By SAMUEL TORRES
Staff Writer
Why do we think the way we do? Is it because we never learned from what is taught, or is it because we believe nothing that is taught to us is worth focusing on, like school perhaps. As we roam these halls we always analyze people based on their actions, or what everyone believes as appearances. I felt like a butterfly with its wings clipped onto a board just for show, my wings with different types of colors which brings others attention but what they don’t choose to know is the story behind everything.
We never truly know how butterflies get their colored wings but everyone is so admired by them, we get lost in the patterns. Hanged up for show it always seems like we are some rarity for others to admire when we don’t admire ourselves, the message of loving selves is always brought to the attention of this thing called humanity but how do we know what exactly that is?
Humans don’t know how to learn simple math, but yet act like they figured life out, the messages given to them suddenly clear to the human eye as if it was some object they can hold but in reality…it’s something that is earned to know. A butterfly is something we all once admired but never really focused on their true stories, it could be a symbol of some kind to resemble who one is. Honeybee, Little birdy, an animal which catches most eyes but what about their stories? Lore, as we can call it, is a brave warrior that once fought in battle showing some sort of bravery but tragically lost their wife and kid to killers storming in for nothing but cold blooded murder.
Now, it is time to start the show, close your eyes and take a breath in then clear your mind. Slowly breathe out, then there begins our story, one stormy winter night as what would seem like snow but instead, ashes falling from the dark gloomy clouds, a butterfly takes its natural course flying with its light blue wings that glow like no other guiding it through the night. Flying back to its home which was burnt down from the fires created of the humankind we once believed was nothing but filled with good, the little butterfly flew down to what was once a bright green tree filled with life, down to a stump burnt to a black shade of brown.
The little butterfly landed onto the stump looking around for its tree but it was simply gone, vanished into thin air as it would seem to the creature. The light of the butterflies wings was so bright it shined through the darkness of the burned down trees but as it would seem to be an empty forest, a sudden shadow swooped down grabbing the butterfly into some glass container. In a panic, the little butterfly flew around trying to escape hitting the jar but it was no use, it slowly dropped down filled with fear getting dragged away from its once home to the loud streets of the city.
As darkness filled the butterfly’s eyes it began to feel nothing but its life flying away, everything was becoming a blur but what it last saw was a giant room filled with black objects surrounding it with bright lights coming from each and every one of them.
As everything felt like it was zooming out from the butterfly, the crowd of people taking photos of the butterfly and its glowing wings, the butterfly was pinned down with some sort of staples to its wings with no escape. What was once believed to be a good day, losing its home and losing its life all in a sudden moment that came to seem like a flash. The glow of the butterfly was slowly fading away as its hope and faith in the world began to slowly fade away, believing that the world it once lived in was safe, that the butterfly was in no harm which filled the blue glow in its wings.
In the end, as humanity began to hunt its kind, every glow of the color wing butterflies began to become extinct. The little blue butterfly was hung down from its caged prison then thrown away as if it was nothing.
Why judge a thing based on its appearance and make their life built up around that? It becomes a losing reality of what is real and in the end, thrown away into an inescapable life of what is real anymore, knowledge is power, knowledge on what is right and wrong. The butterfly had no escape from its density, but do any of us have an escape?