Carrah the Caterpillar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Carrah is on a hunt. Halfheartedly, she searches for the one thing that might make a difference in her bleak and mundane life. Hope is not always enough and can sometimes be the force that breaks you.

Submitted: August 02, 2017

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Submitted: August 02, 2017



Carrah the Caterpillar.

The biting air of the glum and dreary morning stabs Carrah square in the face as she peeks out from under the crisp fallen leaf that sheltered her over the night. Reluctantly, Carrah crawls out into the unwelcoming world, trudging over muddy soil and damp stone, looking around. A menacing rumble breaks through the silence, immanent and threatening. Carrah keeps her head down, trailing along, looking. The cold ground stings her delicate feet like an icy electric shock, rippling through her whole body. The rough earth beneath her is jagged. She dodges the countless bumps and shallow crates as she drags her body across the irregular path, looking still, searching. The grey and grim clouds above are relentless, bitterly growing thicker in a frantic attempt to cage the rays of sunshine that try to escape. Carrah is oblivious to this routine battle in the sky, numbed by the frigid ground her bare feet scurry across. She keeps her head down, clambering over a rubble stone, looking. A fleeting memory faintly whizzes in front of her; an image of a blood-red sun scorching down on blooming flowers that tower over her. But that warmth seems so foreign now, alien and out of reach. She continues looking. The grasslands beyond her are endless, barren except for the occasional short tree and bushy shrub lightly peppering the fields. Everything stands so motionless it might as well be a still photograph. Even the wind that is now building cannot ruffle enough leaves to make the trees sway. Laid before her is a lifeless land in which Carrah finds herself trapped; trapped in a dark loop of seeking, never truly finding.

A heavy droplet splatters down on Carrah’s head and she instantly notices the razor-like raindrops darting towards the ground, already creating puddles around her. Before she can think, she is swept off her feet by the unkind rush of water that surges her way. She is drowning. Scrambling. A tiny speck, invisible in the frenzy. She is swallowed almost entirely by the vigorous, unrelenting storm. Yet she remains composed. There is no panic, no haste. Carrah resigns herself to the rain. She knows she has no means of getting out of the rapidly-forming river and makes no foolish attempts at taking flight prematurely. With only water and empty space for miles, Carrah knows she is helpless against the currents and harsh winds. She allows her limp body to float, paralyzed by her own toxic thoughts pounding in her head, convincing her that nothing is worth the fight.

So she waits. Vacantly staring outward, she waits. It no longer matters that she might never feel the weight of colourful wings on her back, or the breeze brush against her as she flits among the trees. She stops looking.

As the urgent pattering of the rain gradually subsides, Carrah is washed up at the foot of a low hill. She remains as remote as the earth supporting her, unwilling to get back on track until…

Something on the not-so-distant hilltop moves.

Her whole body perks up; there is a sudden visceral energy in her feet now propelling her forward. She eagerly starts to climb up, slipping on the wet terrain, picking herself back up and grasping at any rooted stem left standing. The dense coagulated soil makes each step heavy and loaded, the climb to the top seemingly days away, but onwards she plods, unthinking; eyes wide and determinedly unblinking. The wind whirls around her cheekily, nudging her lightly and whispering her name, calling her upwards. The apex is so close now she can smell it; a smell of dampness lined with a slight scent of sweet hope. Hungry for what she prays was not her eyes deceiving her, she finally claws her way to the top.

Everything is as stationary as it was before the rain poured down. Carrah takes a sweeping look around her, scanning the fields below her for any form of motion. Her beady eyes sctrutinize the land for the moving creature that she so desperately wants to be real.


She takes one last glance behind her, expecting to find something hiding there, but all she sees is the path of hurried footsteps left imprinted in the soil behind her.

A solitary set of prints, going nowhere.  

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