This is my finished entry, based off of picture prompt number seven.
Yes.
Word Count: 1,946
His father had always tried to ingrain it into his head that the more colorful a person's necklace, the more respectable that person was. It was customary for the people of his tribe to string their own necklace, made up of only the most colorful shells and stones and dyes. The higher ranking tribe members had access brighter dyes, while the common folks had to make do with duller, more natural colors. It didn't matter to him in the slightest, though, because to Meelo they were nothing but varying shades of gray.
From the meat he ate at night, to the intruding tribe's face paint, even to the chest piece tattoos that the men of his village were so fond of getting, he couldn't distinguish one color from the next. Gudahi, the witchdoctor, told a young Meelo that it was a very rare thing that he had, but nothing to be ashamed of. Gudahi told him that as long as he respected everybody equally, then the color of their necklace shouldn't be of any concern. When Meelo questioned the old healer on why everybody doesn't follow that ideology, he was quickly shoved out of the tent with little more than a few mumbled words about 'culture' and a tight frown.
Ever since then, Meelo has shown the same level of respect to all the new people he met, even the passive-aggressive men from the neighboring tribe. Those men didn't wear the necklaces, or the tattoos; they just wore strange clothing, had strange war paint and always held a strange weapon in their hand. He didn't know much about why they were there, kept at posts to watch over their village, but he didn't care much.
They claimed to have captured and taken control of their village, which had the adults all in a huff, but for the children, life hadn't exactly changed. Things were still the same as far as they were concerned. Dinner was still being eaten, games continued on freely and life was just great.
As Meelo trekked through the forest, scavenging for a berry bush that he had seen earlier, he wondered why those men from the other tribe couldn't just join his tribe. Maybe they could become friends with his father, and Meelo and their sons could become friends, and everything would be great. He didn't see why not.
He pushed branch after low-hanging branch aside, swatting away flies and loosened leaves. Suddenly, his foot caught and he tripped over a root. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Meelo rolled his eyes and huffed.
He turned his head to the side – that's when he saw it.
Color.
The butterfly was rather small, flitting about for a while before settling down against gray, monotone leaves. The brilliant deep blue of its wings had a hint of purple, he noticed. Meelo slowly, cautiously lifted himself back to his feet, a look of pure astonishment on his face as he examined the creature's beautiful color. He rubbed at his eyes - was this real? Was he really seeing this? When the butterfly moved again, Meelo fled.
He bolted through the forest, going as fast as his feet would carry him. Panicked, he approached a familiar teepee. "Gudahi? Gudahi, what's happening?" His voice had taken on the edge of a frightened child as he clutched to the fabric of the entryway.
Meelo found the witchdoctor sat cross-legged on the floor meditating. He opened one eye in annoyance before getting to his feet.
The old man wore a headdress; a painted coyote skull in the center with feathers flourishing around it. He wore baggy deerskin pants, chest bare save for the image of a coyote's face along his sternum. There were many bracelets, anklets and piercings dangling from his body, bones protruding everywhere and a kind grin on his wrinkled face. His hand clutched at a knotted wooden staff with feathers tied to the top. It aided him as he took a step forward, urging Meelo into the teepee with a wave of his hand.
"Come, come, what's got you so confused, boy? Please, explain." The healer sat again in front of the boy to light a fire. Meelo watched from his spot as he twisted around to grab a pot, noticing that something was already sloshing around within. It was placed over the fire with the support of a couple of sticks. "Tea?"
"Thank you." Meelo bowed his head in gratitude as he took a seat as well, on the opposite side of the small fire. It was only until after the old healer had poured him a steaming cup of herbal tea did he finally collect his thoughts. He took a breath. "I, I saw a butterfly. It had color."
Everything went still.
Meelo shifted uncomfortably under the old witchdoctor's gaze. Gudahi was scrutinizing him, brows dipped down in confusion and awe. The old man tongued at his molars. "But you see only in black and white, that can't..." he paused a few seconds. "Oh," he whispered, eyes going wide and face dropping in comprehension. He reached forward and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. This time he stared with intent.
"This means something, something great, boy. Your father has been planning an ambush for a while now, you know, and this color must forebode our tribe's freedom. You will show great courage in the battle, too," Gudahi chuckled with glee, tightening his grasp on the boy's shoulder. Meelo could only smile.
