Because Butterflies Hold Me Back

A one-shot, by RaggedOak

Because Butterflies Hold Me Back
Who am I?

Sitting on the backyard fence, under a deep sky of stars

Same old fence, same old sky,

The same old question grows louder and louder, in my head.

I think back to the stories I was told when young,

Stories of adventure, stories in the wild,

But just stories, not important.

I have my own story to worry about.

It's tough though,

When you don't know what role you play.

What am I?

The question pounds.

Am I the fighter, bold and strong

Am I a clever visionary

Am I a villain, always wrong

Or am I just ordinary…

I don't know,

None of them seem to quite fit

But the question nags on, like a thorn in my fur.

The sneaking, irritating suspicion that I am lost.

I have lost myself.

I don’t know where I am anymore.

Alright then, where am I?

I look around me, for something, anything

But no, I am not in my world, I am not on my fence, I am not in the house, I am not in the yard.

No.

Wherever I am, it lies beyond my easy life.

Slowly I turn to the black forest, waiting outside my backyard fence.

Waiting, waiting for me.

Its reaching branches are dark, strong,

And wild.

Do those branches hold what I have lost?

A river hits me like an ice cold thunderbolt.

A sudden battering begins.

Rushing, surging, pounding thoughts through my head.

It floods through my open mouth pushing its streams of time deep into my heart

There are butterflies to chase, things to be done

There are patches of sun to by lied in, dinners to be eaten.

Pounding, pounding, pounding over and over my head.

With a harsh grip of guilt the river of time drags me from my fence and back into my twolegs house

I am helpless against its current.

There are butterflies to catch,

My thorns can wait till next moon.

Many moons later

The thorn in my fur pulls me up on my fence.

Restless, restless, restless.

Who am I?

I think back to what others have said I am

But I am never satisfied by such thoughts

I need to know who I am, not them,

Because it doesn't matter to them.

Again I eye the silent woods warily

Do they know?

Then the swollen river hits.

Heavy waves of time splash over my face

Neighborhood cats to fight with, Twolegs to puur over

A swarm of butterflies begins to gather behind my eyes

Again, they fly me back to the house

There are butterflies to catch,

My questions can wait till next moon.

Moons later

Again I claw my way back up on the fence

My thorn irritating me into frustration,

Into anger.

I need to know the truth

I need to know who I am,

I need to know what I’m missing.

My mind is made up.

I will go into the woods.

Then the River hits me,

This time I think I am ready,

I think I am.

But, I do not expect what the river does next

This time the river is gentle and quiet

It doesn't strongly disagree, it simply trickles on and whispers innocent thoughts through my ears, down into my mind.

“I will go into the woods,” trickles the river of time

“...next moon”

In the meantime there are butterflies to chase.

So many moons have past.

So many unsatisfying butterflies chased.

And still I stare off my fence into the night.

But I am far too old now

To old,

and too late.

The river now shows me its Icy truth, deep in its cold heart.

My thorns are here to stay.

I will die with them in my mind,

I will die incomplete,

And I will die ignorant.

I let the river talk to me,

For so, so long.

I dropped my life into its streams.

Now, I pay its price.

Now I am old.

And now I am hopeless.

I am at its mercy,

And blocked off from the truth.

So I sit,

I stare,

And I chase butterflies.

For I can do no more.

~

Hidden in the woods beyond the fence,

A young, lean, tom watches the old, kittypet stare forlornly into the woods.

To the younger cat, it looks almost as though the old house pet stares at a wall that permanently blocks him of from the world of the forest.

And to this sight, the younger, lean tom, can not help but wonder,

Why?

Why, doesn't that kittypet just… jump in?