corching the twisted, misaligned head of the phoenix, the flames devoured what was left of the jumbled paper creation, reducing it to nothing more than gray cinder joining the piles of ash lying in the crackling fireplace. As if orchestrated by a conductor, flickering lights played and danced off a pristine, crisp figure positioned on the dull wooden table set before the flames. With eyes of silver lightning, newly-folded Crane gazed upon the flames as the scene unfolded moment by moment. It believed that it was rather considerable to have the flawed phoenix, condemned for the grand fireplace without any uncertainty, for its small imperfection caused the flame bird to have its dazzling appearance snatched and tossed away. Beauty was all that
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Months had passed since the Creator folded Crane, however, there was a storm of emptiness brewing above Crane - striking it with the feelings of discontent and disarrangement. Unlike the Collection, Crane found it fascinating to gaze upon the butterflies wings, the way the lights of the flames illuminated the glass that encased the vibrantly colored butterflies as the frames hung over the fireplace.
“Crane, give it a rest already!” voices sighed in exasperation as Crane continued to fixate upon the glass in awe. “When folds like you challenge the work of the Creator’s fingers, they are completely turning against everything we are meant to be! Quit being so stubborn, will you?”
With a quick turn of the head, Crane locked eyes with the Collection -- tilting its head before it spoke, “ Tell me, do each and every one of you feel absolutely one-hundred percent content with what and who you are? Has it ever come across your simple minds of what the other folds out there can do?” it breathed. “To be able to take upon new wondrous forms, to possess the abilities, and the appearance of such? Would that just be …show more content…
Snow fell upon its firm wings, weakening the paper figure as they collided with one another. Eventually, Crane was struck by a piece of hail (???), that penetrated through the formerly crisp bird, and it was forced to begin its descent.
The. others. were. right, each word burned as the silver dagger further etched itself into Crane’s mind, Even if I did manage to transform myself into a butterfly one day, I’ll forever bear the creases that I once bore as a crane. Creases that displayed to the world how I am something that I wasn’t folded into, creases that placed the false notion into heads how an unappreciative crane felt being luxurious and special wasn’t enough, creases that would damage therefore tip the balance of the perfect and breathtaking image of a butterfly - always surpassing the others into and onto far even greater things. Sure enough, Crane crashed onto the Creator’s patio - only ten feet from the window. Sighing as it carefully picked itself off the floor void of footprints, Crane examined itself. Every minor tear only seemed to be accompanied by another gash on the paper figure. No longer having the drive to suppress its feelings that were previously locked
Months had passed since the Creator folded Crane, however, there was a storm of emptiness brewing above Crane - striking it with the feelings of discontent and disarrangement. Unlike the Collection, Crane found it fascinating to gaze upon the butterflies wings, the way the lights of the flames illuminated the glass that encased the vibrantly colored butterflies as the frames hung over the fireplace.
“Crane, give it a rest already!” voices sighed in exasperation as Crane continued to fixate upon the glass in awe. “When folds like you challenge the work of the Creator’s fingers, they are completely turning against everything we are meant to be! Quit being so stubborn, will you?”
With a quick turn of the head, Crane locked eyes with the Collection -- tilting its head before it spoke, “ Tell me, do each and every one of you feel absolutely one-hundred percent content with what and who you are? Has it ever come across your simple minds of what the other folds out there can do?” it breathed. “To be able to take upon new wondrous forms, to possess the abilities, and the appearance of such? Would that just be …show more content…
Snow fell upon its firm wings, weakening the paper figure as they collided with one another. Eventually, Crane was struck by a piece of hail (???), that penetrated through the formerly crisp bird, and it was forced to begin its descent.
The. others. were. right, each word burned as the silver dagger further etched itself into Crane’s mind, Even if I did manage to transform myself into a butterfly one day, I’ll forever bear the creases that I once bore as a crane. Creases that displayed to the world how I am something that I wasn’t folded into, creases that placed the false notion into heads how an unappreciative crane felt being luxurious and special wasn’t enough, creases that would damage therefore tip the balance of the perfect and breathtaking image of a butterfly - always surpassing the others into and onto far even greater things. Sure enough, Crane crashed onto the Creator’s patio - only ten feet from the window. Sighing as it carefully picked itself off the floor void of footprints, Crane examined itself. Every minor tear only seemed to be accompanied by another gash on the paper figure. No longer having the drive to suppress its feelings that were previously locked