Story story
Hello.
Jul, ikaw na lang make sa title.
Wa ko kaybaw unsa'y ititle man gud. :D
One summer afternoon in an ornate garden where beautiful and motley flowers grow, an eight-year-old boy was distracted by a tiny lovely butterfly that was fluttering past the carnations in the corner of the yard. He was sitting on the marble chairs in their front porch, coloring his books containing animals. His nanny sat beside him, reading a book. The boy put down his crayons, his brown eyes fixed on the little imago. The viceroy butterfly seemed to be lost in the garden, drifting from flower to flower.
Suddenly, the butterfly flew over them. The boy’s rosy cheeks turned into a darker shade as he watched the butterfly land on his arm. He was so fascinated by the little imago he tried to touch its wings with his cute, chubby fingers. His nanny, seeing what the boy was doing, reprimanded him. She said it was not good to touch the butterfly as it could be dirty.
“But she’s so pretty,” the boy protested. The butterfly flickered its fragile wings softly and flew away. The boy stood up from his chair and started to follow the butterfly.
“Stay where you are, little man. It’s starting to get dark, and it’s unwise for a little boy like you to go and play outside,” his nanny said rather sternly. She stood up, put the book on the table, and said softly, “I’m going to prepare your bath” and went inside the house.
The boy didn’t answer. He stood there quietly and turned to look at the direction where the butterfly had flown. He could see the butterfly flying over the flowers his mother so loved. The little creature moved so gracefully it was beckoning the boy to follow.
He stepped out of their porch and followed the butterfly, keeping his distance. The butterfly went past his mother’s carnations and tickseeds and landed onto a peculiar flower the boy had never seen before. “I would ask Mama the name of this strange flower when she gets home,” said the boy softly. He was afraid he might scare the butterfly away, so he kept his voice low.
Suddenly, he heard someone speak. The boy looked around. He thought his nanny was calling him and was afraid that she might scold him for going out. But he could see the shadow of his nanny from their bathroom window, and he heard the soft rush of water in their tub. He moved as silently as he could. As he was approaching the butterfly, the voices grew louder. He raised his head from a thick brush and saw that it was the odd flower who was speaking. He gasped and quickly covered his mouth with his hand.
“I love looking the sun set, little butterfly,” said the flower, looking at the vermilion streaks of the sunset. The butterfly, as if understanding every word the flower said, looked up.
The little boy’s innocent eyes widened as the butterfly answered, “Yes, the sunset is truly a marvelous sight.” The flower and the butterfly drowned themselves with the stupendous sight. In the ensuing silence, the boy found himself staring at the sky.
“Can you see its blood, little butterfly? Every time the sun sets, it bleeds. Every time the sun sets, it dies. Death fascinates me.” The flower spoke to the sun, “Tell me, Sun, how does it feel to die?”
The sun heard the flower’s remark and answered, “Oh, dear. A beautiful flower asking about death! Why do you ask, little one?”
“Well, I have lived long, but I am still here rooted to this place. Oh, how I long to go to places and see the world. I have never left this place. I have never seen what’s beyond this garden,” cried the flower. The flower’s slender stem seemed to bow in dismay as it uttered the words. The soft wind blew its leaves gently, producing a soft whisper in the twilight. “Don’t you see? I wanted to travel and explore the vast and immense world. Now I am asking about death, for I think that that is far sweeter than staying here in this spot and doing nothing.”
The butterfly, still on the flower’s petals, said, “Oh, sweet flower, do not cry. You are very beautiful. It is such a waste to see your tears fall.”
Vincent continued to listen to the silent conversation of the flower, the butterfly, and the sun. He was amazed that all of them could talk. They’re like us, he thought. They have feelings too! Vincent’s thoughts were interrupted when the sun spoke again.
“Do not let that sadden you, little flower. The world is not as beautiful as you think,” said the sun. “I can see the world perfectly from up here. Most people live in poverty. There is misery in every corner. People deceive others, thievery is rampant, and many children die because of hunger and disease. It is such as awful sight, I tell you. An awful sight indeed.”
“I do not believe you. I know that there is good in this world. For example, the good lady in that house who takes care of me and the rest of the flowers in this garden. Nonetheless, even if the world is as you say it is, I would still love to experience it all,” the flower said.
The sun, now barely visible in the enormous sky, sighed. “I see that you are looking for freedom. For an escape. But believe me when I tell you that you are better fixed in that spot than go roaming about the world,” the sun remarked.
“Don’t speak of such nonsense! Living is not living at all when you do not experience the good and the bad in this world. Oh, how bland and crude life would be when one lives for himself, not minding the people around him and the world he lives in!” the grieving flower lamented.
The sun’s light dimmed as if in acquiescence to what the flower had said. The sun said nothing.
“That is why,” the flower started, “I want to die. Maybe in my next life, I would be life you, sweet butterfly. A butterfly who can fly under tall trees, flowing rivers, and beautiful gardens! Oh, how my heart would burst with happiness!”
