On my wall glistens an expansive butterfly collection, shimmering as if still alive.
Because they are. Instead of drying and pinning them, I simply dab some Superglue on the abdomen and head. Every day I watch the newest members scrabble at the corkboard backing, helpless. I smile, recalling an old myth that when fairies die, they are reincarnated as butterflies.
Not so. Most are. But fairies executed for capital offences lose their blessing and are reincarnated as lesser creatures: humans.
Every day, my collection squirms less. I grin. I was not supposed to remember. I wonder if they remember, too.
Frenchie almost 4 years ago
Wow, hehehehe, remind me not to cross you! I wonder what capital offence I may have done, though I do have a long list in mind... Keep them coming!!!