At first the butterfly played coy and elusive, fluttering above Zyn, then swooping around Amon. The second boy feigned sweetness, asking in his most innocent voice for her to just let him admire her graceful beauty. The first boy offered warnings and compliments. Finally, she landed in a pirouette on a blood red rose not yet bloomed. The butterfly studied Zyn, but was captivated by Amon’s intriguing facade. A twirl of hesitation, and she flew over to land in Amon’s palm.
The storm broke in Amon’s eyes, the deadly smile casting a long shadow across the butterfly. His fist flew shut in an explosion of violent laughter to Zyn’s gasp of horror. Amon closed his fingers tighter, squeezing every drop of life from his prey. Staring darkly into Zyn’s eyes, Amon threw the crushed butterfly to the dirt. He kicked dust at her, shoving Zyn as he walked away, his laughter cutting through the blades of grass into the distance toward home.
Zyn scrambled to linger over the body of the broken butterfly. He stared down at her torn wings, still sparkling and magnificent even though in ruin. And the boy wept for the loss of such beauty never understanding how it could go so willingly to its own destruction.
As the forlorn tears rained from his eyes, they fell upon the wings of the lost butterfly. Each drop tinged with such a sincere sorrow, his tears turned to magic, soaking into the wings, and, as he wept, the tips twitched and then slowly began to flutter. Zyn couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared in awe as the butterfly lifted herself from the dirt. The tears transformed and flooded his heart with joy.
And the butterfly was grateful, gracing his nose with a gently placed kiss. And the two passed the time together in the glistening green meadow beneath the brilliant sun and watercolor sky. And he felt every moment a blessing and regarded her a miracle, for her life and his own.
Until one day, Amon the self-professed king of the valley, saw the two together beneath a tree whispering of the wonderful ways the world could hold, and the sneer returned to his face. He stomped across the meadow and feigned his best apologies, conjured his most curious charms, forced his most attractive sentiments and, as he became frustrated, demanded her attention.
The butterfly cowered on Zyn’s shoulder, and Zyn scooted away as the other boy approached. He told Amon to stay back, with words warbling and shaking on his tongue. Amon laughed, growing tired of their disobedience, and swatted at Zyn’s shoulder. The butterfly tumbled through the air, twisting violently until she gathered herself and flew to the safety of the branches above them.
Beneath her, a new emotion was sizzling through Zyn. As he leapt to his
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