Fluttering my wings around every day, observing my kin and viewing their own beauty from afar, have been my enjoyment for years. I saw how my kin enjoy the sun and fly in harmony with the wind of peace and fulfillment. I saw how these winged creatures get wet when it rain of problems and fall down low to the ground, eventually finding ways to use their legs and crawl towards hope and warmth. But right now, I see them suffering from the hands of the sorcerer’s spell. A certain order that led to confusion and squabble among the butterflies and bees.
I was there, watching them discreetly as they gather in different, separate stations to vote for the wisest and kindest sorcerer who could lead us to a new change. The next two days, we all saw who the winner is. A male sorcerer in the name of Rodrigo Duterte. His first agenda is to create a world free of these addicting, faux saviour known as the “black nectar”, or in the tongue of the sorcerers, it is known as “drugs”. So he cast a spell, an order for his bee army to obey, that all butterflies who are using or producing this black nectar be raided and brought to jail for a rightful judgment of a second chance. Of course, many limping butterflies with their crooked wings have surrendered, wishing for help for the restoration of their own vibrant selves once again. Over 1 million of our population bowed down to the great kingdom of the law and rehabilitation. And I’m sad because we all allowed this to happen. Maybe we became too consumed of admiring only the beauty in everyone and everything that we failed to notice and heal this cold, painful, cancer-like darkness hiding behind the scary mask of most individuals. Or maybe we forgot how to care at all, continuously stereotyping everyone and everything, isolating those who doesn’t fit into our standards of perfection.
I thought that that would be the worst scenario ever. But I was wrong. There comes the time when I also need to dodge the stings of these bees, trying to bury their shots of venom into my body, carving holes within my wings as I try to escape their unjust slaughter. And I thought I was the only one being wronged by these red mark holders, the mark for the dunces and for the deviants. Butterflies are dying one by one. Falling from even the highest of their ladders to success toward the pit of rotting bodies and dreams being devoured by the maggots of injustice and prejudice. But what ‘s more insane than that is when I saw the same butterflies killing their own kin for the feeble reason of fun and enjoyment. I saw the butterflies fight back with the slow pumping of their wings, matching the shots coming from those malicious bees. And they fall and die, the butterflies died with their wings tattered with holes and lies. Most of those who died aren’t tainted by the nectar. Their wings vibrant, full of hopes and wonders. The once beautiful patterns torn all along with their plans for the future. And most of those who are nectar users and producers doesn’t deserve such macabre death, dying without being able to fight back. The whole place was then filled with weeping souls and decaying parents and children alike.
And this war is still on-going up until now. I know the sorcerer can see this. I know he have a plan to manage and stop all these vain murders by these deviant conformists. His order never meant to do us any harm. Nor was his plan for a nice and better change. But because most of his underlings cannot comprehend what the law means, it led us to this scenario, filled with the obscurity of the wights. And right now, my broken wings deems to flap and see these butterflies fly once more.
Author’s Note: I wrote this in behalf of those who died in the drug war proposed by the one who is supposed to protect us and not annihilate the weakened. If he and his ‘kill-team’ happen to see this, I dare you, our dear leader, to prove me the difference between us, the abnormality of this world, and those whom you so consider normal.
Credits to the owner (Dondi Tawatao) of the picture used.
Dark Universe Writes 
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