Beautifully Big Butterfly

Let me tell you a story.
Yes.
Let me digress.
From what?
From the plot.
There is no plot. You didn’t even begin.
Let me begin.
…
I once killed a butterfly. Develop your characters. I once killed a beautifully big butterfly. Describe the butterfly. I once killed a beautifully big butterfly that had colors to rival anything that had colors. You seem disinterested. I once killed a beautifully big butterfly with a face like that of a child, and with colors that seemed would drop off the surface of its wings. You just killed a child. I did not. I killed a butterfly. That had the face of a child. No, not ‘had’. It had a face like that of a child. It’s a simile. Nothing’s a simile. Psychologically, you just killed a child. You cannot fool a reader. Come on! You want this story to be about the travails and tribulations of a man on a child killing spree? No! God, no one’s killing children here. This is a story about compassion and morality. A story of a young boy. Then why are you killing butterflies. How is it compassionate and moral? And boys are young. There’s nothing like a young boy. Shut up. Because later, the boy would see the dead butterfly on the ground and would realize that he had made a horrendous mistake and would take a vow to never kill butterflies again. You think your boy is capable of such a vow. He was quite into killing that butterfly. He was explaining the colors on it better, and with more lucidity, than a psychopath. You told me to describe the butterfly! You told me I was disinterested! But I never told you to describe it like a psychopath. Okay. I once killed a butterfly and — Don’t kill it in the first line itself. Let it fly. Let it show its colors. There was once a beautifully big butterfly with colors that seemed would drop off of the surface of its wings. And your boy kills it? Yes, but it was an accident. He was trying to get hold of it. He wanted a closer look. Your boy’s a psychopath. No, he is not! He’ll repent later. Later. And untill then, he’ll be on an unstoppable killing spree. There is no killing spree. He accidently killed a single, tiny butterfly! Do not lie. You told that it was a beautifully big butterfly. I don’t rememer you saying it was tiny. And who knows that it was the only butterfly your bloodthirsty boy killed. What do you want me to do? I just do not want your boy to come off as a ruthless, cold murderer. He will not come off as that. He kills a butterfly and then he repents. That’s the story. Then its not a very good one, is it? The world will collapse if there is one more story of a repentant murderer. Make your boy a saviour. A saviour. A moral, compassionte man who tried to save a beautifully big butterfly, and it was pouring down heavily, and the butterfly had one of its wings stuck in a thorn or something, but, unforunately, despite his best efforts, he could not and — But! — Or wait, he did. He did save one butterfly but could not save the thousand others in that surreal garden where butterflies somehow die. But. Do it! Are you sure about this. A story about a boy out to save butterflies of this planet against all odds? I have never been surer. Okay. Begin. I once saved a butterfly. Develop your characters. I once saved a beautifully big butterfly.