A little boy with bright blue eyes and a strange affinity for butterflies. He wondered off to the big green pastures watching the blue and black butterflies flutter before him.
He watched as the other children stomped around with their big nets, swiping into thin air, the butterflies moving in a mad frenzy, trying to escape the inevitable.
Over the years the grass became drier and the butterflies became fewer, but the little boy would still sit there, watching and waiting.
And just like a big net eventually catches up to a butterfly, age caught up with the little boy. over the years his hair went grey and his dark skin wrinkled like raisins. He sat in the dried and yellow grass that had once been so green and lay on his back, looking up at the bright blue sky. The breeze was soft against his pale cheeks and the sun was shining brightly into his eyes.
He took one last breathe as a little blue and black butterfly fluttered onto his nose. The old man smiled and closed his eyes, and the butterfly flew away.
May Juan Pedro Lamaison, rest in peace.