Finn captured a moth the other day. It was furry and brown and covered with white spots made of powder. Finn decided he would make a good friend. He gave him a bath, snuggled him in his sleeping bag, let him ride his neck, and made him watch mario Kart. The moth seemed to like Finn. He would let him hold him, and no one else. By the time he was done with him he was a golden, sparkling little thing. His antennae were frazzled, his wings were tattered. I told Finn he would probably die soon because Moths only live for a day. The next morning I asked him where his moth went. He said, “I let him fly,” and pointed outside.