The Little Green Ball: A Short Story
Emery stared blankly at her father, then back at the jar, then at her father again.
“It’s not doing anything,” she stated.
“Just wait,” said dad, picking up the jar gently and turning it. “See this here? It’s called a cocoon.” He set the jar down again, his eyes twinkling.
Emery set her chin on the counter and looked intently at the small green thing dangling from the stick. It didn’t do anything; it didn’t even move. It just… sat.
She had patiently waited these past weeks, watching as the ugly yellow and black caterpillar had grown slowly fatter and fatter until one day, Emery woke up to find the caterpillar gone, replaced by a completely uninteresting greenish ball. Her father had told her that something amazing was going to happen, but Emery wasn’t so sure.
“Dad,” she finally said, after several more minutes of nothing, “really, this is bo—”
But suddenly her dad nudged her shoulder and pointed to the jar. “Watch.”
Emery put her face right up to the jar, peering intently at the ball, which now quivered slightly. “What’s it doing?”
“Just watch, Emery.”
Dad smiled and sat back, arms folded across his chest.
Emery opened here eyes as wide as they could go, and watched as the ball trembled more and more. For a minute, it seemed that it would do nothing more. But then… a small opening appeared, and then it grew wider, and Emery couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight…
“Ohh….” She breathed, as a small, damp thing emerged from the cocoon, and clung lightly to the stick. It was all crumpled and funny looking… but then it spread out in the sunshine and Emery realized just how amazing that thing really was. So little, and so perfect…
It was a picture of new life, in a jar on Emery’s kitchen counter. Beauty from a fat caterpillar. Life from a little green ball. She understood now.
“Dad,” she whispered, as a grin spread across her face, “it’s a butterfly.”
Photos by Erik Kerrits and Noah Silliman on Unsplash
About The Author
Abby
Abby is a teenaged writer who loves using her words for Jesus, to seek and point out beauty in the ordinary. When she isn't writing, you can find her jamming on her guitar, which she fondly calls "Raymond Fender the First", sitting on porches, or reading.