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Butterflies

There was a time in my life when beauty meant something special to me. I guess that would have been when I was about six or seven years old, just several weeks or maybe a month before the orphanage turned me into an old man.

I would get up every morning at the orphanage, make my bed just like the little soldier that I had become and then I would get into one of the two straight lines and march to breakfast with the other twenty or thirty boys who also lived in my dormitory.

After breakfast one Saturday morning I returned to the dormitory and saw the house parent chasing the beautiful monarch butterflies who lived by the hundreds in the azalea bushes strewn around the orphanage.

I carefully watched as he caught these beautiful creatures, one after the other, and then took them from the net and then stuck straight pins through their head and wings, pinning them onto a heavy cardboard sheet.

How cruel it was to kill something of such beauty. I had walked many times out into the bushes, all by myself, just so the butterflies could land on my head, face and hands so I could look at them up close.

When the telephone rang the house parent laid the large cardboard paper down on the back cement step and went inside to answer the phone. I walked up to the cardboard and looked at the one butterfly who he had just pinned to the large paper. It was still moving about so I reached down and touched it on the wing causing one of the pins to fall out. It started flying around and around trying to get away but it was still pinned by the one wing with the other straight pin. Finally it's wing broke off and the butterfly fell to the ground and just quivered.

I picked up the torn wing and the butterfly and I spat on it's wing and tried to get it to stick back on so it could fly away and be free before the house parent came back. But it would not stay on him.

The next thing I knew the house parent came walking back out of the back door by the garbage room and started yelling at me. I told him that I did not do anything but he did not believe me. He picked up the cardboard paper and started hitting me on the top of the head. There were all kinds of butterfly pieces going everywhere. He threw the cardboard down on the ground and told me to pick it up and put it in the garbage can inside the back room of the dormitory and then he left.

I sat there in the dirt, by that big old tree, for the longest time trying to fit all the butterfly pieces back together so I could bury them whole, but it was too hard to do. So I prayed for them and then I put them in an old torn up shoe box and I buried them in the bottom of the fort that I had built in the ground, out by the large bamboos, near the blackberry bushes.

Every year when the butterflies would return to the orphanage and try to land on me I would try and shoo them away because they did not know that the orphanage was a bad place to live and a very bad place to die.

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Comments

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This is a very good story. I think that who ever did this is very kind and loving to all of mother nature and man kind. I thought that this story was so good that I told it to my great grandmother that loves butterflies. Thank you for making her day much more cheerful.

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I never understood how one could write a short story. a short story is just a moment in time captured on paper or in words that has a deeper meaning; for the author or for the reader Roger Dean Kiser is much applauded by me and many others for his work Butterflies he truly deserves it for catching the moment so beautifully thank you.

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Wonderful! Provocatively revealing. A universal commentary on humanity: we all naturally side with the poor child, but we are all as guilty as the butterfly killer. A true mirror, showing both the beauty and the ugliness that make up reality.

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I told sent several people a link to this story, it touched me so much. The image of the little boy trying to piece the butterflies together before burying them will haunt me and is somehow all the more poignant after the tragedy of September 11, 2001 (I am from the New York area). I plan to buy the authors book ORPHAN.

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A very succesful piece of writing. But nothing to do with September 11th. Not everything is to do with September 11th. Particularly not a story about a boy piecing together butterflies decades before. I dont agree that the structure was too complex, in fact I found it attractively simple. It effectively described the thought processes of a child, making the story seem immediate both to the narrator remembering it and to the audience reading it. Well done

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It is not often that a faintly audible emotion encapsulates state of our atrophied morality. Kisers telling of the story is as sincere as it is heartwrenching. This is the sort of eye opening messege that words were created to convey.

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Roger that!

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Roger, i cant imagine how you felt in that time, but i know what you mean.its not the beauty of the butterfly but more the inner depth meaning that followed. thank you for sharing that momment with us.that isof course if you are speaking from true expeirience...... miz 18

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simplicity makes it so user freindly - i think i must be heartless though - after reading so many people cried and i just read it.This reminds me of coelho/bach style writing where the essence of the story is multilayered through the use of few signs/symbols. Readers then read whatever they wish in through the narrative, discovering their own connections are deep and meaningfull. A simply written and conveyed story - no extra details, almost no realism, gives the story and just that - a great effort and style of writing i enviously would like to beging accomplishing myself.

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I enjoyed this story very much. I could relate to situations where i felt helpless and scared and getting blamed for somethign i didnt do. I loved it! very touching story, which inspires me to keep writing! so THANK YOU

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We are all the natures in the world on the earth. Everything is a precious creature. Not only human but also animals, plants and so on have their rights to exist in this world for themselves. So we should respect and protect all the organisms in the world. We love natures, don’t you.

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With the growth of our age , it seems that we were all too busy on our homework and work , while we forget the basic concept of love . The child in the story was yelled and hit by his home parents for saving a little butterfly . And by doing so he buried the to show his sympathy toward them . It seems that we have lost this kind of naïve and childish heart , this is what we need to rethink about .

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My teacher had required us to do an exam(Translation Study) at home and I chose Butterflies. This is a wonderful touching story.It is so short but its meaning is so deep.I know my words are sometimes not sharp and subtle enough to express its content into my mother tounge but I tried as much as possible. Thank you so much, Roger Dean Kiser! _Arale_

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Roger, Im so sorry you had such an unexamplary adult to refer to as "house parent". Surely this person lacked the heart of a caring parent. Shame on him, and bless you for holding on to what is tender and beautiful. Your words were well chosen and the imagery quite real.

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