"Did I say that?" it asked for the first time in a tone that was
introspective and self-conscious.
"You said it. If you make yourself out to be this monster of
truths I can't see how you can lie like this."
"I was with you earlier in a less bright, more murky form of a
dream when you were anxious that you hadn't gotten any privacy to fly
your kite. You didn't seem to remember quoting me then."
It did not like the merit of its own veracity scrutinized. It turned
away and paused. It scratched one leg against another thoughtfully the
way one might a scalp. Jatupon wondered for a moment if the insect
would disappear wordlessly from the weight of it's own waning
confidence but there was no chance of that. It reasserted itself,
attempting to discard its solemn self-interrogations for a more august
posture and attitude.
"You would be the aimless kinetic movements of other dust just
like your kind if it wasn't for me giving you consciousness and a soul.
You impudent little dummy, you should not speak to your ajarn this
way. Your blood only has worth as the nutrients of my posterity. That
is its purpose. If you become so calculating and crafty with me I'll
reevaluate our relationship." One of its arms reached over and
caressed his skin. "At a distance," it said, "the brownness makes it
look as solid as a rock. I forget that it is so tender. Your naivete
also seems so obdurate that I often forget the self-serving and
disingenuous muck underneath it all." It brought back its arm, opened
its mouth widely, and spat at the boy. "Here have an early Songkran,"
it said. Songkran was the New Year's water festival in the hottest
month of April. The month was really March of the year 2445 according
to the Thai Buddhist calendar. "I come and go by the dictates of my own
intelligent, restless brooding. I move from one rock to another hoping
to get satisfaction or at least a reprieve from dissatisfaction. I, an