The Butterfly Story began, for me, a few years ago as a way to cheer up my friends during the nights they felt depressed, down or anxious. It has been through a lot and changes every time I tell it.
This story is dedicated to anyone who has felt like they were alone or didn't know who they were.
There once was a Caterpillar who felt lonely.
Caterpillar lived in a meadow with many different animals. They envied Squirrel’s speed and Snake’s sleekness. They wanted Grasshopper’s grace and great style. Badger’s beauty and bashfulness were charming, never boastful. Spider scared Caterpillar, but the webs he spun were more incredible than anything Caterpillar could ever hope to make.
One day, Caterpillar decided they wanted to make a friend or at least talk to somebody. Spider himself was making a new web on an adjacent branch to Caterpillar’s that morning.
“Excuse me? Mr. Spider?”
Spider looked down at Caterpillar with eight, searching eyes while his legs continued to spin his web.
“Yes? Who are you?”
“I’m- I’m Caterpillar. I live on the branch over—“
“Oh…you're the fuzzy Worm who admires my webs when you think I’m not looking.”
Caterpillar gasped, “I’m sorry! I hope I haven’t been bothering you.”
Spider crawled down and looked Caterpillar in the eye, making them shiver.
“I’m going to give you some advice,” Spider said slowly.
Caterpillar gulped and nodded quickly.
“Stay in your place. Webs are sticky business. You wouldn’t want to get…stuck.”
Caterpillar bolted as fast as their body could carry them away from the web lest Spider pounced on them.
When they couldn't possibly run anymore, Caterpillar collapsed into the grass, tears clouding their vision as they looked up at the clouds in the blue sky. The brightness of the blue seemed terribly unfair when Caterpillar’s insides felt black and roiling.
“Why can’t I be like everyone else? What is the POINT of me?” they despaired.
Caterpillar heard the grass rustle slightly, but couldn’t make themselves look to see what could possibly be making that noise.
“Eh-hem?” a voice said. Caterpillar looked over finally. A group of Worms was staring at them.
“Sorry, am I in your way?”
The ten Worms shook their head in unison in a way that both amused and slightly sickened Caterpillar. “No, we are just wondering...” one offered, “What you are?”
“What am I?” Caterpillar pondered the question. “What am I?”
“Are you a Worm like us?”
“Oh, no. Definitely not. I’m a Cater- “
“Oh good! Because there would definitely be something wrong with you if you were a Worm.”
“Oh…but...”
“Where are you from?” the Worms interrupted again.
Caterpillar stammered, “I’m from a- a stick on a log on the side of the meadow where the sun comes up.”
The Worms exchanged looks with each other, whispering too low for Caterpillar to hear.
“Where are you from?”
“The ground, obviously,” one replies, rolling its eyes.
“Oh. I’ve never been in the ground,” Caterpillar said.
The Worms laughed. One said while the rest started to leave, “Well, maybe we’ll see you around…”
“Okay! See you around!” Caterpillar called after them.
The loneliness set in seconds after Caterpillar was alone again. A cloud passed over the sun, and all they wanted was to be back home.
The thought “What am I?” haunted them as they crawled back to their branch. They couldn’t answer the question. They had always been told they were a Caterpillar, but they couldn’t remember ever meeting any other Caterpillars…ever.
The question continued to haunt them as they wrapped themselves in a cocoon on their branch. They never wanted to see another Worm, or Spider, or Squirrel, or Ant or anything ever again because they all knew who they were and they had friends and family and Caterpillar just felt so, so alone.
The sun rose and set above the cocoon, but Caterpillar didn’t notice too often how much time passed.
However, one day the sun was just so bright and so warm, they had to see it for themselves. They broke out of the cocoon, but were weighed down by what they thought must be the fabric of it and fell to the ground. The sun shone down on them, and even though they were stuck, they felt happy.
The sun lifted the weight they had felt for so long off of their body and they stood.
Stood?
Their heart thundered in their chest as they crawled over to a puddle. They looked at their reflection and their eyes widened. They looked so different, so foreign, so strange: large orange wings with a hard, segmented body and what was growing out of their head?
A wind ruffled the grass around them, and they lifted their wings up.
They gasped.
They were beautiful.
“I am a Butterfly,” they smiled. “My wings look like the sun, and I know what I am. I am a Butterfly.”
They flapped their wings and took off, soaring higher and lighter than any Worm or Spider or Squirrel ever could.
And they were happy.
