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When I was young I trampled a small white butterfly deliberately out of pure malice. I was a decent little girl of 10, loving little animals and lovely things like almost all kids do. But that day in the afternoon playing by myself,  looking at that little white spot of butterfly flying in a hurry lowly in the short grasses, a stubborn impulse driven by a strange, unknown, unexplainable desire flushed upon me absurdly, so I started to trot, following that poor little thing that was shining in the sunshine, up and down, that seemed to have noticed my devil intention and tried hard to flee. But as a human being thousands of times lager than her, I caught her easily, with my feet. The split second after I've done, remorse, as absurd and stubborn as the impulse, occupied my mind instantly. So I didn't dare to bend and check her little body in the grass and flowers, stunned for a few seconds, and walked away.
But every time after that, whenever I see a white butterfly, flying up and down in the green, I would think of her, and that warm, glowing afternoon.

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