Butterfly

I run and run, my eyes set on it. The blue butterfly. I hop on stones, trying not to slip into the river. I feel eyes falling on to me, but I ignore them. The sun begins to set, hues of orange, pink, and blue mixing together. Running out of time. I run to the ocean, hearing the crickety cracks of the wood of the docks. Almost there. I place my finger out. The butterfly lands on it. Freedom. Finally in my reach. I turn around, ready to run out of the country, to finally be free, when a hand clasps around my wrist. I slowly raise my eyes and gasp. My father. I cry as he sinks his fingernails into my wrist and takes me away. Captivity. It will always be in my reach.