I think it (the bug) had been on my arm for a while, but not that long. It didn’t look as though it had just landed, and I hadn’t felt it on my skin before I looked down and saw it. It was green, but not an aphid. Too large. I’ve started seeing so many strange new bugs around nowadays; I can’t tell whether they’re real or not. Have I been unknowingly ingesting LSD? Is there a crack in my frontal lobe? I’m tempted to blame global warming for their presence, but that seems too convenient; all the bugs from warmer countries heading up here to keep up with their climate? Probably not, especially since there seems to be as many midges as usual, waiting so greedily to devour me. But the bug... it was still on my arm, and it wasn’t going anywhere. It looked like it was enjoying the breeze my bike was generating as I sped down that green avenue; the one just after the hump-backed bridge that, on approach, our old bus driver used to speed up at. Just to give the kids a thrill. Do you remember that? Do you remember the time when your sister wasn’t holding onto her bag?! Sometimes I think about those things a lot. Sometimes it seems like they just happened maybe a day or two ago, or even last week. Things seem fragmented to me, blurry and confused, they’re going by as fast as the cars that passed me that day, although there weren’t many. No cars to peer perversely (although you know everyone does it) into as they pass, silently judging the people inside, and willing them, no, begging them to judge me back. No, I don’t think there were any cars at all. Maybe that’s why I focused my attention on the bug, out of boredom. Maybe that’s why the bug focused its attention on me. Or maybe not.
There was nothing spectacular about it with the exception of its colour, but still I found myself staring. There it was, perfectly still (with the exception of its tiny wings swaying gently), staring straight ahead at the road before us, as though in eager anticipation of its destination. It was then that, slightly hurt, I realised that this puny thing was not interested in my company; it was merely hitching a lift. I felt anger and a sudden urge to squash it, which I nonetheless resisted. Instead I studied it, and admired its nerve.
Not that long ago I employed a similar tactic, using people to further my progress on my own journey-wondrous, no doubt about it, but oh-so-superficial. What did I expect, really? To somehow discover acceptance and empathy in some forgotten corner of the world? I think I set out to find my place in the world. I was-I am-delusional. I’m still looking and still struggling. I thought, Is that what this bug is doing. Had it fled its family with their unfair expectations, and distant friends formed out of mere proximity? I told myself it had, and now was speeding onwards, hurdling towards its destiny, blindly trusting fate to deliver it there unharmed. Would it find what it was looking for? Bugs it could connect with, that even had a slight understanding of it? Somewhere it could feel like it could fit in? Would it find this mythical place, and be free to think and do as it pleased? Maybe it would, I thought, but would it really be happy there? Would it ever feel the urge to return to the place it had been spawned, just for a little while, out of curiosity or misplaced nostalgia? I really hoped not. It was then that I heard the monotonous beeping of the car’s horn behind me, and was shaken from my daze. I looked around and saw she’d sent him to collect me, as though to supervise the delivery of an especially precious porcelain doll. I looked back down at my arm, and saw my companion was gone. I reluctantly got into the car to satisfy my mother’s anxieties, and immediately pressed my face to the glass to look (hopelessly) for the bug amongst the roadside foliage. Of course I didn’t see anything; he was already moving onwards, like a cat, there one minute and gone the next. As the car pulle

but now it's not so short! Here's the first few lines:

The plastic Jesus figurine sat silently, as plastic Jesus figurines have a habit of doing, on the coffee table of the apartment. He had been there for what seemed like a long time, but he didn’t mind at all, having as he did such a nice view of a neighbouring park, and all the different people that, for one reason or another, visited there. He liked picking out the different human stereotypes he had learned about from the apartment television. He frequently identified the fitness freaks out for their morning jog, the rebellious teenagers smoking pot in the bushes at night, hobos and bums sleeping on benches, and the neighbourhood paedophile who tended to hang around the swing sets at dusk. Plastic Jesus delighted in the variety and differing levels of disgust he felt for these low-life individuals, nevertheless he was glad he was safe behind the panes of glass of his second floor window. Today, however, there was not a soul to be seen in the park, which disconcerted the plastic Jesus. No matter how bad the weather, or how important the family festive season, there was always someone in the park; some unfulfilled housewife seeking time away from her unbearably mundane existence, or an elderly man fleeing the crushing memories of his glorious youth that flooded his cheaply rented home. But not today.

...i fly out of christchurch in 28 days!its scary...i only have like 4 weeks 2 see evrything else iw anted 2........im working for a week in this cool old hostel in thames to let the rain pass over( screw getting hypothermia!), coromandel ...the whole towns like got this creepy old southern usa vibe.....it looks like its from a western or something ....and its totally hilarious cause yesterday i went thru the bush to a bird hide and wen u look out it all u can see is PAC'N'SAVE!(like a nz version of asda) its totally ridiculous...right on the waterfront.....i dont even no how they got permission to build it:@....sorry...it makes me MAD!