Perhaps Appa and I did not have the closest relationship ever on Earth, but it is alright. Ever since my mother decided she would find home in a richer suburban house, my father and I have been on our own. Since five, I’ve refused to call anyone else my mother. I considered my mother to be dead and I have no regrets.

        There is no need to know my name. My name isn’t significant, eye-catching, or melodic sounding in any way. But I want you to know my father. Appa, I call him. Appa: two syllables pounding from my heart so near, grazing at the tip of my lips so far. My father was a great man. He wasn’t a scientist or an inventor, in fact he wasn’t anyone, and I didn’t care who he was. To me, he was my father, and he was enough.  

       Appa stopped growing old when I was ten. He forever had this messy mop of black hair with a few strands turning grey. He never hunched and he never had wrinkles. He never ever grew old and I cannot imagine either.

                                                                    ---

      I was chasing a butterfly.

      This butterfly was special. Having lived ten years on Earth, I hadn’t seen a white, glowing butterfly. So glowing, so bright, it’s so blinding.

      I was in a train station.

     This train station was weird. The pillars were of a dark, gothic kind of green, like the slimes witches use to make their brew. The walls were of a sickly grey. Simply put, there was hardly colour and life. The train stations I have been too are always bustling with people rushing into and out of trains. I remember gripping my father’s hand tightly so that I would not lose him in the crowd.

     But this train station was empty.

     I couldn’t understand why, and I didn’t bother either. What mattered of utmost importance was the bright white butterfly. Its fluttering wings sent tiny streaks of blinding light around it. I was amazed. It landed on the seat of the wooden bench. I ran towards it. It wasn’t long before both of us were playing a game of catching. It was also so near, yet so far. I was so enchanted by its beauty I didn’t bother knowing where it was leading me too. As much as I wanted to, I never got to touch it.

     Like a lighting striking out of the blue, a black cat flew into sight and lunged and hissed angrily at the butterfly. I was shocked. I tried to reach out to the butterfly, but it flapped its tiny and vulnerable wings and disappeared. I stared at the black cat, whose lime green eyes seem to shine. I was furious. Instinctively, I frowned hard at it.

     Maybe I was too harsh, but the next moment the black cat was purring at my feet. It snuggled close to my legs and its eyebrows furrowed into a pity stance. My heart softened. Soon, I forgot about the little white butterfly and I grew towards the bigger black cat.

     Like the butterfly, it led me away. I had no qualms about following it and so I did. It didn’t seem harmful anyway. Being an ignorant ten year old, I didn’t stop for a moment to think where my father was, or where was I, and why the train station was so eerily empty.