butterfly In a wind that smelled of duckweed, a butterfly has dawned. Just for a moment on his parched lips, he felt the contact of the wings. But years later, on his lips, the left wing powder form, even glow.
The rain soaked, treading asphalt. The fierce rain. Under the flood coat smelled of rubber.
before his eyes an overhead power line sparks launched violet. Felt strangely moved. Tucked into the pocket of his jacket, to be published in the magazine group, his manuscript. Once again walking in the rain, turned to see once again the power cord.
its sparks and spikes. Although evaluated all human existence, there was nothing special in it worth having. But those purple blossoms of fire ... these formidable fireworks in the sky ... had given his life for them in their hands.
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