Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over . . . Prompt #270

Monarch butterfly Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over, she began to fly.

If you have been following the prompts on The Write Spot Blog, you know what to do.

If you are new to freewriting: set your timer for 15-20 minutes and just start writing. Write whatever comes up for you. Shush your inner critic, invite your internal editor to sit outside the room. This is your time to write freely and openly. Just as the caterpillar’s cocoon morphs into a butterfly, let your writing become whatever it wants to be. Just write.

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  1. mcullen Post author

    The following was written by Suzanne Murray

    Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over, she felt herself melting, dissolving like sugar, like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz when she got hit by the bucket full of water. It’s hard to say if the caterpillar knew what was happening exactly. But she hadn’t lost consciousness the way she had expected to. She was aware of herself turning into a thick black goo, a soupy ooze.

    She thought that was it but then she saw the light or lights really, sparkles of energy holding the image of a different form. Not the creeping waddling worm-like creature she had been but a magnificent being with wings that looked like stained glass. Black outlining yellow with purple spots on the tails. She felt the pull of this new possibility, the energy directing the molecules of the amorphous mess of her into new cells, this gravitational pull of this metamorphosis.

    Could that be her, could some miracle be giving her the ability to fly? Is this heaven? This was all going on in the womb of darkness, the cocoon she had spun for herself as if it were a casket. She had no way of knowing it would become a crucible where her very being would be melted down to its essential nature, then put together in a new way. She didn’t know she would crack it out, spread her wet wings drying in the sunlit air, then fly, flitting from flower to flower, drinking the life sustaining nectar.

    Then she would entwine with another of her butterfly kind in an aerial dance. She would lay eggs as part of some graceful and miraculous cycle that never ends.

    Suzanne Murray,

  2. mcullen Post author

    Your writing is so beautiful, Suzanne, very poetic. This thoughtful piece has a lovely rhythm and gives a unique perspective, from the inside out. I experienced feelings of serenity, acceptance, surprise and delight while reading, matching the caterpillar/butterfly’s experience. Thank you for posting.

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