To finish, here’s Superbad by James Brown, featuring Bootsy Collins. The song isn’t linked to the story, as such, but my cat is called Bootsy and she went missing on Friday – today I got her back from the RSPCA, after she had been discovered wandering lost in the neighbouring estate, which is a great distance away when you’re a small cat who’s practically blind. So, after three days of feeling awful it’s good to finish with some celebratory funk – as well as a big thank you to both my sister-in-law for being instrumental in tracking Bootsy down and the person in Shenley Church End who took a dazed and confused stray cat to the vet –
All that gold, shimmering brightly! The butterfly rushed to embrace it with all the arms he had. Landing among the yellow petals, he basked in their glow. Ah but the cold weather was drawing in and the butterfly feared for his tender, brilliant wings.
Looking down from the last flower in the garden, the butterfly saw a snail slide down the path. So cosy she looked in that shell, never buffeted by the wind. “You know,” the butterfly shouted down to her, “I could’ve accepted being a snail except… all your faces look the same! Whereas every little swirl and dot of colour on my wings is unique. Unique!”
The snail gazed up to see where the noise was coming from. Noticing the butterfly clinging feebly to the dying petals, she twirled her left horn, thoughtfully, then her right. “Hmm,” she murmured, to no one in particular, “poor creatures, those butterflies. All that flitting must be exhausting. And then the upkeep on those wings.” She sighed. “But I could live with all that, I suppose, if need be, except… they’re always dreaming that they’re philosophers! Ah now that I couldn’t abide.”
This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Here’s thelink to the stories and this week’s picture is at the top of this post, copyright Janet Webb. I seem to be out of practice with the 100-word limit since this story strays a good deal beyond it. Sorry, Rochelle.