The Victor -

The tall man surveyed the world, from the recesses of his cloak, with a disdainful satisfaction. He was a victor, and no one could dispute that. He was taller than the trees, and stronger than the rocks. He laughed loudly, and lay down on the grass.

A little blue butterfly flitted to the next flower.

He felt a pang of pity.

“What fruitless existence”, he thought, “does this little creature feel, for it thinks not, it wins not, and it lives not”.

The little blue butterfly flew to the jasmine creepers.

He felt irate.

“But how it lives on, unrepentant and stupid”, he growled “ in fool’s paradise!”

The little blue butterfly closed its wings, and settled on the jasmines.

He grew red with rage.

“Shall it ever be at the eyes of idiots”, he shouted, “that quality is beheld, and allowed to fade unheralded. That all the brilliant art from the hands of masters must be in the gallery for the blind!”

The little blue butterfly took off, this time into the vines.

“Do you dare”, he whispered with deadly venom, “challenge the intelligence of mine? The warrior, the artist, the philosopher, the aesthete, the creator and the destroyer?” He rose, and waited in demanding silence.

The little blue butterfly disappeared into the leaves.

“Such is the disdain!” he shrieked, “of ignorance for wisdom. Doomed be the world!!!” and fell down dead.

The little blue butterfly emerged from the vines. It flew away into the sunshine.