— Nayeon Kwon (Nancy) Y10 Mulchat —
12th Jan. 2016.
Have you ever thought about peace from a different point of view? How it might be seen from the view of different animals, or even insects? This is a story written on the viewpoint of the moth being eaten by the trout in Seamus Heaney’s poem.
The moth lay on the warm afternoon water, just above the surface of the gentle current passing by. There were no predators nearby, no spiders with webs nor humans with their disastrous weapons, which allowed the small insect to take a break from its day of searching for something to eat and running away from being eaten. The flow of the current was mild with the slow rhythm of the playing a delirious tune, as though it were singing a lullaby for the moth.
The sun shone in a shade of such lustrous gold, that the moth began to relax completely. It had been so peaceful, with every inch of its body relaxing on the warm current, flowing gently by the river bank. As the moth lay on the river, half dozing off, it forgot about the fact that it had to be thinking every moment in order to survive from the harsh world. It forgot about being alert for predators. The fact simply didn’t come to its mind as it lay in the complete peace that its mind had created.
Below the hallucinating moth, the currents changed. A ‘fat gun-barrel’ slowly made its way towards the small insect, which didn’t notice the change. Not the sudden change of the tempo of the current, nor the eery features within the river, slowly approaching it. The hallucinations of the peaceful summer afternoon put the moth in utter ease.
The trout darted up. Its ‘muzzle’ got ‘bull’s eye’. Half of the moth vanished, ‘torpedoed’. The other half of its body yet still laid above the surface of the water.
As it woke from the imaginations of a peaceful afternoon, it couldn’t feel the other half of its body. It trembled, then noticed what had happened to it. It screamed, trying to escape the pain. It was simply unbearable. The torn parts ached, as though a hundred needles were piercing through its weak shell.
Yet the screams were never heard by anyone.
It was still a nice warm afternoon, and no one cared about the hardships that a little moth was enduring at the same time. Soon enough, when the left half of the body couldn’t handle the pain any longer, it sunk down the river bank, hidden from all memories.
The trout was happy after a scrumptious meal. The fishers were happy as they caught a fat trout. Everything seemed peaceful.
The pain of the weaker one had been neglected in order to keep the peace.
<Parody version of Trout in the view of the moth>
Nayeon Kwon (Nancy) 10GC
Hangs, a slim piece of paper,
over the warm afternoon river
or flutters like mobiles above
the throat of the river.
From depths smooth-skinned as plums
the predator’s muzzle gets bull’s eye;
picks up the subtle flesh and limbs
that vanish, torpedoed.
Where water unravels
over gravel-beds the moth
is gone now from the shallows
a piece of its wings reporting
flat; gone like the wind –
floating among the stones
and is soon swallowed up.
The last of its existence
hidden in the current.
Poem: Trout, by Seamus Heaney