Freedom (Short Story)

She first caught sight of it fluttering around in the city, its iriscident wings shimmering in the morning sunlight.

Having never seen a butterfly in the urban city before, Rose was fascinated by its vivid hues and the carefree way by which it seemed to weave around everything, a drop of colour in a black and white world.

Somehow, it lifted her spirits and drew a smile on her tiny, pale pink lips.

The little girl had been walking along the pavement holding her mother’s hand, but now she stopped and tugged against her mother's coat.

Her mother turned and smiled down at her affectionately, her wan, careworn face a network of fine wrinkles etched by daily worries and problems.

"What is it, Rose?"

"Mama, I want that flying animal up there," Rose murmured, chewing on her plaits as she pointed a stubby finger at the butterfly fluttering above them.

It was now high up in the darkening sky, swirling and tossing on the wind’s currents.

Puzzled, Rose's mother lifted her head to look at whatever her seven year old daughter was pointing at.

Then, she saw the butterfly.

Her eyes softened almost immediately.

A tinge of sadness lingered in them as she gazed up at the sky.

"I'm sorry, darling, but these creatures are not meant to be kept as pets caged up. They are called butterflies and butterflies are meant to be free," she said in a faraway voice.

Her wrinkles seemed to have disappeared and she was wearing a faint smile.

It appeared to Rose's eyes that her mother looked like a different person entirely though it could simply have been a trick of the light.

Free, this very word kept playing and rewinding itself in Rose’s head.

Free, that was what the butterfly had made her feel.

And looking at her mother who now seemed lost in her own world, Rose knew better than to ask her again.

That night, after Rose was tucked into bed, she looked out of her bedroom window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive creature she’d seen earlier.

She stared at the tall skyscrapers, the graying buildings and housing estates. She saw the lamp posts lining the pavement, the speeding cars that never stopped, and the briskly walking people each lost in their own private worries and problems as they moved together on the same pavement.

Suddenly, freedom in a concrete jungle, where everyone was only focused on making as much money as possible, felt more like a prison instead.

Something heavy weighed on Rose's tiny heart but the little girl did not know why.

As she was looking out of the window moodily, the butterfly flew in.

Beaming with joy, Rose clambered out of bed and stood on the cold linoleum floor as she watched the butterfly dance in her bedroom.

Its movements weren't fluid or graceful, yet the way its fluttering wings captured the silver moonlight was enough to draw Rose into a trance and she did not know how long she stood there watching it.

Abruptly, the butterfly flew out of Rose’s bedroom. She quickly slipped on her coat and followed it, clad only in a thin night shift and fluffy bunny slippers.

It took her fifteen floors down her apartment house and out into the chilly night air. Yet she did not seem to feel the cold as she stared in awe at the city spread out before her.

The atmosphere seemed and felt so different at night; brooding and melancholy, it was as though the city was hiding secrets that were shrouded in the darkness and invisible in the daytime.

The butterfly flew around her in circles impatiently, as though prodding her to move on. So Rose continued to walk, her eyes wide with curiosity as she drank in the city’s night sights.

A scantily clad hooker took a long drag on her cigarette and blew out rings of smoke through bright red lips, her sharp stilettos making tiny grooves on the graffiti spattered wall she was leaning against.

She was talking and laughing on her cell phone, flirting with some unknown stranger who was probably just another male client. Yet it appeared to Rose that the smile on her lips never seemed to quite reach her eyes; her every action stiff and mechanical.

It was as if her soul had been sucked out of her and she was merely going through the motions of living, bound by the human instinct to survive.

Bound by her need to make some quick bucks and not knowing any other easier way to do so.

Rose quickly averted her eyes, not understanding the emptiness she felt in her heart when she looked at the hooker.

Her gaze fell onto two orphan children huddled together at one corner of the street with nothing more than the threadbare clothes on their backs and a dirty mat underneath their feet.

Their pinched, drawn little faces and the bitterness in their eyes spoke more than what words could describe to the little girl watching them.

Homeless, unwanted and unloved, they were weighed down with the burden of finding their next meal and shelter; prisoners chained to the harsh masters of poverty and death.

Shuddering, Rose gathered her coat about her more tightly and walked on.

The butterfly flew on, leading her towards a deserted road with no lamp posts to guide anyone's way.

Cloaked in darkness, Rose could barely see anything at all let alone the butterfly.

Forcing herself not to panic like a normal seven-year old would, she continued to walk, stretching her hands out blindly to prevent herself from bumping into something.

Eventually, she spotted a lamp post shining up ahead and like a moth attracted to light, she moved towards it.

Squinting under the sudden glare of the light, Rose suddenly realized that there was a man clad in an expensive business suit sitting listlessly at the pavement, his leather suitcase thrown carelessly to one side.

The butterfly was perched on his shoulder but he did not seem to notice it at all.

"Mister, are you lost?" Rose asked timidly, even though she wasn't sure how she could help. After all, she was lost in the city herself with only a butterfly to guide her around.

In normal circumstances, this would have made any child feel terrified, but Rose felt an unexplainable eerie sense of calm.

The businessman slowly looked up. Rose was shocked to see the hollow, sunken face and the dark eye rings circling his watery brown eyes.

He did not appear to be poor or jobless so there seemed to be no reason as to why he still looked so starved and hopeless.

"I'm lost all right," the businessman muttered bitterly. "I have no idea where I'm going. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I slave my guts away at a job that steals not only my time but my soul. Freedom is just another word in my dictionary that doesn't exist any more."

At a loss for words, Rose merely pointed at the butterfly resting on the businessman’s shoulder, her tiny face intent and solemn.

