In the boy's eyes, Silverton was a dull town. Despite it having one thousand residents from all walks of life, no laugh was heard, nor smile seen. The boy had hoped this would change when the words burst out over the radio, “The Japanese have surrendered! The war is over!” But over a year had passed since then, and no one had celebrated it.
Even though the war had started a year before the boy was born, he didn't know what war was. All he knew was that it sounded exciting – an adventure compared to that drab town where the people seemed to think every day was a funeral.
This particular day was a Sunday – or the Sabbath, as the townspeople called it. This meant that the men wore suits, the women wore dresses, and the town had to be dead silent. A few elderly people were enjoying an evening stroll at the moment, but the boy knew they were really on patrol, looking for any children like himself who might try to have some fun on a Sunday. The houses, either painted a boring yellow or washed out blue, held the townspeople inside like prisoners. The spring blossoms on the cherry trees seemed so out of place!
* * *
The boy was being punished for causing a spill in the house. His toy plane had accidentally been released from his grip and hit his father's soup, knocking it to the floor. He was promptly escorted to the front porch where he was to wait until further notice.
“Can't I sit out back?” he had pleaded. “The sun's going to set soon.”
“Absolutely not!” retorted his father. “It wouldn't be a punishment anymore, would it?”
And so the boy sat on the front porch steps, staring at his toes. Every passerby looked at him harshly, knowing full well he had done something wrong. They must have praised the boy's parents for showing such discipline; it was highly esteemed in Silverton.
It disappeared from the boy's vision just as fast as it had appeared. He was so startled that he was knocked over on his back. It was not his imagination: wings red as the dragons in the fairy tales had flashed before him, only to vanish altogether. The boy sat up quite confused, but eventually went back to as he was before.
There it went again! This time the boy was prepared and saw what it was: a large butterfly, with wings of a deeper red than anything he had ever seen before. He quickly concluded Silverton was no place for this noble creature. To him, the butterfly was a king, mysteriously exiled from its rightful inheritance. So captivated by the glorious red was the boy that he almost spoke something to the insect.
Unfortunately, this king did not have time to be gawked at by a child. Indifferent, the butterfly lifted up into the air and flew away.
It became smaller and smaller to the boy until it was nothing but a small red dot at the end of the street. The boy looked around for something equally captivating, but nothing could compete with the wonderful creature he had just seen. Turning his head to the right, he could just barely see that red speck.
A burning desire suddenly began to rise up inside the boy. It was not the desire to go back inside the house and eat; he actually wasn't hungry. No, this was adventure rising up inside him. What he wanted to do would be frowned upon and would likely get him in even more trouble, but it didn't matter.
He was going to chase the red butterfly.
* * *
In the blink of an eye, he sprang up, ran down the porch steps and onto the road. The absence of vehicles allowed him to sprint right down the middle of the street.
Not a thought was given to his parents. The sun was almost touching the horizon as the boy reached the end of the street. He took the chance to stop and look for the butterfly. Incredibly, he had caught up! The red creature had been resting on an unused mailbox in front of Mr. Shaw's house. Startled by its pursuer, it lifted up from the mailbox and flew off towards Main Street.
