Sticks and Stones

The Butterfly

©Rainstorm23 2012 The following works is copyrighted by law and cannot be reproduced, copied, posted or uploaded without the written permission of the publisher.

PROLOGUE

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. I can't tell you how many times I heard that said on the playground as a small child. Whoever coined that phrase was seriously misguided. They must have never had an unkind word directed towards them. They have never felt unworthy to be here, to exist. Words cut deep, each negative word acting like the sharpest knife you can imagine going into your flesh, past the bone, into your very soul. Broken bones are bad, don't get me wrong, but they heal. Nothing can heal the damage done to your soul. There is no bandage, no cast that can make it as good as new in six to eight weeks.

A beautiful butterfly was flapping it's wings, just floating on the breeze. It had many bright colors and hues, that I focused on picking out. I saw bright red on the edges of the wings with a black trim. There were spots of yellow splashed around in different areas of the delicate wings. The sky blue was twisting in and around the other colors. As I sat on the porch of our now old home for the last time, I couldn't help but wonder; do butterflies remember the time of their existence before, when they weren't yet free to fly and dance on the wind? Before they could go wherever they choose, whenever they want? A time before the cocoon changed them and gave them the freedom so many take for granted? Do they remember being a catipillar crawling through life, hoping no one would step on them and crush them? When they had no way to fly and be free, it must have seemed hard and quite hopeless to them. It must have seemed like a dream, a fantasy or a wish that would never be granted....freedom.

My life is like the catipillar. I am cautious of every move I make and every word I say. I live in a state of constant fear. I fear not only for my life, but the lives of those around me. I have to pay attention to my surroundings or I will be stepped on. I do not make friends, not because I am incapable, however it is completely by choice. Not only my choice, but my fathers as well. I do not go to, nor do I have parties. I do not get close enough to anyone for them to find out the secret I keep. My brother Chase and my mother Sarina are the only friends I need. We have eachother to lean on and confide in, their are no secrets between us. They understand because they live it every day just like I do. I will never have a boyfriend because eventually he would ask to meet my parents. That can't happen. I wouldn't risk it. I am waiting for the day I will get to make my cocoon and Morph into the beautiful butterfly I know I am inside. I pray that day happens before I get crushed and die.

I sent a silent prayer up to God, asking him to make this move change our lives for the better. I got up, taking my guitar with me. Chase had painted some very pretty butterflies around the edge of it to remind me not to give up hope. He is so talented. I went inside, taking one last look around the now empty space. I will not miss this house, or the memories held within it. I have never considered it a home, it has been our prison for my entire life. Although you can't physically see the bars, they are there. I inhaled deeply and then let it out. Here we go, this is it. I closed the front door behind me, locking it as I did. I could see Mom and Chase patiently waiting for me in the car. She gave me a small smile, with complete understanding written on her beautiful face. I climbed in the back with my guitar, ready to take this journey towards a new life and an unwritten future.