Luna the Rat—The Weight of the World

As the distance between her and the Big Creature grows, she begins to breathe again. Picturing the little flower she had plucked, she smiles to herself. “Good job, Luna,” she squeaks quietly. But suddenly: oh no, flowers!? She was supposed to make Sir Spider’s bouquet! Oh, and that favor she promised to do for Roach tomorrow; but, she had also said that she would hang out with Alexis! Oh no, oh no! Too—many—things. Her breathing grows jagged under the weight of the things she’s not doing. Knowing what she needs, she half scampers, half staggers towards the building proper.

Gently, she knocks on Roach’s door—if you could call it that. It was more like a loose piece of bark covering the hole of a hollowed-out tree. Nonetheless, Luna thinks it lovely.

“Hello?” calls Roach from inside. He opens the door, and she is greeted with his familiar frame. “Oh, Luna, come in my dear.”

She pads into the base of the tree and is immediately hit with the aroma of cinnamon and sap. Without a word, he starts warming up a pot of milk. Nestling into the corner of the room, Luna takes him in. Despite having lived an unknown number of years, he still moves with grace. His wrinkly wings and bespectacled eyes come with age, but they suit him well. He places a warm mug of honey milk and a strawberry in front of her, and she gratefully digs in.

“So,” he begins, settling down in front of her, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just—I just feel really overwhelmed by life right now. I know there’s not even that much going on, but you know me—‘good old Luna, gets overwhelmed by the wind,’” she says, her voice filled with self-deprecating malice.

Roach looks at her thoughtfully and sips his drink. “What do you have to do?”

“Well, I still haven’t made that bouquet for Spiders Soiree, and I promised Alexis I would hang out tomorrow, because we haven’t seen each other in so long, but I also promised to help you out tomorrow. Oh, and I’ve been meaning to take another crack at that painting, but I just don’t know where to start an—”

“Come with me,” Roach says, cutting her off. Curiosity piqued, Luna downs the rest of her milk and follows him out of the tree. He begins picking stray flowers that have managed to survive the late summer heat. “Help me with this, will you?” Confused, but grateful for the coolness of the evening air, she listens and begins picking little bundles of flowers. Before long, they’ve built quite a substantial stack of beautiful blooms. Roach stands back, admiring their work.

“There are your flowers.”

Luna blinks at him, surprised. “What?”

“And you helped me, too. What luck!”

“Wait, but—that doesn’t count, you were helping me!”

“My dear, there are few things I would rather do than help friends like you. Try to remember that all these things are just that—things. They hold no more weight than a feather or a breeze. Amidst all the things in your life, big or small, don’t forget to breathe.”