The Journey
A butterfly gracefully floats from patch to patch in a meadow of wildflowers.
A redhead named Lauren sprints through the purple clouds with her hands in her pockets, grabbing her crinkled dollar bills. Her hands exit the pockets and she comes to a halt.
A monarch looks up at the pixelated giant and focuses its retinas.
A redhead swiftly kneels down, burrowing between strands of meadow hair, and reaches out promptly. Slow. Slower.. Slowly...
A butterfly smells Lauren’s finger, scents of Nestle cookies and cat dander stunning yet pleasing the winged traveler. Following the delicious sweetness,
A curious butterfly creeps onto the rigged digit momentarily, then flutters up beautifully onto the girl’s button nose.
A redhead's eyes cross, mouth grins, and dimples deepen at the sight of the Monarch on its lookout post.
In the light of the moment,
a butterfly says farewell and continues its journey home, leaving the redhead alone with nothing but a few crumpled dollar bills.
The Turn
A butterfly travels along a well known path with a mission of finding its mate—a mate it will find.
A hunter follows the flurrying friend with a rutty white net, camouflaged with the same purple clouds. Patiently tip toeing, the gardener takes a swing. “Aye there mate! Yer a pretty one, ain’t ya?” he mutters with tobacco stenched breath to the traveler.                               
Correspondingly,
A claustrophobic butterfly scrambles in the rigid net, using its tongue to pick up a scent. It tastes the bitter powder of winged ladies long past.
The End
A swarm of butterflies uses all of their might to flutter briefly across 10x10 inch wired crates.
On the other side awaits week old nectar, enough to feed a caterpillar if it’s lucky.
A friend of Lauren’s stretches its frail tongue out toward the dusty mesh covered feeder and before it could eat, it is grabbed by a thick pair of gardening gloves and thrown into an airtight container.
Looking out through the clear lid of its tomb, unable to move or breathe,                               

A butterfly is mesmerized by the passing lights on the ceiling of a rustic shed...As                                                                       a gardener lifts one edge of the flexible lid, the butterfly experiences a moment or two of hope, gasping one last breath through its spiracles.

A gardener gazes at the black and orange sun-catchers of his hostage, and ends the traveler with one swift pinch of the thorax.
A butterfly feels pain and anguish—it squirms with the agony of the amputation.
A hunter waits another few moments for the winged traveler to doze off, and he uses his dirty gardening gloves to rip off the bright orange sun catchers.                                                      A gardener receives the pay he’d been craving, smothered in the scales of his many previous kills. Winged travelers pile into the gardener’s leather wallet.                                                           Meanwhile,
a redhead reaches for her crinkled grimy Washingtons at a local sweet stand and enjoys an ice cream cone, watching the last Painted Lady bounce on surrounding purple clouds.