Apocalypse of a Metamorphosis

After twelve hours with only the moon and the stars to keep watch in the night sky, the light of the sun finally reached the earth. It was warm in the skin but its energy was already sharp enough to wake up those who are still in the comfortable sanctuary that was their bed. The morning was busy as everyone started to prepare for the long day ahead of them. The flowers in the garden were in full bloom, making them look like a rainbow set against the sky.

Behind the dynamism of the early morning scene was a full-grown butterfly waiting to see and experience what the world has to offer. Watching it struggle to get out of its thin and delicate cocoon wasn't like what I imagined as a child. Judging from the beauty of its wings and the serenity of its flight, I thought of the last stage of its metamorphosis as something painless, like a chick hatched out of the egg where the shell just cracks and out would come the new life. What I witnessed as an adult was totally different.  I watched as the head of the butterfly slowly came out of the cocoon. By then, the world had seen only a fraction of its beauty for the true magic of the transformation was kept in the wings. I expected the rest of its body to slide out of the cocoon, as I have seen how mothers give birth to their babies through normal delivery. Instead, I saw the jerks of its body as it tried to detach itself from the cocoon. Wanting to free the butterfly from the agony of leaving its smooth shell, I cut the cocoon open. Out fell on a yellow bell leaf the creature that was a marvel in our illustrated encyclopaedia. Its wings were still small and wet, until they expanded and dried. I intently watched as the body of the butterfly relaxed and made small movements as if it was on its morning exercise. I waited for it to finally fly. But to my dismay, it didn’t. I nudged it with a small leaf but it only resumed its small movements, with its legs tracing the creases of the leaf where it laid vulnerable. It didn’t fly, not even in the next couple of hours since it left the cocoon.

The butterfly that I tried to save from the pain of finally gaining its freedom didn’t really become free. Never will it occupy the vastness of the open space below the sky, nor will it be another marvel in the eyes of a child. It may have seen the world, but it didn’t experience the life that it was destined to live. Had I not interfered with the final stage of its metamorphosis, had I let it go through the painful process on its own, the story would have been different.#