If a man finally found himself alone, the sole ruler of an empty world, his eternal desolation might be interrupted for a moment by memories of a different world. There is a meadow in that world; there are some butterflies there. The biggest and the most beautiful of them all has just found a yellow flower - just the thing he has been looking for. He has admired his flower as only a butterfly could until a mine - installed under the flower by a man - threw him away with a blast. From the smoke cloud, a butterfly appears, his colors dim; the butterfly burns like a piece of paper, and the smoke carries it, turns it around and toys with it. The burnt butterfly cannot master the unknown game: another blow and the butterfly will loose its shape, fall apart and turn into dust. Black flowers and butterfly's ashes cover the meadow of the man's memories, creating a different world.
—Neva Ivanec & Filip Rozic