Butterfly Child

  Once upon a time, there was a child. Warm, red locks rested on their cold scalp as they wept and sulked. This child was simply a child that loved something, but was taken away from them.

A hand reached out to place upon the child's red, burned cheek.

They had never meant for this to happen. That was clear, of course.

"It's okay, child," A soft tone murmured. "You will heal."

"I don't remember it hurting. Why does it hurt? Why does it burn?" The child's choked voice yowled, breaking off into a sob. The scientist released the child's cheek, stifling their own tears. They wished they could help the child who had lost so much. They remembered the very day that they came across the child, the adventures that followed, as the small and sandy and wet child came forth; dancing in the shimmering raindrops that poured over the bellowing earth.

The scientist was hunched under the porch's roof, peering out from their cottage. They never liked the rain, always snide and bitter, interrupting their work. Why couldn't the sky cry on any other day?

The scientist adjusted their goggles, narrowing their dusty eyes across the soaked world. They sighed, sitting down stubbornly on a patio chair and glaring at the crackling storm clouds with great sourness.

They had always strived to be patient, but if the rain kept up, they would never be able to get anything done! They huffed, wiping their oiled hands against their pale coat, rolling their eyes. Perhaps they could invite someone over! Ask their mother to go to the market and gather their supplies! No, no. The market will be closed in this weather. Plus, by the firecracker sky shall she choose to ask her mother to do something so inane. But maybe they could–

Out of nowhere, a tiny hand tugged at their lab coat.

"Eureka, a child!" The scientist exclaimed with a floundering alarm, leaping to their feet and wobbling a couple steps back.

"Hullo!" The child peeped, blue eyes pearly and wide. They were short and taught with curly flame-like locks that were drenched to a darker shade, pressed straight against their scalp. They wore a green, oversized sweatshirt that dragged on the floor, heavy with water. For some reason the scientist curiously admired the child, awed by their immediate bravery to a stranger in a random cottage in a rainstorm. Then again, the child was therefore an idiot.

"Where are your parents, child?" The scientist asked, frowning.

"Pawends?" The child muttered. "No," The child replied, pearly eyes shining to the scientist.

"What do you mean 'no'?" The scientist spat, now glaring at the young one. "I'm not taking care of some random squirt I met in the woods because they can't understand a simple question."

"Up, up!" The child mewled, pearly eyes wide. They reached their soaked, grimy sleeves toward the scientist.

The scientist sighed, scooping up the child into their arms. "You aren't leaving until I do what you want, are you?" They asked sourly. The child stubbornly shook their head. Grimy little gremlin, The scientist's mind whispered.

The child reached up to try to pat the scientist's goggles just out of reach. The scientist sighed and lowered their head, allowing the small child to pat the round eyewear that sat upon their head, dormant until the rain ceased.

When the child subsided, the scientist lifted their head to blink at them. The child was asleep. "What should I do now, then?" They said, glancing around.

The pouring day was slowly creeping to a pouring night, and if the child wasn't tended to, they may catch quite the cold. The scientist glanced around for any signs of people one last time, and turned to go back inside. The scientist would bring the child to the market tomorrow once the rain quelled in case no one came for them in the night.