Not So Different, yet as Different as Can Possibly Be

11-Soft Fuzzy Man

//Sorry this one is late, I have no excuse, I will make certain the next one is on time.//

   Alice Pinefield remembered falling. She remembered falling from the top of her Chicago apartment complex, not from an attempted suicide, but by accident.

   She had tripped, and was falling. And then, something caught her. Someone caught her.

   Huge. He was huge, flying through the sky on magnificent wings. He carried her, and gently set her down in a secluded alley where he couldn't be seen.

   She knew who he was, it was obvious enough. The shape, the stature, the general vibe he gave off, it was all obvious. She wondered why he was here in Illinois, when everyone knew he lived in West Virginia.

   She wanted to thank him, but she wasn't sure how. Having nothing else on hand, she game him a colorful rock from her pocket. She was not a practicing wiccan, it looked like a bit too much work for her, but she liked the nice rocks.

   He decided it was a gift, and accepted it before flying off into the night. She went to bed remembering him, his eyes, his gently demeanor, his warm, for lack of better word, fur. He came back later that week, with a rock of his own. A gift for her.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

   Alice warmed up her soup for dinner. It had been a nice day off, and nothing could make it better than some warm left-over soup she didn't have to cook that night. Lazy dinners left more time for art.

   She heard a tapping on her balcony door and put down her spoon. She smiled and got up, before heading to the balcony a bit too quickly. It seems there was indeed something that could make it better.

   It had been three years since the rescue, and he still came to visit her once or twice a week. He had no name, merely a title which had been treated as one. Mothman, The Mothman.

   He was seven feet tall, and his shoulders were half as wide. He had two sets of arms, a large thick pair proportional to his body, and a small thin pair that were attached a bit lower and were far more dextrous.

   His face was insectile, but friendly. A set of mandibles and feeders covered his mouth, like the ones she had seen on crabs in nature documentaries. His eyes were large and pale, though they shone red when reflecting direct light.

   His fur was thick and black as pitch, and always warm. She had accidently napped on him once, while sitting on the couch trying to show him her favorite movie series. She had woken up to find herself laying across his soft lap, and found out he had not moved for three hours for fear of waking her up.

   Alice opened the balcony door, and the first thing she noticed was the stench. "Good lord, what happened to you?"

   The Mothman was covered in filth and muck from an unknown source. He stepped inside and made some clicks and squeaks with his mouth. What he said can't be concisely translated to English, but Alice had learned enough of whatever insect click language he spoke to know what he meant.

   He told her he had accidentally landed into a dumpster on his way here. He apologized for the smell, the moth-feelers on his head drooping a bit, and asked about a movie. The one he had seen last time he visited was great, and she had told him there was a second one.

   Alice held up her hand. "You're not going anywhere near my couch until you get cleaned up."

   The Mothman protested for a short bit before he was cut off.