Butterflies

The sky is so blue that it almost makes my eyes ache. From the open window I can hear Satie being played, the record is old and the scratches in it makes the tune appear as though it comes from very far away. The curtains rustle in the breeze. The day is warm and I lie in the shade on the grass, the book I was reading rests on my chest. My body feels heavy as I stare into the mesmerising blue. Two bright blue butterflies flutter past my field of vision. I never knew that days could be this peaceful. It is as though the world has been emptied of all people and I, alone, have been left behind. A fly walks over my leg, stops and rubs a pair of its legs against each other. It tickles my skin and I blink my eyes.

Slowly, slowly the clouds float across the cerulean sky. They blend together, shapes shifting and interchanging.
The grass is so soft that it feels as though it’s lulling me to sleep.

Another butterfly. The book is starting to weigh heavily on my chest and I push it aside. It slowly slides down onto the grass where it comes to rest with a subdued thud. The moment it hits the ground I find I can’t remember the title, or what it is about. It is as if I had never even opened it at all. The trees rustle in the breeze, a strand of hair flies into my face and lays to rest on my lips. I exhale and it skips up only to slide down my cheek like a softly caressing hand.

My mind has been emptied of everything except for the present as if I was a creature just born yet I feel older than the earth. Three more butterflies. Who am I? I find I can no longer remember. Where am I? This place feels familiar yet I cannot remember coming here. Why am I here? I don’t care. All these questions makes my head ache and I realise how unimportant they are. More butterflies. Cyanide blue. I remember something I once read; butterflies are high born souls. I bring my hand up and reach up towards them. It feels strange and I hold it up to my eyes and stare at the dark shadow it makes against the bright sky. It feels almost ominous and irrational fears grip me, I let it drop back against the ground. Now I couldn’t lift it again even if I tried. I feel my body turning to stone, I will become an immobile statue. Ivy will cover my unseeing eyes and dry lips. I notice more and more of the blue butterflies, they flutter like dry leaves. The brutal gentleness of the piece being played on the old gramophone makes my cold heart beat faster. It is getting increasingly hard to keep my eyes open. The wind plays with the pages of the book beside me. The soft rustling of paper, the gentle piano, the butterflies and the achingly blue sky starts to blend together in my mind. They become pieces of a whole. Five more butterflies. Suddenly my entire field of vision seems covered by a multitude of blue butterflies. They are blocking out the sky and the trees. They are now all that exist. The beauty of their frantic fluttering makes my heart ache and I am mesmerised. My eyes widen and I try to look to the side but I can’t move my head. My metamorphosis to a statue is complete and I cease to think, cease to struggle. The world has disappeared and there remains nothing but me and the butterflies.

I am cold marble and at peace.