Marching Monarchs

"If you were to ask me, I would reply quite soundly. I do not know."

Day 1 -

I speak the truth. I don't know. I am not even the best person to be asking this. Why would you eve inquire on this matter? Don't you know?

Day 2 -

We never change, do we? I like to believe that it's something inside of us. Something we're born with, perhaps? Then again, it's just a thought. I wasn't birthed to think. Certainly not meant to feel either. That's why I don't know

Day 3 -

I want to know the answers. My desire of knowledge is a thirst that cannot be quenched. Am I different from the others? Out of ten, am I the only one who has these abnormal thoughts?

Day 4 -

Green. The colour of life. The rolls of rich green fields. A riveting sheet of blue. Sheer laps of red and yellow. This is what I dream of. I envy with a wistful shine.

Day 5 -

The intoxicating green. The colour of liquid. The pillars of transparent green tubes. Heavy laps of blood and needles. The sky I seek does not touch these parts. I long for a sun, if there is in fact one.

Day 6 -

My eyelids weaken. I fear the white drabs and I fear my glass cover will shatter against their vulture claws.

Day 7 -

It drains. I gasp. Spluttering and groping at my neck. Inhaling my first breath since birth. Is this what it is like to live? My vision fades and I sleep an endless sleep.

Day 107 -

My skin burns with an angry passion. I can feel my blood drain. I've never felt so real. So true. My skull aches considerably. I'm sure I've snapped a bone or two. I do not care. I am free. Feet move with strength I never new. Leaps and fluid bounds take me from the wreckage. I pant. I grin..

Day 127 -

The first snow fall of the long winter to come. I do not know where I am. Dirty and unkempt. My track marks fade. My chip, torn out ages ago. The icy glitter blankets the lucious grass with a chilling embrace. It is beautiful. I cup it in my hands and watch it turn to water. I have never known such grace. The sun beats against my skin with pride.

Day 247 -

The wind ruffles my hair playfully. I bundle against it's teasing nips with a worn coat and leather boots. The forest is long behind me. I ruefully contemplate when it shall return. I am patient. The muck of grey and stone pillars await me with stony expressions.

Day 427 -

The city is bustling. I am frightened. I keep to myself. I keep from the roads. I stare down the people. Some stare back. Others draw their children close. An old man nods, I smile grimly under my tarp of cotton. The city is not for me.

Day 707 -

I walk alongside a crowd. A shine of red here and a flash of black there. I long for the forests embrace. I turn North, in hopes of snow. I long for release.

Day 710 -

I caress the glass cases. A butterfly shyly flaps its wings. Soon, I think. We shall both know the touch of a scar. These wounds will never bind us again.

Day 717 -

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 .. 6 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 .. Ten butterflies, I nod. For those who could not be here with me. I snort. What has happened to them? Are they happy? My mind scoffs. My heart quivers.

I unclasp one glass case. Without a moments notice, the insect has taken perilous flight. I release another Monarch. Three more take their place in the sky. I watch them all slip away like a ghost of breath in the morning dew.

I smile. Genuinely.

I walk to the last one.

Seven, I whisper.

It perches on the bridge of my nose. I am still.

"Я жив."

It joins its brethren in the blue.