Survival of a butterfly

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

It came from nowhere into my room, fluttering its colourful wings. I was at my computer, typing an article. It began hovering over my head. I lifted my head, looked up and found it to be a butterfly. It kept circling vigorously and ceaselessly.

To see a butterfly flitting about in a garden near the blossoms is a usual, pleasant sight. But to have a butterfly circling about in a room is a rare exciting surprise.

However, what I instantly felt was worry and anxiety for the survival of the butterfly, for in my room, a fan was revolving and the butterfly was flying closer to it.

I wondered what in my room attracted the butterfly to make its entry. Not even a single pot of flower plants was there in the room to draw the butterfly. Yet, for some unknown reason, the butterfly had strayed into the room.

Immediately I rose from my computer chair with the sole objective of saving the butterfly. I turned the fan off and opened the doors of the room and all windows. Then I started waving my writing pad gently at the butterfly in an attempt to drive it outside the room.

The butterfly kept flying away from the fan to the far-end of the room. Landing on a photo frame, it flapped its colourful wings. There was a window near the photo frame and its doors were open. Outside the window, there were plants and trees.

I again chased it from the photo frame with my writing pad. The butterfly flew towards the window and disappeared suddenly. I thought it had ultimately left the room.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I switched the fan on and sat at the table to resume my work. Suddenly, the butterfly came back into the room and started flying near the revolving fan.

Before I got up from my chair to switch off the fan, the butterfly fell on my computer table and lay motionless. I thought it was hit by the fan.

With great pain, I touched it softly to see whether it was alive and found its wings moving. I collected it carefully on my writing pad and took it to our garden. I placed it on the flowerbed and kept looking at it with vague guilt and pain.

After fifteen minutes, to my relief, flapping its wings slowly, the tender body of the butterfly began moving. It opened its wings, gently rose and flew off into the midst of flower plants in the garden. Then I understood that thankfully, the butterfly had only been blown off by the force of the air, and wasn't hit.