Butterfly

I remember that day as though it was just yesterday.

It fells like it really was, so much changed and so much didn't.

Angel and I went hiking... (more like flew) to our favorite place.

As we approached the flower field, we slowed our pace.

At the time I didn't realize it, but that was the last time I ever saw that flower field.

The last time I saw all the types of flowers, in all the colors of the rainbow.

The last time I saw the flowers that didn't have names, similar to several of the colors which I didn't know existed before I saw them in the flower field.

The last time I saw the butterfly

Angel dived onto the carpet of vegetation, and as she hit it, hundreds of butterflies rose into the air.

Like the flowers they came in every shape and size, every shade of color.

That glorious scene, along with the magnificent location created a stunning sight. Even if I was an artist or even a poet, I would never manage to complete this masterpiece.

One butterfly caught my eye, wings red as a strawberry, spotted with black.

It was so beautiful, its' reddish wings fluttering ever so gracefully.

It seems like I wasn't the only one who noticed it, because for a second it vanished and then it was there, in Angel's hand-its' wings were crumpled, its' antenna barely moving. For some unknown reason it bothered me.

And then it hit me.

"Angel," I whispered softly "let the butterfly go. Let it fly."

"Why?" She protested "I caught it fair and square!"

"Angel," I repeated a little bit louder "Let the butterfly go. Let it fly."

And then I continued, my voice getting louder and louder:

"Set it free; let it escape like we escaped from the School!"

"Just because it is special, just because he has wings and has the ability to fly, doesn't mean it must live in a cage built by humans! Doesn't mean it has to be an experiment! "

By now I was shouting:

"THE BUTTERFLY HAS THE SAME RIGHT FOR FREEDOM AS WE DO!"

With a horrified look Angel threw her hand open-

but the butterfly didn't fly.

It was too late.

The beautiful red with black spots winged butterfly dropped ungracefully to the ground, never to rise again.

Angel's voice, barely distinguished from the sound of the breeze going through the flowers, whispered-----


a\n: If this story sounds a bit familiar, it's because you read my friend (israeli-american) story. We decided on a topic and we both wrote about it, then we compared notes, it was a bit freakish owing to the fact we wrote similar stories...