As he lay there asleep he dreamt of freedom. He was free and
looking down on a beautiful landscape filled with fragrant flowers in
a lush green meadow, spreading out before him. With a start he
realised he was flying, soaring on the warm summer currents. His
common sense told him that what was happening was impossible
but somewhere deep down he felt that his body had always known 
how to fly it just needed the opportunity to do so. His wings were
strong and graceful and carried him with little trouble. Suddenly 
from out of the horizon someone appeared. She was magnificent
in her splendour, dazzling in her beauty. He was afraid of her 
approach, anxious that she would be frightened of his appearance.
But she came ever closer to him never veering from her path 
towards him. As she got closer he thought that she must be an
angel sent from above and in shame he turned from her face. But 
to his surprise and delight he found that his body had changed as
well and that he was as glorious as she. He held his breath as she 
drew up close to him, he knew that for some reason whatever she
was going to say next was going to be important. She began to 
speak...

 ....and he woke up in his cramped cell within the prison. He wanted 
to scream out in rage and trash about in frustration but he could
not move. For now not only was he trapped but his body was 
covered in some kind of sticky substance and his limbs were
pinned down. A terrible feeling of claustrophobia came over him 
and immediately his body was wracked with pain, a piercing, 
savage pain as if his insides we revolting against him. He knew 
that his imprisonment was leading up to this, that this was the reason
he had been shut away from the rest of the world. He was becoming 
some kind of monster, his body was not his to control anymore
and he was not sure what he was turning into. He did not know 
how long he had been locked up. His memories were fading fast
and he, at this stage, couldn’t even remember his jailers, if indeed
there had ever been any. But there had to be, didn’t there? Why 
else would he be imprisoned like this? Shut away from the world
and everything he once knew, away from his friends and his family.
Once vivid memories of them were fading, slipping from his mind
every time he slept. No more could he remember there names or
faces. He could hardly remember where it was that he used to live
and where it was he was now. Every time that he awoke he knew
that he had lost some part of himself, important pieces of who he
used to be memories of better times and of a different world. For
some reason one of the last memories that he had left, was of
eating, not any particular meal or food but of the sensation of eating,
the actual act of chewing his food and swallowing it. He was afraid
that this too would soon be forgotten.

He knew that he had not got much longer to go, that soon he would
not be himself anymore and that he would remember nothing of his
former life. That was why the dreams meant so much to him. He 
was sure that there was some message to them, that they were 
trying to tell him something, something important that he needed 
to know. Maybe it was just some last, vain attempt to remember 
something beautiful, a dream of lost freedom. He was getting tired 
again and he knew that if he fell asleep this time would be his last,
if he ever woke up there would be nothing left of him. He had one
chance. A plan to escape that he had been working on for weeks,
it was simple yet called for the most exact timing. He had noticed 
that whatever it was that was covering him was getting weaker and
weaker along one side of him and that if he could only split it open
he could have his window of opportunity, the only one he was 
likely to get. The sun was about to rise and if he didn’t act now 
he would be doomed. He start to strain against his bonds.

As the sun rose it slowly shone on a green meadow speckled here 
and there with wild flowers. There was a stream flowing through it
feeding the soil with it’s cool, pure waters. There was a soft silence
at this time in the morning. Close by to the stream there was an old
bush which had braved many sharp winters and hot summers. It was
shelter to a number of small wild animals and insects. Hanging on the 
underside of one leaf, green from the sun shining through the leaf
was a very small chrysalis. It was swaying gently in the morning 
breeze, then it started to sway faster and then even more violently
as the creature inside it fought to break out. Over the space of 
some long minutes the chrysalis slowly split up along the middle 
and a pair of beautiful gossamer wings appeared. The fragile 
butterfly fanned them slowly in the morning breeze and then took
to flight out across the meadow. The prisoner was free.