Taste of Freedom

I remember waking up early one morning. Before everyone, pretty much. I sort of just laid there since there wasn't enough space between bunks to sit up. It was always so cramped there, in that tiny room. Yet whoever was in charge filled it to the brim with people.

I guess it was just something that made me nervous. I always get nervous. Especially lately because I haven't seen my Pa in weeks. That was the longest I've ever been without him. I'd ask Bruce where he was but he'd always ignore me, like he's got something on his mind.

It bothered me that I keep seeing more and more unfamiliar faces coming in and old faces disappearing. It spooked me.

Well, I guess that was what I was really thinking, because I just felt the intense desire to get out. I can't control my body when it wants something. I have no will. I guess you can say I'm a weak person because I just walked right out of that room and kept on walking outside.

The air was freezing. It shocked me. Lately I've been so physically miserable, it was like I breathed in real air for the first time when I took that step outside.

I just stood there for the longest time. Just breathing. Blinking, I suppose, once in a while. I didn't hear anyone outside. That was spooky, too. There are always people around here, no matter what.

I had guessed that that hour was an exception.

The sky was turning gray. Soon, it would be pink. The air wasn't as cold anymore, but that was okay by me.

What really caught my attention, though, was this little flash of color I saw outside the fence. I smiled because I knew what it was.

It was that butterfly again.

I ran, not caring who saw. I've been trying to be as positive as I could have been about my situation but I really came clean at that point.

The camp was horrible.

But that didn't matter right now. I was going to see the most beautiful thing that had ever graced that camp.

I was right up against the fence. I couldn't help thinking what Bruce said about the fence, though, when I got there.

. . . light up Russia . . .

But . . . that little thing was so close, I couldn't imagine in my mind what it would be like if I could just let her rest on my hand for a while. Surely she would need it because nothing as beautiful as she could ever have originated from anywhere around here.

I touched the fence with the tip of my finger.

Zzt! My eyes were forced completely open from the shock. It was such a rush that I couldn't even tell if it hurt.

That butterfly was still there, though. She kept on flapping her little wings and well I felt sorry for her.

I took in a lot of breath and grabbed on to a handful of the fence and forced it down.

I felt nothing.

I did see, however, that I made a large enough hole to stick my hand through. I did and the butterfly came to me. I held my breath as she rested on my finger.

I was happy.