Last night a butterfly came in from the french window of the living room. My guess was she was attracted by my bright yellow t-shirt. She probably thought the place was too homey and bright to leave because she glued on the curtain. I was terrified. I shook the cloth in hope that the creature would understand the implied message. She did, but not completely, as she later thought my jeans were a more appropriate place for her to hang around. That was when I entered a state of amok. I started jumping up and down to get the butterfly off me, all the while with the curtain wide open and the light on. However, as it was expected, she did not move a wing. In desperate times come desperate measures and thus I gave her a nudge with my fingers. She fell just outside the window, completely still, poor thing. I started feeling very guilty, as it seemed I was the murderer of an innocent, beautiful, little creature; for she was one of those butterflies with black and bright orange wings, unlike the others with the dull, beige ones. I started begging her to start to move, saying I was sorry, and sure enough after a while she started to flutter her wings. Relieved, I closed the french window quickly but not before I checked that it would not hit the butterfly; I was happy for her, but I had no intention to go through this again.
That was fun.