Pickled truths

Once upon a time there was a child called Peter Thornton . He was a spoilt child who never played well with others and hated sharing his toys. His mother felt sorry for him, so she kept him at home, protected him from the world, and never sent him to school. She gave him everything he wanted, believing that would make him happy.

One day, Peter was playing in the garden when he saw the most beautiful butterfly he had ever seen. He wanted to keep it for himself, so he chased it with his net on a bamboo stick. When he finally caught it, he put it in a jam jar and screwed the lid on tight so he could keep it forever.

But because Peter never fed the butterfly or made holes in the lid for air, the butterfly died. And even though Peter had inadvertently murdered it, that didn’t stop him going through the rest of his life trapping everything he wanted to keep for himself.

The end.

Except it wasn’t the end — it was just the beginning.

I removed the mask and the smoke screen all in the same breath

What stood before me was a truth I could no longer unsee

Twenty years climbing a mountain that had no summit

Just a ledge and the quiet uncertainty of who was to come and rescue me

So many doors to fall through,

so many directions to run

No place for my back to be safe

His bingo‑wing arms closed around my shaking frame,

Bouncer‑like and blocking every exit

No left, no right only the ache to be free

I cried

He laughed

I retreated

He won

And the jam jar I called my marriage tightened its lid one turn further.

My name is Mary, and I am Peter’s current butterfly.