The butterfly shook its head and said, “Do not wish to become like me, precious flower. I have lived for two weeks now. I flew to many places, but I believe that I have not seen the world as it is compared to the great sun. Now, I only have only a few days left to live in this world. I would like it better to stay in one place and die rather than travel the world in my numbered days. Can’t you see, dear flower, this only leaves me wanting more? You cannot imagine how frustrating this can be!”
“Oh, I can see the stark contrast of our views. It’s inevitable. I am a flower, and you are a butterfly,” said the flower. “But, I tell you, sweet butterfly, I would cherish those numbered days and travel as far as I could and see the world until Death takes me. Now tell me, Sun, how does it feel to die?”
Silence ensued. The weight of the conversation lingered in the air for a few moments. Vincent was still rooted to his spot, listening to every word the creatures were saying. He could hear the mosquitoes buzzing, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. His young mind digested the heartstrings of the butterfly and the flower.
“I don’t die, little one. I simply repose for the night, and I always come back in the morning. Those who died carry the secrets of death with them. I am sorry. I cannot answer your question,” the sun replied.
“But why do you bleed? Does it hurt?” the flower asked.
“My heart bleeds because all day I see people hurting each other. It hurts, yes, but when people look at me in the morning with hopes in their eyes, I shine brightly,” the sun said and then smiled. “Do not be sad. I tell you, each day is a new one. You may be fixed in that bitter place, seeing the same mundane concerns of everyday life, but do not lose hope. Even a little flower like you can make a big difference.” The great sun said good-bye and sank below the horizon. The moon started to rise, and the stars twinkled.
“What do you think, Butterfly?” The flower sought for the butterfly’s opinion.
“I agree with the sun. We all have our limitations. But we have to maximize what we can do each day. We must never”-the butterfly said solemnly-“favor death over living. Life has much to offer. We just have to look for it.” With that, the butterfly flew, moved around the flower, and stopped a few inches above the flower’s lovely petals.
“Such great wisdom from a tiny creature like you.” The flower laughed.
The butterfly smiled and spoke, “I must go now. Good-bye, little flower. It was nice meeting you.” The butterfly flew away gracefully. Vincent raised his head to have a better look of the leaving butterfly. It was not long before darkness swallowed the imago. Vincent looked at the flower. It looked so pretty under the moonlight.
Then Vincent heard his nanny calling him from inside the house. He looked at the porch and saw his nanny looking for him. She was squinting her eyes. It was obvious that she didn’t see him as he was concealed by the bushes in the garden. Before he ran inside the house, he looked at the flower one last time.
Jul, ikaw na lang make sa title.
Wa ko kaybaw unsa'y ititle man gud. :D
One summer afternoon in an ornate garden where beautiful and motley flowers grow, an eight-year-old boy was distracted by a tiny lovely butterfly that was fluttering past the carnations in the corner of the yard. He was sitting on the marble chairs in their front porch, coloring his books containing animals. His nanny sat beside him, reading a book. The boy put down his crayons, his brown eyes fixed on the little imago. The viceroy butterfly seemed to be lost in the garden, drifting from flower to flower.
Suddenly, the butterfly flew over them. The boy’s rosy cheeks turned into a darker shade as he watched the butterfly land on his arm. He was so fascinated by the little imago he tried to touch its wings with his cute, chubby fingers. His nanny, seeing what the boy was doing, reprimanded him. She said it was not good to touch the butterfly as it could be dirty.
“But she’s so pretty,” the boy protested. The butterfly flickered its fragile wings softly and flew away. The boy stood up from his chair and started to follow the butterfly.
“Stay where you are, little man. It’s starting to get dark, and it’s unwise for a little boy like you to go and play outside,” his nanny said rather sternly. She stood up, put the book on the table, and said softly, “I’m going to prepare your bath” and went inside the house.
The boy didn’t answer. He stood there quietly and turned to look at the direction where the butterfly had flown. He could see the butterfly flying over the flowers his mother so loved. The little creature moved so gracefully it was beckoning the boy to follow.
He stepped out of their porch and followed the butterfly, keeping his distance. The butterfly went past his mother’s carnations and tickseeds and landed onto a peculiar flower the boy had never seen before. “I would ask Mama the name of this strange flower when she gets home,” said the boy softly. He was afraid he might scare the butterfly away, so he kept his voice low.
Suddenly, he heard someone speak. The boy looked around. He thought his nanny was calling him and was afraid that she might scold him for going out. But he could see the shadow of his nanny from their bathroom window, and he heard the soft rush of water in their tub. He moved as silently as he could. As he was approaching the butterfly, the voices grew louder. He raised his head from a thick brush and saw that it was the odd flower who was speaking. He gasped and quickly covered his mouth with his hand.
“I love looking the sun set, little butterfly,” said the flower, looking at the vermilion streaks of the sunset. The butterfly, as if understanding every word the flower said, looked up.
The little boy’s innocent eyes widened as the butterfly answered, “Yes, the sunset is truly a marvelous sight.” The flower and the butterfly drowned themselves with the stupendous sight. In the ensuing silence, the boy found himself staring at the sky.
