[How Dragonflies Came to Be]

Once, there lived a butterfly and a dragon on an island in the sky who were together since the beginning of time. Though the two were best of friends, the latter was much bigger, much stronger than the former and could, with a single breath of its flames, scorch the lands and boils oceans below. He had a wingspan that stretched across half the island and an armor of impenetrable scales the shade of blood. His friend, however, was a delicate thing of fluorescence and blue—wings that seemed to flinch at raindrops and shiver in the wind. But despite their differences, the pair had each other; they played on the island and laughed and drank tea, listening to the song of the evening breeze.

It was not long before the humans discovered the island in the sky. They came in long, winged vehicles that had no feathers or scales; no eyes, no mouth, no nose, and certainly without so much as a streak of conscience within for they regarded the island as their own and began killing the trees and murdering the streams.

The dragon confronted them at once. Who dares destroy our land and take what does not belong to them?

The humans, frightened, bowed to the most magnificent creature they had ever laid eyes on and expressed their deepest apologies, promising to return the land to its original state. O great mighty dragon, we are foolish to have drawn your offense. You must be the creator of this land and ours. You have earned our respect.

From that day onwards, the humans often brought along offerings for the dragon, kneeling before him and asking for his blessings and well-wishes. Everyone who came across him were stunned by his impressive build and appearance; they thought, at once, that he must be the creator of the island.

But the dragon was no creator. He did not want gifts and offerings in exchange for blessings he could not give—empty words that meant no substance—all he ever longed for were long nights with his butterfly friend, drinking tea in their quiet happiness. At the very least, he thought, they still had each other.

Soon, the humans were asking for more. They wanted the dragon to come with them to their lands and to prove his miraculous quality; the existence of the true creator behind their world and show him off as a discovery made by man. They wanted him to leave the island.

The dragon refused. He knew he was no miracle. He could not move mountains or part seas or conjure imaginary things in midair and make them last forever, no. All he could do was burn and destroy. He tried to tell the humans but they would not believe him. They would not believe he was not the one they were looking for. After all, he must be. A creature of such greatness and magnificence—there was no room for error. He must be the greatest of all time.

As the humans began on their task to move the dragon out of the cage they thought was the island, the butterfly came forth and said to them: please do not send him away, for he loves it here and wishes to stay. I will go in his stead. And so the butterfly revealed that he was the true creator of it all; of all that the humans wished to seek.

The humans did not believe him. You are no creator! You are a small, fragile, insignificant thing. You cannot be the greatest of them all.

The butterfly struggled to explain himself and tried his best to convince the humans of the truth but they refused to hear his story and, instead, captured him easily and put him in a jar. As for the dragon, they made him tour their lands below—marveling at the sight of his flames and hardened scales, the impressiveness of his wingspan. A magnificent creature. They bowed and respected and worshipped him as their all but one day, they saw the dragon fall.

He was ill, struck with a longing for his friend who he had not seen in a while. So awful he felt that he began to shrink in size and lose the fire within; every breath that he took stole wisps of fiery embers. Remnants of a forgotten flame. He was dying.

The humans were enraged. You're supposed to be eternal! They said as the dragon breathed his last. You lied to us. You were supposed to be the greatest of all.

Eat me, said the butterfly, watching in pain and agony from his corner of the jar when they returned the dragon to the island with thoughts of abandoning him. If he eats me, he will be forever.

The humans were delighted about the presence of a solution. They took the butterfly by his wings and approached the dragon after confirming that he was unconscious. They asked the butterfly if he was speaking the truth—that if he was truly the immortal creator of the island and everything else, he could grant that very same power to his recipient. Yes, said the butterfly.

And so they fed him to the dragon.

END.