memories and possessions. Dorothea’s eyes reflected the image of a single picture giving way to ashes. The photo captured the last perfect moment she and her mother experienced together. The last moment before a montage of blaring sirens and intense lights pervaded her mind. The final instant before the smell of disinfectant and tragedy haunted the air inside the hospital. The last moment before the thud of a coffin against soft earth was all Dorothea could remember. Pushing notions of destruction aside and noticing the light emulating from the fire, Dorothea traveled in her mind to a distant memory from her childhood. Dorothea and her mother were positioned cozily on the floor, enveloped in blankets. As Dorothea giggled, a confused expression on her face, her mother contorted her left hand into a strange position while her right hand clutched a flashlight. Directing the light towards the wall’s blank canvas, she placed her oddly twisted hand in front of the flashlight. While Dorothea’s eyes were glued to the butterfly on the wall that she now saw, her mother’s eyes never wavered from Dorothea. Dorothea’s eyes widened, like rays of sunshine spreading to reach every shadow. She gasped, unable to resist the awe and fascination she felt in that moment. A laugh escaped from Dorothea as she morphed her hand into that same posture in which her mother’s hand had been arranged. The silhouette of a butterfly now joined her, much like the one that ignited such wonder in her many years ago. The butterfly pranced along the walls as the blaze closed in towards Dorothea, and when the fire finally reached her, she smiled. She was grateful to finally be warm.
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