A Torysay.

"Geeeeeeeeeeeez! Aw man, no...NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!," Gertrude exclaimed from the deerstand. Gertrude immediatly fell to her death. Except she didn't die. As she lay in the monkey grass her thoughts turned toward the pigtailed girl with the strawberry blonde hair. The blonde strawberry was four years old, never left home without pigtails and thrived on ravlioli with franks. Except on this day, she did leave home--and climbed up the deerstand to catch a butterfly. Little did she know what fate would meet her at that rickety wooden peak. (You, reader, should know that four year olds are rather coordinated and do not like to be told what to do.) The butterfly was golden yellow with purple blotches and glistening turquoise spots, the most beautiful butterfly she had ever beheld. As her hand reached out to the diaphonous creature so did her heart. Her throat filled with glee as she grazed the tip of the butterfly's left wing, accidentally sending it plummeting to the ground in pretty little spirals. As the sky above spun in dizzying circles around her desperate wings the butterfly sighed, "Not this again." She swore to herself that as long as butterflies have wings she would never cross with a frank-breath strawberry blonde pigtailed girl again. She much preferred frank-breathing boys. At that moment, the very frank-breathed strawberry blonde pigtailed girl who had knocked her into this predicament landed ontop of her with a thump. Gertrude remembered the last words her mother said to her ("Don't come back to this house without my dear sweet plumpkin girl.") Though she envied the chunky twerp's argyle stockings, she knew what she had to do. Gertrude looked toward the heavens, yodeled her goodbyes and leapt off of the stand. Her fall was broken by a plump crumb-covered child. She licked her lips, wiped her brow, straightened her collar and rose to meet the dawn of a new day. She hoped there would be strawberry cupcakes in Heaven.