A Day in Peter's Pocket

Never before have I encountered such ill-treatment in someone's pocket. My name is John Butterfly. I was playing with my twelve brothers and sisters near Mayberry Elementary School, when suddenly the light was lost. I had been caught, not by a butterfly net but by a small, chubby, mischievous boy named Peter Patterson. I could feel my wings flapping helplessly, as his pudgy hands held me tightly. I was then released into the pocket of his school trousers. On landing, I discovered a large number of other things - supposedly captured by Peter Patterson - leaves, pieces of stones, some chewing gum, a wiggly worm, a firefly, and a fly.

It was a tight squeeze in his pocket, as it was very full and quite dark. Luckily the firefly lent us her light. At first, no one wanted to speak but being the impulsive butterfly I always was, I introduced myself and soon got everyone talking about themselves. I could hear the voice of Peter Patterson as he talked with his school buddies, on what I assumed was the playground. I could feel myself - and probably the others too - getting dizzy and dizzier from the many rides Peter took on the slide.

I felt myself getting weak and faint. I looked around and knew the cause. The air above me had become very stuffy. We were getting no ventilation due to the fact that Peter had stuffed some other 'treasures' into his pocket. The firefly was quickly squashed, unknowingly by a ladybug.

We mourned for her and with some the strength we had left, sang a few songs, cried some tears and borrowing a piece of Mr. Leaf's garment, wrapped the firefly and buried her deep in Peter's pocket.

Soon we overcame our sadness by listening to some very stiff wisecracks I was telling everyone. I tried not to show it but with each passing minute, I was growing fainter and fainter. I will be next, I thought. I wrote my name and address on a piece of paper I always kept in my waistcoat and gave it to Jessica Fly. I had also written the details of my will on it.

My wings fluttered weakly.

We knew Peter was home, because he cried, "Mom, I'm home." We all yelled, hoping that someone would hear us but it was a hopeless cause. I felt myself drop on something solid and saw a monster - no a hand - reached in and emptied Peter's pocket. The air rushed into my lungs. I was free.

I smiled gratefully at Peter's mom.

I would hardly wait to reach home to tell my family of my great adventure!

- T, DM. 1998. GHS 1998 Yearbook