The Tired Boy

 Once upon a time there was a boy who was always tired. The world was too much to take in all in one go. And life had a hard time keeping you from trying. Each day, the boy woke and rushed, and when his head hit his pillow each night, he was out like a light only to wake again the next morning, still tired.

    One day he was rushing from his breakfast to school when he saw something flicker out of the corner of his eye.

    He blinked, then turned into a neighbour's garden where he could have sworn something darted.

    The boy made his way to the back of the garden because there was definitely something sparking in and out.

    He ran and jumped and duck and wove. But even following as quickly as he could, the boy couldn't see what it was that was weaving and zigzagging and flitting. And when he finally stopped to catch his breath, he realized that he was in the middle of a wood — lost, alone, and no closer to figuring out what he was following.

    Not knowing where he could go, he stopped. It was the first time in a very long time.

    That was when they came.

    For it wasn't one weaver and flicker and zigzagger; there were a hundred of them. A hundred butterflies. And they all landed on him gently.

    The boy breathed softly, and worked hard not to move a muscle. 

    And as he stopped and stared at the butterflies all around him, he suddenly found that he wasn't tired at all.

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