A slave was working out in the fields one day. The sun was high in the sky and, beads of sweat were forming and then running down his face. They stopped for a brief moment, to form drops at the base of his chin, before dropping to the ground, or getting wiped away by his soil covered hand.

A butterfly was dancing a weightless dance, soaring and swooping, fluttering its wings. It was beautiful and hynotising to watch. It finally came to rest, on the stem of a carefully cultivated flower. It closed its wings and then became hard to see, blending into the surrounding scene.

The slave focused on the beauty of the dance, while a slave working close beside him, started to complain about the annoying insects flying about the place.
The slave wondered what it must be like to be a butterfly. He thought about its beauty and the freedom it had. He remembered a time when he was a child running and playing, hugging his mother, feeling free and loved.
Time had passed quickly since those times, as he found out, what life was for him and his childhood friends. They were slaves, bought and sold like animals at a market. They were fed, watered and housed, to produce profit for their owners.
They were allowed marry to produce stock for the supply and demand of their produce. There was a large hungry market to be satisfied.

He could see the beauty in things, simple things. It gave him the energy to breath and dream. Dangerous dreams, which some of his childhood friends...