“Tell me what you recall.”

“We used to hunt for them in the garden. We’d find them, take them in–gently, always gently–and put them in a jar. Usually we gave them leaves. Once I gave some potato chips to see if they’d eat it. They died instead. Most did. We were just kids, after all. But some of them…some of them made it. We’d see them spin, and we were always so excited when the time came to release them.”

“What, exactly?”

“Caterpillars and butterflies.”

“Fascinating. Of all the things you could recall, from all your years of life, that’s it?”

“I think that all this is…something like that, don’t you? Something like them?”

“Maybe it is. But there’s no way to know until it’s too late to go back.”

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