Disobedience;
a Short Story
Billy
ran through the bright meadow to the edge of the dark wood, chasing a
butterfly with wings so yellow the sun seemed a pale shadow overhead.
The creature would flit from flower to flower and slowly wave its
gossamer wings as if to wait for the little boy to touch it. Every
time Billy would reach a chubby hand out and barely stretch a
fingertip to a velvety wing, the butterfly would rise gracefully and
float to another flower, ever closer to the dark wood. When the
bright creature finally slipped into the darkness of that wood, Billy
stood poised at the edge. He knew it was forbidden for him to go in
there. The dark wood was not for little boys, they said. There were
things, in there, they said. It was dangerous, they said.
As
he stood there, the wind whispered in his ear. It was the only sound,
except for his own breath, that he could hear. He could smell the
dank earth, and something else. Something he could not identify.
Something dark and spicy that zinged with suppressed energy. He
strained his eyes to see into the dark, but even the trees were
unrecognizable. The darkness was so complete that it sat like a
blanket of ink covering that piece of earth.
But
there! Just there! The butterfly surprised him with its sudden
bright appearance. It waited, its wings illuminated as if from
within, only a few paces into the wood. The shining beacon flapped
its wings joyfully as if to encourage the toddling boy to follow. Oh,
to follow that lovely creature! To see things that only the yellow
light of a butterfly's wing can show you! The dark wood was not for
little boys, they said. There were things, in there, they said. It
was dangerous, they said. He knew the rules by heart. He acknowledged
his disobedience even as he stepped from the light into the dark and
followed the luminescent butterfly deeper into the dark wood. He
never looked back.
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