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She saw her reflection in the mirror and twitched her face. She loathed her reflection of bespectacled , freckled-faced with bushy eyebrows. The more she gazed in the mirror, more she would slip in the bottomless chasm of depression. She'd been a recluse for more time than she would care to remember. Her day dreams were also dimensionally challenged: it only traversed in space sans time. She would dream that she had sprouted beautiful wings of a butterfly and flittered among flowers. Those dreams were her only solace in this realm of insanity, which would lessened her mental anguish. This irrational fear of her ugliness stemmed out of her inferiority complex, which was stimulated by her beautiful and rich classmates. She had beautiful posters of butterflies all over her room.
"I shall be a butterfly soon………," She thought diffidently and this thought forced a rare smile on her cracked lips. Deep down in her heart, she knew that she was an ugly caterpillar and trying to cocoon herself as a larva with her thoughts of pseudo-freedom. Her dream of turning into a butterfly always built fortress around the reality and choke it to asphyxiated death. Like a jockey, she would ride the stallion of her dreams to escape from reality to a far-flung region of schizophrenic fantasies.
She turned her wheelchair towards the only window in her small room to see how many flowers are left to be explored in the yard of the sanatorium, once she turned into a butterfly.