He didn't know how Gudahi could ever predict something like that, but he didn't dare question it for a second. The old bat did have a tendency to be right about these types of things. It was rare that he was ever wrong about something; Meelo always thought that it was a magic ability, that he could see into the future. Not that he wanted to fight or anything, but if it was his destiny, then who was he to rebuke it? He left the tent, that smile still curling his lips upwards.
______________________________________________
Some time later, Meelo found himself walking along the beach. Dusk had settled over the sky, a cool breeze swept across the sand, the waves had calmed down and he could see a soft glow emanating from a cave a little further ahead. The cave was his destination. That was where his father had organized a meeting with a bunch of other men in the village, lit only with a couple of torches.
As he approached, he could hear his father's deep rumbling voice drone on, explaining and discussing logistics of the plan. While his father wasn't the chief, he still had a very strong influence on the village. He was a very brave and admirable warrior, which meant that his necklace was brightly colored, or so Meelo had been told.
He stood outside the entrance, warmth greeting him along with the stares of his fellow tribesmen. The droning voice cut off. Meelo casually made his way to the crowd, taking a seat near the edge as a few pairs of eyes followed.
His father did no more than give him a hard stare before continuing, "All right, now as I was saying. Gudahi has provided us with longer, sturdier spears, and these." He reached into a pocket to retrieve a leather pouch. He shook it a few times for emphasis. "These," he raised his voice as he pulled out a hollowed piece of wood and a small pointed object, "are poisoned darts. Very lethal, as the poison is drawn from a local animal that you might recognize as the dart frog." He let that settle within the congregation for a minute or so before continuing,
"I believe that with this new weapon, we stand a very strong chance of getting through the plan with little to no casualties. I'll be handing out the spears and darts, I expect all of you to handle these new weapons with care as we will be dipping our spearheads in poison, too. We start tonight, be ready in one hour." The cave filled with soft murmurs.
Meelo stood up, dusted himself off and approached his father, bashful. "Father-" he began, but he was quickly cut off.
"Normally I would tell you no, that you can't fight and you can't handle the poison, but," he said, placing an arm around his son's shoulders. "I think you've reached an age where I don't have a say in what you want to do." Meelo looked up to find him smiling. The boy grinned back before tackling his father into a hug. Meelo looked out to the ocean, content.
When he saw a small, familiar flitting pair of blue wings settle on a stone right at the entrance of the cave, it deepened his resolve. Courage. He was courageous, or at least the outcome of the night would prove him to be. Gudahi was sure of it, his father was sure of it and he himself was sure of it, as well. He unwrapped the embrace and took a step back.
An hour had passed, a whole hour he waited anxiously before everybody made it back to the cave. Transformation was evident within the crowd -- angry slashes of paint on their faces, hair tied back, they wore darker and more protective clothing, a weapon in hand, extra supplies hanging off of makeshift belts and a fierce determination in each pair of eyes.
They were ready.
The plan was simple: Split everybody up into three groups. Surround the target as if they were a deer being hunted. Shoot all at once. Don't flinch, don't hesitate. Run very very quickly on to the next target. Rinse and repeat.
Meelo couldn't remember much of what happened that night. All he could remember was him, his father and a few other men splitting up as they made their way to the other tribe's base camp. The other two groups were ordered to take out the men stationed back at their village. Meelo was so nervous that he almost ruined the entire operation because he just couldn't stop talking.
However, he had saved his father's life when the plan really got put into motion. He had blocked an arrow for his father, but it did no more than skin his arm. When they started throwing hot, flaming coals, Meelo had been ordered to run back home. He only did it out of respect.
They had freed their village, though, after it all. They had fought for their freedom and they got it. Gudahi, his father and the whole tribe thought of Meelo as a war hero for his courageous actions in the line of duty. While he refused to ever wear the tribe's traditional colorful necklace, he did want to follow one custom and get a chest piece.
He wanted a blue butterfly. Maybe its beautiful wings would spread out from collarbone to collarbone with its actual body running along the sternum. Maybe it would be placed over his heart instead. He didn't know quite yet how he wanted it placed, all he knew was that it had to be a blue butterfly. It had to have such bold color, such vivid detail like how he had first seen it against those monotone leaves. He wouldn't accept anything else.
When he saw the creature flying about by the treeline surrounding his village, he considered capturing it to show Gudahi, so that he could get a good mental image of how the butterfly was to look. He considered it, but instead, he turned around and headed back to his tent for dinner. He knew. It deserved to be free.
