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August 29, 2014

Another butterfly I caught later that day had wings which looked like profiles of two human faces; one the mirror image of the other.

When I looked closer, I realised that the wings not only resembled faces, but were indeed faces, shrunken and parched yet still undeniably real human heads. The butterfly had somehow managed to commandeer these craniums for its own selfish purposes and employ them for flight. Or perhaps the wings either evolved or atrophied from normal butterfly substance into human flesh and skin.

The insect flapped the wings rapidly, trying in desperation to escape my grasp. It seemed to be completely oblivious to the conversation taking place between the two heads, not noticing their fickle expressions of joy, amusement, puzzlement, pleasure which lingered but for an instant and then were gone.

The butterfly kept beating and beating its wings while the two faces continued talking, as if they were just old acquaintances who bumped into each other on the street. Their conversation also reflected this familiarity, comprised as it was of pleasantries and trivialities.


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  1. WEThurs: Sept 11, 2014 | Writing Essential Group

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