The Butterfly Novels & Stories

Darryl asked her. "I don't know, I just feel like everytime I'm here, I feel complete. My heart feels at peace whenever I sit here, in this swing. Whenever I look at the well, it's like breathing life itself. I do nothing, but sit here. Just watching the birds in the sky, the butterfly in those roses. They're just beautiful." "You're just like her." Darryl regretted what he as soon as he said it. He promised Gonzaloe that he would never tell Patricia about he found out.

“You can run, but you cannot hide Butterfly.” Butterfly. She used to love that name, but no. She is not and would never be a butterfly—a weak, spineless creature that can so easily be hurt, one that he could catch in a net or a fancy glass, showing her the world outside but not letting her reach it. She would never be his butterfly because that way she would always be reminded how easily crushable she is, how easily she could be blown away as dust.

“What’s that?” I blink and then look down into my hands where a little blue butterfly sits, slowly moving her wings up and down, completely calm and incredibly pretty. “Holy shit,” Blythe whispers, stepping close to peer at it. “Where did you get that?” “Want to be a butterfly next?” I ask, a bit wicked, grinning up at him. He just flinches back, looking at me with horror.

“Mommy, look at the pretty butterfly.” “Oh, that’s an emerald swallowtail sweetie. Christopher, look at what our daughter has found.” I can hear her voice calling out to my father, but I am enthralled with the beautiful green wings of the delicate creature in front of me.

Something private and careful and very deep. "It means butterfly," he says. "In Italian." Isabella considers this with the gravity of a six year old processing important information. "Why do you have it on your back?" "Because it's the name of someone I love very much." He says it simply. No hesitation. Just the truth, plain and clean. Isabella's eyes go wide. "Wow." She reaches out and touches the letters with one small finger, tracing them the way I have traced them, and something about that parallel cracks something open in my chest. "It's really pretty. Is she pretty too? The person you love?"

But no answer comes back, only silence and the rustle of leaves. Confused, I scan the green expanse around me. “What butterfly?” I mutter, anxiety prickling beneath my skin. There isn’t one—at least, not yet. But then, as if summoned by my words, a shimmer appears in the air. Blue and silver light coalesces, swirling and folding itself into delicate wings. Suddenly, before me, a butterfly materializes, impossibly vivid, its colors gleaming like polished gemstones. It hovers a few feet away, its movements graceful and deliberate.

It was iridescent blue—almost glowing as it captivated me. As my gaze traveled to the center, the blue took on a darkening gloss. Peering closer, I counted the wings and realized that this butterfly had five. “That’s the Blue Morpho Aurora,” Xavier said from behind me. “It’s a butterfly from South America.” “The wings are breathtaking.” “The shiny color is due to the way the light travels through the wing scales and gives off a metallic sheen.” I glanced over my shoulder. “So, you’re really into insects?" “Yes.”

* According to the Oxford Advanced Learners Dictionary, butterflies are defined as a nectar-feeding insect with two pairs of large, typically brightly coloured wings that are covered with microscopic scales. The definition was standard across most modern day dictionaries. For Afrah however, butterflies could be defined as the ghostly entities which fluttered within the confines of her stomach whenever she looked up to find Adnan staring at her. During such an occurrence, she would clamp down on her spoon and refuse to stare at him.

Alone, sitting. Not that the fairy knew anything else. The time passed, until, on a hot spring day, a butterfly flew through the mountains and glaciers, and as if it were only there for this cause, it lands on the fairy's wrist. The fairy does not react, no movement stands there as it has done for a long time, staring at the blue and black wings of the butterfly. This one stays there for a few moments, spreading its wings as if it were going to stretch, then, suddenly closing it as if it had changed its mind, again flapping its wings and flying through the colossal pillars of ice, disappearing from the castle.

I tried setting it free, but I didn't expect what I saw next. The butterfly floated into the sky amongst the different bulbs of mystical lights that hung all around in the empty space. Then it flew into the heavy phosphorescence and grew as big as a magnified butterfly in a camera, covering a vast majority of the empty space. Its colours shone brighter and more beautiful than any rainbow I'd ever seen. It flew back to face me, then burst into little, pebbles of sparks, engulfing my whole being. At a point, I'd already accepted what I was seeing to be only just a dream, however, turning back to see my cousin, I began to contemplate.