A butterfly flaps its wings against the width of a wall, and nothing happens. A wave changing speed in an ocean miles away doesn’t make any difference to a butterfly battling against all odds to reach light. The butterfly is not even aware of the concept of an ocean, can’t even comprehend it. If the butterfly is not aware it exists, or that the flapping of its wings made a difference, then did it really happen? All that’s happening is the real existential struggle of trying to reach that light. Conquering all odds, fearlessly. The butterfly tries. Trying counts for it. Those helpless attempts at reaching or even aspiring to reach light counts for it. Yet, changing the course of waves does not. For it, it just doesn’t exist, thus it doesn’t matter. All it wants is to reach the goddamn light. Simple as that. Let the monstrosity of waves flood them all to hell. A child struggling to draw a breath, and failing thus choking by that process. A mother using all her might to cut through water and beyond to reach her child. A father helplessly fighting with all his powers to fulfill his duty and save his little dying child and panicking wife. All those matter none to the butterfly. All those died with a flap of a wing. The butterfly haven’t reached the light. It did all it had. It failed. A kid practicing his skills as a fearless and mighty hunter smashed it, and slapped it off the wall. The light still is blinking, the kid runs around making all the noises a happy kid makes in victory. His laugh lights up the darkness. The butterfly twitches, twitches and withers away. Like it never existed. Like it never flapped its wings or even tried to achieve such a small and insignificant purpose. The kid grew up and smashed and slapped many others. He struggled, suffered, loved, laughed, became happy, cried, ran, jumped, and did everything a butterfly could or couldn’t do. He forgot that he ever childishly smashed such a butterfly. Or that he ever did that as a game, he got his grown up games now. He went through it all, the smashing of anything is a long forgotten dream-like memory. A memory that never passed through his mind ever again. Maybe it even didn’t happen. Through it all, and as such things usually go, life experiencing itself through all things smashed him and slapped him off existence. The kid, now a grown human trying to reach a certain something, twitched, twitched and then withered away.