All The Gilded Butterflies
by Adam Huening
Far away from our eyes, beyond cities and churches and mountains, across deserts and oceans and time, there were two identical hills overlooking a pristine, golden green valley. On these hills, there were two identical yellow houses topped with scarlet-trimmed pagodas. In these twin houses on opposite hills among the emerald sea of grass under the sparkling azure sky, there lived two boys.
On the outside they looked as similar as their homes – the same sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes – but inside they were completely different.
On the left hill, the first boy, Zyn, would burst from his door and run down to the valley to discover the wonders waiting there.
On the right hill, the second boy, Amon, would strut down his hill to rule over the meadow absolutely.
Zyn would examine the trees, the blades of grass, the petals of flowers, and the deliberate ballet of the ants at his feet.
Amon would snap branches to fashion swords and slice the grass, stomp the flowers and smash the ants.
Zyn would watch the destruction in horror, hiding while the chaos swirled around him and shrinking to a far off corner to ignore the tumultuous tirades. If he mustered the words and lifted them through his throat to speak, Amon would drown them out with his screeching and yelling until Zyn retreated home.
So, Zyn remained silent, keeping his isolated parts of the valley safe, while Amon ruled it all with tyranny.
One day, a beautiful, gold-trimmed, blue butterfly fluttered languidly into the valley. As it passed through his periphery, Zyn was immediately captivated. She was like a flower given flight, delicately dancing on the breeze that tickled his hair. Mesmerized, he lost himself in the whirls and loops of her intricate, swaying ballet in the meadow. A new desire emerged in his heart, to hold this sliver of the valley’s beauty in his hand, to keep her forever from the whims of the wind and the devices of evil things.
As this wave was working through Zyn’s heart and mind, Amon was transfixed from across the meadow. The butterfly’s wings had given flight to desires within him as well, but they manifested as a sinister sneer across his boyish lips, the storm clouds flashing in his eyes.
He crossed the grass with his hand held out gently, coaxing the pretty butterfly to his grasp.
Zyn, afraid for the butterfly, offered a warning as he tiptoed toward it.
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