【段子】Wings and Tears

Inside the gloomy shadow in an abundant house in Summerville lives a butterfly. 

His crystal-blue wings were shredded, dragging behind his flawless body with shades of red on them. 

Seeking for a glimmer of hope, he lurches out of the shades of flying dirt, with scramble leans against the frame of the old broken window. 

He stays still; he pushes himself forward; he tries to lift his collapsed wings; he falls. 

The dusty smell of weeds and earth surrounds him. 

His torso trembles. His eyes full of tears——only if butterflies have tears. 

Hope is too precious; Nature does not risk to give him such luxury. 

The butterfly's heart does not bleed, but there are bruises on it which hurt more painfully than cuts. 

He's too tired. 

He's too overwhelmed. 

So he closes his eyes. 

A cool breeze comes and passes. Sunset seems too close, but dawn seems too far. 

Chill. He shivers.

And he finally starts to weep.

For a century, or two, the world is silent besides his sob. 

The cloistered little house is desolated from the outside community, maintains its presence of loneliness, and will endure. 

The butterfly glances up at the firmament. Tears drifting in his eyes, or is it just a flake of starlight?

Suddenly the dark sky is ripped and contorted. Eyes widened and heart racing, the butterfly sees a pair of feather-like bluish-black wings aviates toward him. 

Its color is as gloomy as the night sky itself, but illuminated the dim decidedly——just like a blink of twilight. 

The darkness is no more. 


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