Sometimes, every once in a while in my fleeting moments of consciousness, I wish I
were born a dragonfly. I know nothing of their life cycles or what they do on a day to day basis, but I'm sure dragonflies have some purpose. More of a purpose than humans, I bet. They can float amongst the waves of Japan's summer heat, the ringing of cicadas creating a blend of calm and death. Dragonflies may not have a sense of wrong and right, but at the very least, if their victim wins a game of mahjongg, they don't set them on fire due to their own insecurities. Forty- Two Days and they couldn't stand the fire behind my eyes, even as I lay in a pile of my own filth, the burnt smell of my skin seeping into the cultured wood of that old Japanese home. Yes, I'm sure. Dragonflies are not the kind of insect to be taken lightly. And if the gods permit it, be it possible that when I die, I too can enjoy the fruitful life of a dragonfly.