She hoped the man would understand what she was trying to say.

Freedom still existed.

The man's eyes slowly traveled to his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then he saw the butterfly.

It was as though she had switched on something that had gone rusty within. Tears sprang to the man's eyes as the butterfly flew from his shoulder to rest on his hand.

"Freedom ..." the man whispered to himself, as though hardly daring to believe that it was within his grasp.

He looked up to face the little girl standing in front of him, his face shining with gratitude.

"Thank you, my dear ..." he stood up and squared his shoulders resolutely. "I'm quitting my job first thing tomorrow morning."

So saying, he walked off, his face set in quiet determination. There seemed to be a spring in his step.

Rose looked at his receding figure with a faint smile on her lips.

Then she walked on. The butterfly was nowhere to be seen but she did not notice.

Faint sobbing sounds started to reach her ears when she came to the end of the deserted road.

Curious, the little girl walked towards the source of the sound until she came to a dark alley.

The stench which greeted her was overpowering due to all the rubbish thrown there by careless passers-by. Moldy, overripe banana skin peels, discarded food containers and stale urine all contributed to the pungent odor.

Yet, someone was there, sitting at the end of the alley and crying to herself.

As Rose's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a young mother cradling a child in her arms and weeping as she rocked the baby to and fro. Her hair was disheveled and she did not look like she had had a good meal in ages.

However, she was tense and when Rose approached her; she stared wildly at the little girl with bloodshot eyes.

Her grip on her baby tightened until Rose could see the whites of her trembling knuckles.

"Don't steal my baby, don't steal my baby ..." she muttered repeatedly to herself, half-mad with terror.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to take your baby away," Rose said soothingly.

She reached out to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder, wanting to ease her fright and reassure her that she was harmless.

Still the woman shrieked as though she had just been burned.

Rose quickly withdrew her hand. Then she had an idea.

Running to the nearest convenience store, she pulled out a few coins from her coat and bought a loaf of bread.

Running back to the alley, she stood in front of the woman and offered the loaf of bread silently, afraid to say anything lest the woman screamed again.

Tension hovered in the air as the woman stared at Rose with disbelief and something that looked like hope. Slowly, with quivering hands, she took the bread and started to gobble down huge chunks of it.

So absorbed was she in eating that she did not even look up when Rose came closer.

"Don't you want to feed your baby?" Rose asked in concern.

The woman nodded and tore off a small chunk of the bread which she pressed against the baby's lips. However, the baby did not open its mouth. In fact, it did not move at all.

Rose was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong sense of foreboding. Something felt very wrong.

Trembling, she reached out to turn the baby's face towards her.

She screamed.

The baby was dead, its skin a white-purplish hue.

Pressing a fist against her mouth, Rose fled the alley in horror. She ran and she ran, away from that terrible nightmarish place. Away from an unexplained terror that had overwhelmed her.

Then she stopped, breathing heavily as tears ran down her face.

She could not believe what she’d just seen.

An insane woman with a dead baby, bound to the belief that her child was still alive. She closed her eyes, wishing that she could simply erase the image from her mind.

After a while, she realized she was not alone.

She opened her eyes and saw a little girl squatting at the pavement, drawing a repeated pattern of butterflies with white chalk.

The girl was swathed in chains connecting to every single part of city, yet she seemed oblivious to that fact as she concentrated on her drawing.

Just then, she looked up.

Rose went numb with shock. She was staring at her own reflection.

The girl’s eyes were emotionless, but they were fixed onto Rose when she spoke.

"Hardly anyone understands what freedom means any longer. Everyone is chained to their own obligations, their own duties. Captive to their own worries, their own fears. They do not know the simple joys in life because they have forgotten. Do you truly understand what freedom is?"

Rose hung her head in shame. How could she explain something that she did not know how to express in words?

When Rose couldn’t answer, a single tear dropped from the girl’s eye. Rose felt as though she was viewing it in slow motion as it descended and landed on the pattern of butterflies drawn on the pavement.

Vibrant colours flooded the butterfly drawings and Rose watched, fascinated, as they slowly started to come alive.

Wriggling their wings free from the pavement, they flew out in a swirling stream before dispersing in the open sky.

Filled with awe and an unexplainable sense of sadness, Rose turned to look at the girl, but she was no longer there. The chains that had bound her were left lying on the pavement.

Blinking in disbelief, she slowly walked towards the area where the girl had once been.

Nothing stirred.

Suddenly, the chains lying on the floor hurled towards the little girl and wrapped themselves around her.

The last thing she could remember was the unbearable weight of the cold chains engulfing her tiny body, and her screaming to be free …

***

She woke up the next morning to find herself back in her own bed. Feeling rather disorientated, Rose rubbed her eyes and got out of bed.

Nothing seemed out of place. Her bunny slippers were arranged neatly at one side while her coat was still hanging in her closet.

Then she saw the butterfly … the very same butterfly … lying at the foot of her bed, its wings fluttering weakly.

Shocked, she rushed to the foot of the bed and cupped the delicate creature in her hands.

"Oh, you poor thing," she murmured, stroking the outline of its paper-thin wings tenderly. "What happened to you the night before?"

On a sudden impulse, she kissed the tip of its wings. At first, nothing seemed to happen.

Then, abruptly, the butterfly’s wings quivered and burst open in a magnificent display of blue. The colour of the sky.

Rose wiped away a tear that had unknowingly leaked out from the corner of her eye.

"Thank you," she whispered to it. "For everything."

Smiling sadly, she watched as the butterfly flew off into the morning light, never to return again.