“Can you see its blood, little butterfly? Every time the sun sets, it bleeds. Every time the sun sets, it dies. Death fascinates me.” The flower spoke to the sun, “Tell me, Sun, how does it feel to die?”
The sun heard the flower’s remark and answered, “Oh, dear. A beautiful flower asking about death! Why do you ask, little one?”
“Well, I have lived long, but I am still here rooted to this place. Oh, how I long to go to places and see the world. I have never left this place. I have never seen what’s beyond this garden,” cried the flower. The flower’s slender stem seemed to bow in dismay as it uttered the words. The soft wind blew its leaves gently, producing a soft whisper in the twilight. “Don’t you see? I wanted to travel and explore the vast and immense world. Now I am asking about death, for I think that that is far sweeter than staying here in this spot and doing nothing.”
The butterfly, still on the flower’s petals, said, “Oh, sweet flower, do not cry. You are very beautiful. It is such a waste to see your tears fall.”
Vincent continued to listen to the silent conversation of the flower, the butterfly, and the sun. He was amazed that all of them could talk. They’re like us, he thought. They have feelings too! Vincent’s thoughts were interrupted when the sun spoke again.
“Do not let that sadden you, little flower. The world is not as beautiful as you think,” said the sun. “I can see the world perfectly from up here. Most people live in poverty. There is misery in every corner. People deceive others, thievery is rampant, and many children die because of hunger and disease. It is such as awful sight, I tell you. An awful sight indeed.”
“I do not believe you. I know that there is good in this world. For example, the good lady in that house who takes care of me and the rest of the flowers in this garden. Nonetheless, even if the world is as you say it is, I would still love to experience it all,” the flower said.
The sun, now barely visible in the enormous sky, sighed. “I see that you are looking for freedom. For an escape. But believe me when I tell you that you are better fixed in that spot than go roaming about the world,” the sun remarked.
“Don’t speak of such nonsense! Living is not living at all when you do not experience the good and the bad in this world. Oh, how bland and crude life would be when one lives for himself, not minding the people around him and the world he lives in!” the grieving flower lamented.
The sun’s light dimmed as if in acquiescence to what the flower had said. The sun said nothing.
“That is why,” the flower started, “I want to die. Maybe in my next life, I would be life you, sweet butterfly. A butterfly who can fly under tall trees, flowing rivers, and beautiful gardens! Oh, how my heart would burst with happiness!”
The butterfly shook its head and said, “Do not wish to become like me, precious flower. I have lived for two weeks now. I flew to many places, but I believe that I have not seen the world as it is compared to the great sun. Now, I only have only a few days left to live in this world. I would like it better to stay in one place and die rather than travel the world in my numbered days. Can’t you see, dear flower, this only leaves me wanting more? You cannot imagine how frustrating this can be!”
“Oh, I can see the stark contrast of our views. It’s inevitable. I am a flower, and you are a butterfly,” said the flower. “But, I tell you, sweet butterfly, I would cherish those numbered days and travel as far as I could and see the world until Death takes me. Now tell me, Sun, how does it feel to die?”
Silence ensued. The weight of the conversation lingered in the air for a few moments. Vincent was still rooted to his spot, listening to every word the creatures were saying. He could hear the mosquitoes buzzing, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. His young mind digested the heartstrings of the butterfly and the flower.
“I don’t die, little one. I simply repose for the night, and I always come back in the morning. Those who died carry the secrets of death with them. I am sorry. I cannot answer your question,” the sun replied.
“But why do you bleed? Does it hurt?” the flower asked.
“My heart bleeds because all day I see people hurting each other. It hurts, yes, but when people look at me in the morning with hopes in their eyes, I shine brightly,” the sun said and then smiled. “Do not be sad. I tell you, each day is a new one. You may be fixed in that bitter place, seeing the same mundane concerns of everyday life, but do not lose hope. Even a little flower like you can make a big difference.” The great sun said good-bye and sank below the horizon. The moon started to rise, and the stars twinkled.
“What do you think, Butterfly?” The flower sought for the butterfly’s opinion.
“I agree with the sun. We all have our limitations. But we have to maximize what we can do each day. We must never”-the butterfly said solemnly-“favor death over living. Life has much to offer. We just have to look for it.” With that, the butterfly flew, moved around the flower, and stopped a few inches above the flower’s lovely petals.
“Such great wisdom from a tiny creature like you.” The flower laughed.
The butterfly smiled and spoke, “I must go now. Good-bye, little flower. It was nice meeting you.” The butterfly flew away gracefully. Vincent raised his head to have a better look of the leaving butterfly. It was not long before darkness swallowed the imago. Vincent looked at the flower. It looked so pretty under the moonlight.
Then Vincent heard his nanny calling him from inside the house. He looked at the porch and saw his nanny looking for him. She was squinting her eyes. It was obvious that she didn’t see him as he was concealed by the bushes in the garden. Before he ran inside the house, he looked at the flower one last time.