I touched their patterned wings and laughed a pure sweet laugh as they alighted on my outstretched palm. A gentle wind brushed against me and I smiled as my dark hair danced playfully on my bare shoulders. The two butterflies flapped their wings, once, twice, before lifting silently to the stilled air.
I watched in awe as roses blossomed red, as leaves sprang to vivid life, and as wilted branches poised back to being sturdy and vibrant. Fallen leaves began to waltz around in flawed circles as my butterflies gave new wind to them. My butterflies flapped their bright wings around a quiescent tiger, teasing, taunting, before the tiger itself opened its cunning eyes and let out a proud roar that shook the deadened world.
The once drought lake suddenly flaunted new waters that rose to the grey sky as my butterflies entwined through the transparent liquid. I held out my hand and waited patiently. I felt their gentle touch on my palm and knew my butterflies had come home at last. They were resting quietly, their soft wings flapping slowly.
"Go," I whispered. I brought my hand down and lifted it in a quick thrust, but they clung on to my skin, refusing to move.
"Go," I repeated, this time more forcefully. Again, they showed no sign of farewell. Anger and frustration flared in me and my eyes narrowed.
"Go!" I waved my hand violently in the air, and a sudden shattering sparked my hearing. I looked down with reluctance and gasped.
Their broken wings lay pitifully on the hard dirt in pieces of painfully bright glass shards, an orange piece there, a red here, scattered in a distantly familiar sketch of two butterflies. Yet, one butterfly was completely shattered, whereas the other was a single, unbroken piece of glass.
I reached down and picked a shard of deep red with a trembling hand. I ran my fingers across its polished surface, admiring its pure crimson hue and its cool touch. A sharpened edge pricked my curious fingers, and a straight pink line appeared. It was unusually bright in the dismal landscape, aside from the blossoms and leaves. It was like an unfinished painting, perfectly sketched, but without color. Now, it seemed as if the artist was adding the finer details of varied tints and color.
I broke into a sharp run, leaving the broken butterflies far behind me. I left the deficient painting, and moved on, past the gold leaf frame. The soft grass of the canvas changed to a desert composed of infinite grains of tan sand. The sun was just beginning to shine above the horizon, setting early shadows on the bare desert. My footsteps soon left the dry dunes and stepped upon the icy touch of snow. The blinding white sheet spread for longer than the largest ocean itself, and I stopped, suddenly discouraged and feeling very small.
I unclenched my hand and stared at the butterfly shard, now colorless. Even the blood of my wound had faded to a pale line, almost invisible against the background of grey skin.
I cannot go back. With a burst of determination and strength, I threw the glass shard into the snow below me. It burned a hole through the land, and I dropped to my knees and clawed furiously at the snow. The sun had risen high, but by that time, I was already deep in the shadows. My hands bled and were scratched, but I dug on stubbornly, ignoring the sharp pain. I wasn't even in the snow now, and instead was beneath it. Time faded away and as did myself, lost in the tedious, unbroken job of digging.
My hands suddenly punched through a thin layer of dirt and into warm air. I stopped, eyes wide. With extreme care, I made the hole wider, using only quick strokes of the hand.
Light streamed into the tunnel and I squinted against it. Tears sprang to my unaccustomed eyes, making them blurry and damp. Once I felt that I could endure the harsh light, I crawled forward and cautiously stuck my head into the opening.
My first reaction was shock and my breath caught in my parched throat. I licked my lips and steadied myself. The ground lay dizzyingly below, a supposedly eternal stretch between me and land. I looked back, into the shrouding darkness, and shuddered as the same words echoed in my mind.
I cannot go back.
'Jump,' a voice whispered. I spun around, expecting to see the speaker, but only glanced my own reflection staring hauntingly back at me.
'Jump,' it said again. I crawled slowly to the opening again, trembling violently. I lowered my feet down first, then my legs. I turned over, and slid down, inch by inch, but my foot slipped and I let out a piercing scream of pure terror. My feet worked furiously to find a hold but to no avail, leaving me to dangle dangerously from only my injured hands. Tears flowed down my soiled cheeks, creating watery paths of salt and dirt.
'Jump.' The memory of my two butterflies flooded my mind. Both had fallen, but only one shattered, and the other lay unflawed. Fifty-fifty.
'Be optimistic', I told myself. 'Look at the half full cup, and know that there is no half empty.'
I let my hands release their tight grip and sighed. I was falling, heart fluttering madly. The world seemed to stop, and all I could see was a blur of endless color, mixed together without any specific resemblance. The wind rushed forcefully through me, yet it gave me a strange sense of comfort and support. I closed my eyes and let my tensed body relax and lapse into a state of deep tranquility.
I fell forever an eternity. Only when I opened my eyes much later on, did I realize with numb shock that I was nearing the ground. A speck of red came into view, and steadily became larger as my fall closed the distance in between dramatically. I soon realized that the red speck was the butterfly shard that I had thrust into the snow-covered ground. I closed my eyes again, with just a few yards before I hit the shard. I frantically tried to roll over in the air, so not to fatally hit the glass. In one final, desperate attempt, I lounged forward and curled into the smallest ball I could manage. Then I waited for the crash of glass meeting body, wincing silently at my destined fate.
