bring ly back

Little Butterfly had began the day as a euphoric, ecstatic, exultant little insect. Its toast had been thickly, but smoothly coated with a generous amount of butter, and seemed all ready for consumption. However, perhaps today was just not Little Butterfly's day. As it brought its buttered toast towards its mouth, awaiting, in eager anticipation, the sweet, warm, tender feeling that just sweeps through one as one consumes buttered toast, the inevitable occured -- the toast fell through its fragile, delicate grasp, heeding the call of gravity, and swiftly taking a descending path towards the ground and oblivion.





Time possibly slowed to a trickle, as the toast mockingly hung in mid air, as if taunting little butterfly by providing a small degree of hope -- maybe, the toast would land dry-side down. Maybe, it would land on its plate or on the table where it could still be salvaged. A small room for optimism still existed. Maybe, just maybe, little butterfly wouldn't have to make another slice. Then again, the precarious position of the toast told another story of the likely conclusion to this tragic accident.





The descent was slow and nerve-wrecking, and as it hit the ground, little butterfly's heart sank. The toast had hit the floor, the buttered-side smack-dab against the floor.








please. bring ly back.