Atta's Literatures

The beetle took a small breath in. ”I admit I was worried your parents did that."

"My parents?" He let out a small laugh as he continued talking. "They wouldn't have cared, not about me…" the soft laughter turned into sobs.

"Especially i-if they knew who I am."

Ever since Moli finished the new painting they made, they wanted to give it to Atta. It was his birthday. Sadly, he won’t get to celebrate it. He was not there anymore. How old would he even be if he didn’t die? 40? That… That isn’t old at all. No way, others live past 90 years. He died too soon… And what’s worse, he died for them. The purple moth can recall the event as if it happened just yesterday.