A butterfly in a jar, found there by some cruel hand of fate, flaps his wings with nowhere to go. Resting at the bottom, and then flapping again, he tries to build up the muscles in his wings. The opening of the jar is small, too thin to fly straight out but maybe wide enough to fit through with tucked wings. A difficult maneuver to master, if he could only get strong enough maybe he could fly out with his wings close together. He had been practicing for a long time, his orangey red wings, with black and white blots, strain to master flight in this unnatural manner.

Successions of failed attempts leave him wounded, slowing down his progress, back to square one, with nothing but the same old, bitter dry leaf to eat everyday, replaced by that same cruel hand responsible for his prison. He thought little of what his crime might be or why he was there, only his escape. Escape towards sunshine, towards life. His life was so short and he had never seen the outside world though he still knew of its existence. Something pre-programmed in his mind told him of green fields, blue skies and red flowers and he hungered for that sweet freedom.

He needed to focus; he knew he could wait no longer. He also knew flying out would require great stamina; this would be extremely painful to keep his wings so close while flying up, almost levitating. He had now mastered flying on one spot like this but up proved extremely painful and he had never been able to endure the pain. But he knew it was now or never, an impatient death awaited him.

He started beating his wings - at the back of his mind he felt as though he was being watched by a small grey shadow in the corner, but he dismissed this thought, trying to concentrate every muscle in his body on escape.

He levitated, wings tucked, he knew he could do that easily now. Now to rise.

Slowly but surely he began to climb, very little at first until he forced his body through the pain.

He had the confidence he needed now, the belief he could get out, the pain didn’t matter, freedom was all that mattered. He rose still more, almost at the rim, he was so tired and so sore but still he rose more, feeling himself just reach the top of the jar.

He was almost free, he could taste the rolling fields, the sunshine on his back, the gloriously red flowers, just one more muster! When suddenly the grey shadow was bigger, it swooshed towards him…

In what might as well have been an alternate universe, a small boy searched his garden for leaves. Bringing some inside, he left a trail of mud through the kitchen.

“Simon! Look what you’ve done!” screeched a house proud mother. “And what on earth are those leaves for?”

“Oh sorry mum,” the young boy said glancing unconcerned at his muddy footprints “I’m just going to feed Cornelius.”

“Your caterpillar? I thought he was in his cocoon, he doesn’t need to eat in there you know” she said condescendingly.

“No mum, he’s become a beautiful butterfly, has been for days!”

“Oh Simon! You can’t keep a butterfly cooped up in that tiny jar, it deserves to be free! You must let him go right now!” she implored.

“But mu-um” he whined.

“No discussions, let him out now!” she ordered, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs to his bedroom.

However before they reached the top of the stairs they heard the unmistakable sound of a jar breaking and their naughty tabby cat screeching.

“Oh no!” yelled Simon, running in to find a ruffled tabby cat leaving in disgust and a lifeless Cornelius lying beneath the broken glass…

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