The fox cub slumped against the hollow and rotting log in the forest. The light bouncing from branch to branch in the thick overgrowth seemed to avoid his rusty fur wherever he moved. He peered over at some friends who were jumping at each other in the sun a few trees away. We use “friends” of course – they were other foxes he knew. He could have wandered over and they probably wouldn’t have said hello.

Running a claw through the loose dirt, the fox cub exhaled and curled into a small ball. If ever one could literally think nothing, this was the experience. There was a complete ambivalence for the ambience, he was aloof about the leaves and blasé about the blusters.

His attention was only captured by a butterfly, which perched on a tulip ahead of him. To any other cub this was a starting pistol to go for a chase and a spring through the long grass – butterflies are fun! They’re colourful and they flutter just out of reach, but what enjoyment a normal pup gets from bounding on their paws. Not this time, but the fluttering colours were glorious. A jet black, within a shining ruby red, with assorted specks of royal blue and glowing yellow. It hopped from petal to petal; hypnotic in every sense.

The fox slumped and his eyes watered. “Why,” he thought, “am I not able to be that butterfly? So free. So assured. Safe with himself.” He looked at his lonely paws and silently dreamed of finding the attitude to enjoy life.

The butterfly hovered in front of him for just a second, startling him slightly, before landing on the log next to him.

“Stupid butterfly.” The fox took an angry swipe at it with what care he had, but the bug merely flapped in the air, landing in the same spot. “Sorry.” Mumbled the fox. “It’s not about you. I just wish I were like you. I don’t like being the fox.”

“It’s tough out here. All the other foxes are smarter than me. I’ve never caught a thing in my life, and can’t run as fast as my fr… as those guys over there.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and lowered his muzzle.

The butterfly flapped and landed on the fox’s nose. With a vigorous shake of the head, the fox shook him free. The butterfly flapped above him, hovering and floating, his colours captivating the docile fox. But, with a youthful spring, he leapt up, paws outstretched, trying to grasp the butterfly, missing, and landing softly on all four paws. He jumped onto the log and pounced – the butterfly flew a little higher, teasing, toying with him. The butterfly flew in circles around the fox, as the kit bit the air around it before hopping in the air and giving chase! The butterfly sped off, pursued by the padded paws of the young vulpine. He felt the tulips brush his body and his tail flicking through the soft soil of the forest flowerbeds. For once in his life, he wasn’t thinking about anything that was bothering him. He wasn’t worried about distractions and dilemmas. He just needed this butterfly!

He found his energy and kept on chasing, kept on hunting and bouncing after this butterfly until eventually he had to admit defeat. The butterfly had led him back to the log and the fox rested against it once more, out of breath, and tired but satisfied. The butterfly then landed next to the fox, on top of the log, and spoke.

“If you ever feel sad again, don’t come back here and cry. Just remember that one day, a normal butterfly gave up half his lifespan to help you feel better. And I won’t be here tomorrow. Go and be the butterfly of the foxes.”

The butterfly flew away and with a smile, the fox sprung to his paws, tail wagging in the sunset breeze. He jumped over the log and with a beaming smile, called over to the other foxes.

“Hey guys, can I play?”

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You won't know me as a writer of stories; indeed I don't know myself as that either. But after a flash of inspiration at work while doing the normal bugger all, I gave this story a go. I like the message, and I like the imagery, and I hope I managed to paint a picture for you. Love, Eq.
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