I woke, and opened my already opened eyes. I was lying on the carpet floor, with heavy crimson blankets huddled cozily around my body. Against my back was the matching scarlet bed.
My heart pounded as I hoisted myself back onto the bed. The first rays of sunlight shined through the window and I looked up at the ceiling.
'Is that a bug?' I thought, indifferent.
I suddenly turned over and smiled. I had landed in the half filled cup of butterfly shards.
Bliss and bless; please and thank you.
A/N: Interpret this piece any way you like. I was feeling extremely cheerful one day, and I felt the great need to write something. Anything. The ideas just came as I wrote, and I didn't plan this, I didn't think about it, I just wrote it, simply because I needed to. It's been a rough week before, and I was overjoyed once the week ended. My emotions simply came out, and created together with ink and paper The ButterFly Effect. Enjoy :)
You want my interpretations? You got them. Although the story's more interesting if you just use your imagination. This writing piece does hold a deep meaning in it, and like I said before, interpret it any way you like. Disagree or agree with me, either way, these are just my opinions and thoughts. OF COURSE, IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ MY EXPLANATION, I WON'T FORCE YOU TO. It's good to use your imagination once in a while :) My explanations start with the next sentence after this one.
The narrator of the story, is trapped inside a painting. A artist is painting the artwork, and that is where the colors come in. The artist was adding red color to the blossoms and flowers, and defining the landscape(trees, leaves) with various art utensils. The lake was being painted as well. The butterflies, well, they move inside the painting. The painting is somewhat, 'magical', if you would call it, and it is very beautiful and exquisite. Inside the painting there's a whole new world, in this case, with the butterflies and the girl.(The girl is the narrator.)
When the girl began to run, the story notes that she comes across the "gold leaf frame". Take this literally; the girl has ran across the painting canvas, and eventually, she met the edge of the painting. The edge of most paintings, is a frame/border of some design or color. In this case, it is embroidered in gold leaf. The desert is the painting's frame, because of the gold color. The tan grains of sand make up the desert, whereas tan is similar to the color of gold leaf.
The girl keeps running, and eventually, cross the gold leaf frame. Now, this particular painting is hung on a wall. When the girl passes the gold leaf frame, she leaves the desert, and stumbles upon the wall. (Picture it; put your finger on a painting, then move up/down/left/right, and soon your finger will hit the frame, and pass that, your finger will move to touch the wall.) The wall, in this case, is white, thus, the snow is made. The snow is actually the wall, and the girl runs some distance along the wall with the butterfly shard in her hand. She stops, and chucks the shard into the ground/the wall. Now, if you chuck a rock at the wall, there will probably be a hole of some sort. Or a dent. Or an ugly mark. Well, this girl chucked it so hard, that she made a hole in the wall. She enlarges the hole, by digging into it with her hands.
Now, she is inside the wall because she dug so deep already. Later, she comes to the other side of the wall. (The story states, "My hands suddenly punched through a thin layer of dirt and into warm air. I stopped, eyes wide. With extreme care, I made the hole wider, using only quick strokes of the hand.") Now, if you think about it, if you stick a sharp pole through your wall hard enough, it's bound to come out on the opposite side sooner or later. So now, the girl has dug her way through the wall, and is on the other side. Let's go back to the butterfly shard.
The girl had chucked the shard into the wall before, thus making a hole. The shard dug its own way through the wall because of the girl's amazing chucking abilities and strength, and popped out on the other side of the wall. Now, the shard is out of the wall, and gravity has brought it down to the carpet floor. Now the girl is at the opening of the hole, and she lowers herself out, and after some persuasion and reasoning, she jumps out. Gravity brings her down as well, and she falls to the ground. Coincidently enough, she lands right on top of the butterfly shard.
As stated, the butterfly shard is RED. That is why the girl wakes up in her RED bed. The bed is supposedly the butterfly shard, and, well, I'm not really sure how to explain the ending. The ending should be pretty self-explanatory, actually.
There's actually one more point. The end, where the girl asks herself, "Is that a bug?" Hopefully, now that I've explained most of the plot, you should know why she asked that question. If you don't, and would like to know, I will tell you. Since the ceiling is some distance from her eyes, she cannot see exactly what the "bug" is. She only sees a black dot in the ceiling, and naturally suspects that it is a bug of some sort. Well, it is not a bug. It is actually the hole from where she had jumped from. It is the opening of the deep hole she had dug, the hole where the butterfly shard fell out of, the hole where she jumped and landed.
The last sentence is actually an analogy. Bliss bless; please and thank you. It's not the proper analogy, but in my personal views, I classify it as the special case of analogies.
Enjoy The ButterFly Effect. I did. Definitely.
Oh, and one final note. Deep apologies if my rather thorough explanation ruined your imagination. I had warned you.