butterfly perspective dying man and god

Dying man

The year is 2011

In 1884 the wizard, Edward Willowhill, falls back into his chair, withered away at the seams, as he counts the spells he’s casted on the people of London. They are in piles. He keeps them on his lamp stand, next to his chair. Edward takes in his surroundings, of green moist air and poisonous lint balls. This will be were he speaks with the death and Satin he will have his soul taken.
The moment that Edward stops counting the spells he has inflicted on people, is the moment the red-spotted purple butterfly will fly off this page with his life. The red spotted purple butterfly has been sitting here since.






Edward Willowhill’s
Red-Spotted Purple Butterfly



God

The skatered voices flowing into the congressmans ears is causeing his head to sweel. His forhead has swet pellets coming off of it. And our congressman can’t think of better way to get out of this anxioty driven, press confrience, is to say no futher questions.

“I will take no futher questions.”

His last second idea has taken a couple of bricks off of his chest, never the less, the sweat and panic returns again, with an incoming phonecall from his wife, Martha.
He returns his phone to his inside pocket in his jacket and procedes to his limo parked around side of the building. The congressman has noticed a blue butterfly on the windshield of the limo. It was out of place, with it wings fully expanded, larger than the palm of your hand. The congressman reaction was obviously to slow, for the next second it was not there. It must have been a hulisination, from the anxioty and exhaustion, or just a trick of the light. He opened the door into his limo and got it. Settled himself in the black leather seats and looked up to find a blond woman smelling of waterfalls in the front end of the limo. She said that she will give him a chance to take his curuption in his life and disregard it to be with god. The congressman shocked and confussed has started to question our lady, and askes her how she got in the limo, who she really is. A second goes by and he says no get out.
As she leaves the car he she says that she is so sorry.
“I am sorry Mr. Congressman.”
As the driver pulls out the congressman looks back to see the blue lady, but there is no blue lady. The limo is turning onto the parkway, and bus goes honking by, reeving the exhaust. The congressman thought that those were his final moments, while wearing the sweat beads and cold back. But no, the limo came to a stop light, were a motor cycle pulls up next to him and sits. The traffic in the congressmans lane moves and are turning in front of the art musame steps when the motor cylce cuts the limo off to get around the bus, and the limo hits parked hummer when jeep hits the limmo on the passanger side. The limo spins on its top and slides to hit the art musame steps. The congressman has broken half his bones, and hears only his cell phone, a call from Martha, his wife. In one solid moment, he knows his curruption has destroyed peoples lives, and now he stares at the lives destroyed in front of him. All the people hurt, possibly killed. And now he sees god.
And he gazes into the car wreck in the street and the pavement in the forground to see the blue butterfly, to see god, fly away.