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  • Writer's pictureAngie

Transformation (a short story)

Updated: Jun 2, 2020

It’s dark now. And tight. No. Cramped. No matter how much I twist, I seem to be losing space. I’m confused too. I’m not sure how I got here.

Life was good. I ate all I want. I traveled wherever I wanted. I was happy. No worries whatsoever. Well, not no worries. Birds thought I was food. And kids loved to pick me up, but I was never squished. Obviously. I’ve got to figure out what happened.

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I needed to shed my skin, again. I’ve done it several times before. This time I wanted to try to hang upside down. I attached myself to a leaf and hung down. It was fantastic! The front of my skin split open; I used the usual wiggle and move technique and it smoothly moved up my body. To get rid of the old skin, I began to spin and the it quickly fell to the ground. And that’s when I noticed it was dark, and I was squished. It seems as if my new skin is more like a shell. I can’t move and wriggle like I used to. I feel stuck here. Trapped.

Could I be dead? Probably not since I’m talking to myself. I’m beginning to panic.

There’s so much I need to be doing. I had a plan and I had all of my steps planned out. And now none of it matters.

I feel really lost. I know I’m hanging on a leaf, but maybe instead of where I am, I should be asking who am I. I’m definitely not the caterpillar I was, all squishy, fat. I had these glorious yellow, black and white stripes all the way down my body. It’s truly hard to tell, but I don’t think that’s what I look like anymore. Am I just a blob inside of constrictive casing?

No matter how hard I fight, no matter how hard I push, nothing is changing. So, I sit. In the dark, all alone. Unsure of who I am. Unsure of what I may become. Unsure of what I am supposed to do. Certain that I cannot recover from this mess I’ve gotten myself in. So, I pause in this desolate, somber place. And I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I really don’t want to anymore but all I can do is be still. There is nothing I can do.

So I wait some more.

After all that, I’m trembling. I need to stretch and move. I move and a shiver just spread through my body and it seems. . . What was that?! Oh. My. Turtle-Dove-Pony-Puddles. I think I broke myself. There’s a small crack at the top of my casing and I can feel warmth and light, but I’ve been wrapped in my shell and I don’t want to leave. I know what’s here.

But I am compelled to push against this crack and strive for something beyond these walls that hold me. The brightness of the outside causes tingles in my eyes and the sun warms my wings.

Wait. My what? I have wings? They’re bright orange with black lines, but oh, they’re crumpled and frail. My legs are no longer short and stubby. It seems that my once strong mandibles have become a retractable straw. Undeniably, I am not who I was, but who am I now that I’ve changed?

Those crazy wings keeps fluttering. My wings. My wings keep moving like they’re worth something. Are they really less shriveled? I want them to unfurl but it’s been so dark for so long, I just don’t know what’s going to happen.

Well, I’ve been hanging off this prison long enough now. I’ve survived a very long trial. I’m going to walk up to the top of the branch and bask in more sunshine. It’s so invigorating and full of promise. I wonder wha. . .Did I just lift off this branch. MY WINGS! They’re huge and magnificent and strong! If I let go, I might fly! I did! I was off the branch. Everything I was, everything I went through made this possible. I can fly. I am free.

Romans 8:28 - And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

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