And by then it was too late. There it was, caught between the window and the screen, fluttering weakly in the pale glow of her nightlight. Jennica considered. She didn't know how to open the window herself, and she dared not wake her parents to get their help. Her father hated butterflies, after all. She imagined that the fragile little creature was looking at her, and so she tried to give it her most serious, concerned, and sympathetic look. That's what you did when people were dying, and Jennica knew enough about death to realize that the butterfly was indeed dying. It would stop moving, and it's eyes would close, and then it would come back as ghost, or a mummy, or a vampire. It never failed.
"When the world is wrong, I can still make it right," she confided to the butterfly, who fluttered its wings once again, so slow, so slow. Jennica smiled. Death made everything all right.
Warder to starry_nite
One day.
May I suggest:
http://onceuponagourd.etsy.com/
one two three four five six nine and ten
money can't buy you back the love that you had then
ad impenetrum! *NM*
