It was a caterpillar massacre out there on the bike path. Bodies strewn across it like a tank had crashed into a WWI trench throwing little fur balls everywhere. I rescued this one and it curled up in my palm like a scared little soldier. Dropped it off on the other side and said, “carry on.”
Followers on G+ have been critiquing this post, including observations of a pessimistic Mothra allusion and what happens after the cliffhanger.
Should the protagonist meet up with the butterfly and ride together in a transformative nature sort of a Occupy Bike Path theme? Or, as Joe Julian wrote
…(it) grew into a beautiful butterfly, flapped its wings, and caused a hurricane that wiped out the eastern seaboard
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