Like an old painting. The Moth, Returning to the Flame. Like a sad old bastard hoping to be not left out.Because good things come in threes, I was out...on my porch the following Wednesday. Even though it was nippy, a chilly drizzle coming down all day--and it was pretty miserable--I stayed out there the whole damn afternoon. I only gave up when her roomies started coming home. I went in and made a big pot of strong coffee. Nothing like a major caffeine buzz to aid in feeling like a total fool.Do. Whatever Jack had packed into that blast sprayed the creatures with small shards of something that didn’t stop burning when it hit flesh, or water. The room erupted with steam, and the cluster of grindylows all threw themselves into the water to try to put themselves out. It didn’t help. Jack’s fire didn’t last very long, but water didn’t stop it. Only one of the pale monsters escaped unscathed. It surged forward mindlessly, ignoring the plight of its fellows. Jack stepped back, cracking open. More

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