chattering at all, keeping their stupid comments to themselves. Could I have molted into a respectable creature somehow? I wondered. I tried to get a ladybug’s attention to ask what was not so funny but she couldn’t hear me so I simply vaulted myself into the air, spread my wings and flew over to her. This took her by surprise and she looked really fearful when I landed next to her. I was bit surprised myself and no longer had to ask a thing. I could have stayed and mentally tormented her but I did the adult thing and flew back to my clover home to contemplate the new me. I flew home. Wow. The season was growing late, but I felt a whole new beginning for what seemed like the umpteenth time in my life. Man, I was charged.
I was no longer hungry and all I wanted to do was fly it seemed, so I did. I flew around for quite some time. I didn’t know what I was looking for, not until I found it that was. Her name was Tammy and she was beautiful. Green and lovely, a real keeper. I introduced myself and we seemed to hit it off. She seemed a little aggressive, but being my first experience, I had nothing on which to base my feelings. We dated for a little bit, went on a fly hunting excursion. She got three, maybe four flies, and I got skunked, but it didn’t matter, my thoughts were elsewhere. The way she moved her mandibles when she chewed and the way she… ah, forgive me, I digress. I couldn’t fight it and neither could she I guess. We married and consummated our marriage, which at the same time ended our love affair. We, um, well we completed our task and she turned towards me with an evil glare in her eyes. She tried to attack me — tried to bite my head off quite literally. I pulled away with great urgency and flew way. It was obvious she had been just using me, and now that I had done my deed it was good-bye.
I miss her. In my waning years I sit here near my clover, but not in it; I’ll never go back, you can never go back. I see her from afar now and then. Not that I do purposeful fly-bys, well, maybe that’s what they are. I view her in admiration, but laced with fear and anger and resentment. She has given birth. I don’t think I’ll ever see my children, but I look at the foam ball she left behind and wonder what they’ll be like. Will they succeed or get eaten by their siblings? Both, I suppose. This is an emotional time for me. I sit here with my scribe, telling my story before it gets too late. I still see the sun, but it’s weak. I am weak. I think I’ve come full circle. Soon, it’ll once again be dark and cold, but this time it’s for keeps, I’m afraid. Good luck kids — fly right when you get the chance.
