Once upon a time, what would one day be a dragonfly was born. And as it grew, it learned more about the world around it. It learned about the lake in which it lived, the way the algae grew over a small hole that it could hide in and no one could find it. It learned about the plankton that lived in the sand on the lake floor and what food would make it grow strong. It learned to escape its predators by hiding in the sand itself, or slipping between cracks in the rock where it couldn't be reached. It spent a year like this, learning and growing. But dragonflies don't live very long.
One day, our soon-to-be dragonfly felt restless. The water paradise it had lived in seemed small, now that every inch of it had been uncovered. The algae covered hole it had loved so much was too small, its walls to stifling. So, it swam to where the light had come from, all the days of its life, despairing of its tiny domain. But at that seemingly impenetrable barrier, the dragonfly (for it is a dragonfly now) found its escape. Climbing a reed, compelled by something it couldn't explain, the dragonfly emerged from the water, to find a world of sound and light. Its gills, so dependable, were now superfluous and our dragonfly fought to breathe. Choking, it almost sank beneath the water again, but suddenly the dragonfly realised that its gills still worked, it just needed to breathe a little differently. Its skin spilt and from it our dragonfly rose, triumphant, easily moving through the air, rejoicing in its new wings and wide new world. But dragonflies don't live very long.
And so the dragonfly learned again. It found other dragonflies and created a place for itself near its old home. And each day it set out, finding food, evading birds and reptiles that sought to take it as food. It met another dragonfly and together they lay the eggs into the lake, to start the cycle anew. It had good days and bad days, victories and failures, times when in soared in the spring rain and times when it huddled up in a hole, like it was a newborn again, to escape the snow and cold. And eventually, on a fine spring day, the dragonfly fled from a sparrow and in a flash of insight realised it wouldn't get away. And before it was swallowed, it remembered the eggs it had left behind, the other dragonflies it had met and loved, the months it had spent wandering free in the world of light it had come to. And it died happily. Because dragonflies don't live very long. But they don't need to. Because dragonflies live very, very well.
I'm not sure if this is a happy story (I wrote it yes). I tried to make it one, but it came out a bit funny. I think a depressed person would find it suffocatingly optimistic, while a happy person would fine it pleasantly thoughtful. So I guess that makes it happy?
Also, I know nothing about dragonflies except what I just read off Wikipedia, so don't quote anything I said as fact. Have a nice weekend :)