I rolled over, tossing and turning in the seemingly impossible heat of the night, and kicked my comforter off my legs with a drama that would not have been out of place in the theatre. My forehead (and, rather weirdly, ribcage) drenched in sweat, I clicked my parched tongue on the dry roof of my mouth a few times before mopping my brow with the back of my wrist and looking around for something to drink. Seeing as how it was completely dark, I unceremoniously ripped the charger out of my phone so as to use the phone as a flashlight and rolled with a grumble onto my side to scan the contents of my bedside table. And there it was: one solitary, half-full cup of clear water. I licked my cracked lips in anticipation of hydration and slowly started to think about thinking about moving my arm as a wild tiny moth appeared! It bumped with a satisfying “bonk” into my phone three or four times and then, as if sent from the hellish depths of the Earth with one evil task in mind, flew spiraling into my sole cup of water. Now, I am one lazy bitch. If I’m in bed and I’m thirsty and it’s the middle of the night, if there isn’t water right next to me there is no way I’m getting up to get some - that would wreck my nighttime comfort and destroy any hope of me getting a full 10 hours of sleep. I just wait for daylight to happen and then I stumble into the kitchen complaining about how dry my throat is. I’m aware that this is silly, but it’s also just how I am: sleepy MacKenzie is the least rational sentient being in existence. So I watched in horror as this moth destroyed my only hope of quenching my thirst, and a stream of tired-thirst-rage-induced expletives came rolling out of my mouth. 
“Aw, moth,” I mumbled as I watched delicate bits of the moth’s wings quickly come off and dissolve. “Fuck you, moth. You didn’t need to drink that water! You can’t even swim, you stupid asshole moth. That was my only beverage. Now I’m going to die of thirst and it is ALL YOUR FAULT, MOTH. I hate you. I hate your moth spouse. I hate your stupid dumb moth egg children that you probably laid in my ear 30 seconds before you wrecked everything. I hope you were the president of your moth book club and now they don’t know what book to read next because their president is dead you dumb idiot moth. I hope your moth society dissolves into anarchy and chaos in your absence and all of your moth friends are swallowed by corruption and beaten down by moth greed. Nobody is going to come to your moth funeral because there isn’t going to be one because I’m going to dump you down the sink because you RUINED MY WATER.”
I have just never been so disappointed in an insect in my entire life, and as I whispered irrational wishes of unpleasantness upon this moth, I watched it slowly stop struggling as it finally drowned and sank to the bottom of my water glass. Satisfied that this dumb moth had gotten what was coming to it, I put a piece of paper on top of the cup (to remind myself that it was now a moth graveyard and not a wholesome place to seek hydration), rolled over, and went back to sleep. My dreams were plagued by moths.   

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