Werjil was a very small earwig

Werjil was a very small earwig. He lived in a pokey hole in a tree. Full of dust and dirt and all sorts of nastiness that he liked to eat.

Hanging from the strong branches of the tree was a swing. It was a very big swing, made of heavy wood with metal edges. Ouch! You wouldn’t want that to klunk you on the head when you fell off. This was not a concern for Werjil however.

Werjil was in a pesky mood. “Grrr” grrred Werjil. “I feel like wigging in someone’s ear today.” This was a foolish thing to say, since the old European belief that earwigs would come and wig in your ear has not been believed by anyone for a very long time. Nevertheless, Werjil lived up to his name in as much as he liked to fill people’s minds with prejudice by insinuating things, or occasionally attempting to influence them by persistent confident argument.

“Grrr.” Said Werjil. He scuttled out his pokey hole, and off he went.

It was not long before Werjil came across a very beautiful butterfly, sunning herself on a leaf. She was very beautiful, her delicate wings, deep brilliant blue and iridescent, that shone with such lustre and sparkle she looked like a fallen piece of a dusky sky. But Werjil didn’t care for butterflies too much. They spent far too much time swanning around, and they were very fickle.

“Excuse me” Werjil barked loudly. Well, as loudly as he could for a small earwig. “But I just overheard another moth talking about you…”

“MOTH! You think I’m a moth!” The butterfly was very angry. Furious. She jiggled a bit to express her disconcertment. She continued, “I am a butterfly, can’t you tell from my beautiful colours and patterns that I am no common dowdy moth?”

Werjil grinned inwardly. Ha! What a good day he was having now. “Terribly sorry, maybe you are just looking a bit dirty, you do look awfully like a moth just now.”

“Really” asked the butterfly, “Dirty? Oh. Well I must get clean at once! I must find some water where I can wash, I know the pond at the end of the garden,” the butterfly cried “and you must help me!”

“Yes, yes, it would never do for a creature as fair as you to be mistaken for one as humdrum as a moth.” Werjil replied.

Werjil was a little worried now. He didn’t know much about butterflies, but he was sure that it would do their delicate wings no good to get wet. He had only intended to bring her down a peg or too, make her a bit less proud of how beautiful she was (and she was very, very beautiful). “Well,” thought Werjil, “it’s her own lookout. She shouldn’t be so proud as to make rash decisions.” So he reluctantly followed her down the garden to the pond that glistened at the far end.

The pond glistened in the sun, beckoning the butterfly. She blindly flew towards it desperate to get clean, desperate to be beautiful. Werjil followed slowly behind, silly little earwig with no wings. The pond was deep and dark, but its waters were clean and inviting.

The butterfly launched herself onto the water with a fluttering motion, just as Werjil reached the edge of the pond.

Just that instant a fish leaped out of the water, from the murky depths, and grabbed the beautiful butterfly in its gaping mouth, dragging her down to its murky lair!

“Oh!” exclaimed Werjil. “I hadn’t expected that to happen, I just thought…” But he hadn’t thought, that was the problem. Oh dear. He did feel terribly guilty. “Well it serves her right for being proud and, and…” And nothing. What a terrible trick to play.

Werjil slumped slowly back to his pokey hole in the tree. He didn’t even feel like eating his usual mulch and dirt. “Grrr” grrred Werjil. He did feel very guilty for a very small earwig.