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The Butterfly Eyes This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

A young girl lays sprawled across the crunchy autumn grass of the meadow, arms outstretched and relaxed. Her legs rest parallel from each other and her feet loll downwards next to her faded purple butterfly ballet flats that had been casually strewn upon the ground. Small waves lap gently against the skin of her heels, dampening and softening the hard flesh built up from walking this world barefoot. A warm spring breeze picks up, causing the tall grasses to sway like waves on the ocean and ripples to appear on the once glassy surface of the placid red pond. The rough meadow grass chafes her arms, but she does not move a muscle.

Beautiful smooth pale skin, once tanned by the sun, gleams with dew. Her face is clear and pure with flawless features. Carefully plucked eyebrows sweep across her forehead, feathery light and smooth. Her thin nose slopes gently and comes to a fine point above the rouged lips parted so beautifully over perfect white teeth. The girl’s chin juts out a bit farther than her lips, but it compliments her jawline in such a way that she cannot be deemed anything but ethereal. Her voice warbled like a bird’s when she spoke, but for a while now she has been silent, facing the sky since dawn.

The most striking of her features is the deep blue eyes like oceans within themselves. As the sun hits them, they change to the metallic aqua like the wings of a morpho butterfly. The contrast between the whiteness of her eyeball and the dark ring that walls in the oceans is astounding. Eyeshadow, carefully applied, lights up her eyelids like stardust.

Her white dress is spattered with roses of red and quiet smudges of brown and green from when she was rolled down the hills. Her chest is small but developing, and she is quite thin. A red mark on her neck is the only blemish, but under her floating brown hair it is quite unnoticeable. One of her hands in closed around an object, held fast as if for all eternity. The other one lies palm up and fingers slightly bent in such a way that her clearly toiled-over pink nails glitter in the sun. The wind blows about her hair, long brown tendrils streaming out in the breeze. Clots of mud and grass are tangled in her hair, but she makes no effort to remove them.

A bird flies overhead, chittering its sweet song. Its golden feathers streak like sunlight through the sky, majestically flying towards its mate. A passing rainstorm miles away is still visible, its dark clouds contrasting against the bright clear skies overhead. A faint rainbow arcs over the distant city, where the wail of sirens echo of the mountains. Gray smog drifts between skyscrapers, so unlike the pure air of the meadow. A lone helicopter hovers in the sky, searching for a diamond in the coal mine. As it thunders overhead, the birds flee to the trees, but the girl does not make haste to plug her ears from the ruckus of the pounding rotor blades.

In this meadow, there are but seven trees, but they stand proud and tall and do not have to compete with small saplings for sunlight. Each tree offers a broad expanse of branches to provide shade for those who must remain earthbound and shelter and food for those who are free to the world. The sun is high in the early morning sky and casts its hot rays down upon the girl, but she does not move for the shade.

A butterfly flutters from the fragrant red flowers on a scruffy little thorn bush that rustles in the breeze. Its brilliant orange wings are carried on the wind until it lands on what it sees to be another rose blossom, but is the dress of the motionless girl. It silently hobbles across the fabric, searching for the flower, but all the precious nectar has been spilt and is pooling, wasted, on the ground. This butterfly is joined by yet another, this time adorned with wings gilt with gold and silver. The wind stops in hushed silence to watch the scene unfold, and the air is as still as the girl’s body. But the girl does not see the beauty of the day, for her lifeless eyes are glazed with sadness as she locks eyes with heaven.



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madm0e said...
Dec. 6, 2010 at 10:23 am
I don't wanna be mean and say overkill. But after reading this, it seems as if you don't really need help. Pretty good, the intro threw me off again. 
 
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