April Keebler loved collecting butterflies.
She loved butterflies in general. She had butterfly barrettes and a dress covered in butterflies and a handful of stuffed butterfly plush dolls and even a giant painting of the Monarch Migration hanging on her bedroom wall. For as long as she could remember, April had loved butterflies, but when she turned 9, she started collecting them. At first it started with dead ones. She'd find them, think they were pretty, and her father taught her how to properly mount them in a shadowbox with a pin. Soon after she began adding to this collection, with both more dead ones she'd find on the ground and ones she'd kill herself. She never killed them violently of course, lord no, but she poisoned their food and waited for them to die so she could pin them into her shadowbox. She even took the shadowbox to show and tell from time to time, and the other kids were equally bemused and disgusted with her hobby. But April Keebler didn't care. She loved it, and she wasn't going to stop anytime soon.
One cool fall afternoon, April killed a particularly beautiful butterfly. One she'd never seen before. It had multicolored wings and she'd in fact been waiting for it to hatch from its cocoon for weeks. Now that it was here, she couldn't help but add its stained glass like wings to her shadowbox collection, so she did what she always did...she poisoned it, and when it was finally dead, she picked it up gently, cleaned it off, and pinned it into the box. She then set the box on her desk and got ready for bed. She brushed her teeth, like she did every night, and she changed into her butterfly pajamas. She climbed into bed, read some of the book she was currently invested in and eventually fell asleep.
The next moring, however, April woke up shrouded in darkness.
It couldn't still be nighttime, could it? No. She felt well rested, like she'd slept thoroughly. But there was no window, no light, no cool gentle breeze wafting past her curtains. She felt a material beneath her, like some kind of felt, and realized this wasn't her blanket or her bedroom. She began to get scared and called out for help, but no help came. Then, suddenly, an enormous light filled the area, and she could see. She reached out and touched the glass in front of her, as her parents - looking like giants - walked into the room and over to her bed where...where she was sleeping? No. Couldn't be. But there she was, plain as day. They gently roused her, told her it was time to go to school, and that they'd get breakfast on the way if she was ready quick enough. But they didn't know. They couldn't know. They didn't know that somehow April was seeing this from a different, smaller perspective and that the little girl masquerading as her in her bedroom wasn't actually their daughter. She felt tears well up in her eyes as this new April stood up, walked over to April and looked down at her. April felt the area shake, as she was lifted up and suddenly she could see everything clearly.
Stuck around her in all directions were her butterflies, and through her own chest, a pin keeping her held down firmly to the felt interior. This new April hung the shadowbox with April on the wall, then waved goodbye and exited the room. She couldn't be late for school.
She loved butterflies in general. She had butterfly barrettes and a dress covered in butterflies and a handful of stuffed butterfly plush dolls and even a giant painting of the Monarch Migration hanging on her bedroom wall. For as long as she could remember, April had loved butterflies, but when she turned 9, she started collecting them. At first it started with dead ones. She'd find them, think they were pretty, and her father taught her how to properly mount them in a shadowbox with a pin. Soon after she began adding to this collection, with both more dead ones she'd find on the ground and ones she'd kill herself. She never killed them violently of course, lord no, but she poisoned their food and waited for them to die so she could pin them into her shadowbox. She even took the shadowbox to show and tell from time to time, and the other kids were equally bemused and disgusted with her hobby. But April Keebler didn't care. She loved it, and she wasn't going to stop anytime soon.
One cool fall afternoon, April killed a particularly beautiful butterfly. One she'd never seen before. It had multicolored wings and she'd in fact been waiting for it to hatch from its cocoon for weeks. Now that it was here, she couldn't help but add its stained glass like wings to her shadowbox collection, so she did what she always did...she poisoned it, and when it was finally dead, she picked it up gently, cleaned it off, and pinned it into the box. She then set the box on her desk and got ready for bed. She brushed her teeth, like she did every night, and she changed into her butterfly pajamas. She climbed into bed, read some of the book she was currently invested in and eventually fell asleep.
The next moring, however, April woke up shrouded in darkness.
It couldn't still be nighttime, could it? No. She felt well rested, like she'd slept thoroughly. But there was no window, no light, no cool gentle breeze wafting past her curtains. She felt a material beneath her, like some kind of felt, and realized this wasn't her blanket or her bedroom. She began to get scared and called out for help, but no help came. Then, suddenly, an enormous light filled the area, and she could see. She reached out and touched the glass in front of her, as her parents - looking like giants - walked into the room and over to her bed where...where she was sleeping? No. Couldn't be. But there she was, plain as day. They gently roused her, told her it was time to go to school, and that they'd get breakfast on the way if she was ready quick enough. But they didn't know. They couldn't know. They didn't know that somehow April was seeing this from a different, smaller perspective and that the little girl masquerading as her in her bedroom wasn't actually their daughter. She felt tears well up in her eyes as this new April stood up, walked over to April and looked down at her. April felt the area shake, as she was lifted up and suddenly she could see everything clearly.
Stuck around her in all directions were her butterflies, and through her own chest, a pin keeping her held down firmly to the felt interior. This new April hung the shadowbox with April on the wall, then waved goodbye and exited the room. She couldn't be late for school.