Butterfly Effect

Warnings: mental illness, animal and child abuse, graphic gore

~

I examine the butterfly pinned on the table: stained glass window membranes, mushy eggplant guts and midnight seaweed skin. Its legs still writhe. My fingernails sear the edges of its wings, cuts them fresh off. Its legs still writhe. I pluck the antennas like eyelashes, squish the eyes like globs of ink-oil, and tear the body segments apart onto the rough-soft paper towel. Disseminated. Dead. Its legs are still. 

One day, I’ll do the same to you.

~

I am a mother. I live in a cottage. There are rolling hills of sweet grass, hair dried willow trees, and kids whose imaginations have run far away. Schizophrenics- that’s what the doctors call them, but I call them the Lost Boys. Perhaps, that makes me Peter Pan, to lead them through their fantasies, or Wendy to sing their delusions to sleep. 

I don’t know. I’m not familiar with fairytales. Can you tell me one? 

~

I asked you that on the morning you arrived on my doorstep. 

You were a pale faced child who took on the spirit of a butterfly- the same ink-oil eyes, delicate antenna lashes and a mosaic of a mind behind the flapping six-year old arms. You have your hair pulled in a tight blonde braid and you wear a sky blue dress as you prance about. Your lips flutter with teensy giggles. I want to catch them in the air. 

And pin them to the wall. 

~

Junonia almana. 

The peacock pansy, with fuzzy mustard wings and those cocoa hue owl eyes that watch me through the glass. It is framed on the basement drywall, in a new place, rearranged with the others for a new blank space- approximately 50 by 150 square inches in area. There are larger pins. Bolts. And rope. 

Just like your pretty little braids.

~

I comb your frayed locks, free from those little ginger roots. You gaze into the mirror, bite your nails and curl up in your seat so your knees pillow your chin. A cocoon. I tug on your longest lock, what you think is a silkworm shaving.  

“Don’t-” I say, “we’ll go to bed soon.” 

You water your eyes at me, lips in a red larvae pout.

I yank the hair from your head. The wailing takes a while to settle.

~

I sew your silk back on the next morning. Your glass eyes are beading with crystal, and your nose blushes with rosy sniffles as you wince at every prick of the needle. In, out, in, out- skin and blood and dandruff and tousles of rope thread hair. 

“It hurts,” your tears pool on your cheeks, “Can you stop, Miss?” 

“No,” My lips thin into a straight line. 

I can’t let the doctors know. 

~

The doctors flood into the cottage. They take the lost boys one by one, cultivating caterpillars into their nests. Some are bribed with leaves, others simply slink in, and all of them leave slimy paths behind. Good riddance. 

I only think of the white coat, white mask doctors, and their syringe slits of eyes that scan us with pinpoint precision. I clench your hand tight. 

I’ll never let them have you. 

~

We run down the dark stairway, slipper flats and baby bare feet tip-tap against the ashwood. We spill out into the basement- the clothes I scrimmied off you splayed on the tile floor. You shiver under my touch, as my cuticles indicate lines upon your back. 

I drag out my butterfly canopies from the closet. Layered blankets: monarchs, swallowtails, painted ladies, buckeyes, blue sulphurs all weaved together. 

Remember the fairytale you told me? What if I said I could make it come true?

~

“Miss, I-” 

“Hush.” 

I sew the quilts onto your back, stitching them to the skin with black thread. In, out, in, out. My needle is diligent, but my eyes are disorderly. They look at places they shouldn’t. They linger as I work. In, out, in, out- eggplant mush and seaweed skin and a set of prismatic wings, spread before me like Neverland. 

~

My butterfly.

Jackie Part 3

The Giant’s P.O.V.

Oh! I peered through the eye-spot, watching a girl with a certain interest, It’s her.

“Jackie.” The word played with my tongue. I decided I liked the name, much how I appreciate the light pink flowers and the blooming scents around me. Red hair was how I remembered her, a short flash of red down to her shoulders, followed by a white shirt and overalls that had a rough texture to them, as I scanned my way down. She was a bit taller than when I encountered her last, with bread crumbs freckling her already dotted cheeks. Bored, she was throwing the last of her bread crumbs into a fire, finished with her morning meal.

The eye spot seemed to open from the chimney, in a bird’s eye view, wonderfully convenient, for this was the first time it had opened upon the girl. Particularly, I’ve been interested in her for many years, after her incident. It was amazing how humans could still stand after such crisis and problems for being such a small race. I knew for sure it was her— after all, who else could have such a rosy red appearance?

In my stalking, I heard the odd sound of lost magic: a whimsical whimper of waterfalling energy. Blue rays of light drip dropped, from my fingertips into the cloudy floor which I rested on everyday. The magic flickered under the egg white of the clouds like underground lighting.

“Am I doing too much?” I asked, frightened, staring into the waves of angry flowers. I was being too selfish again, keeping my magic from their leaves. It was better to share with others.

Their scent overtook my senses, the thick vanilla coating my lips, branching out slowly as the vines flew out towards me. They hastily grew over my figure, restraining any further action. The once peaceful set of vines quickly buckled into me, harsh thorns piercing into my skin and bone. The sensation tickled, like tiny monsters. Pain whittled in all parts of my body.

Thump! I flopped over, power draining from my consciousness, clouds bouncing upward with my descent. With panic, I scoured my cloud, overgrown with stringy green vines, blushing blurbs of blooming and budding flowers, in a sprawling spiral pattern. All suctioning my power away, ready to get me.

“Sorry.” I let my magic flow out, tending to my garden.

The vines edged away, flowers fluttering back to their sprawling legged arrangement, colors vibrant against the blank puffy cloudscape. Everything was back to normal again as if nothing had ever happened. Except for the low whistles of the blue light aggressively pumping itself back into the flowers again. A warning. Grumpily, I took a patch of the overgrowth and pushed it in my mouth, slurping it down so the awful somewhat bittersweet taste couldn’t reach my tastebuds. Vines dangled, flowers fell at my distasteful chews, and I crossed my arms, my face swelling in anger.

-By watching the antics of humans I have seemed to adopt some traits.

Magic was what kept me alive, along with the plants in the jungle like meadow—but sometimes I took too much for myself. It had so much more capabilities than just simple nutrition, such as using the middle of a flower as a telescope to watch people go by.

“Please…” I put my hands together like a begging human , “Today is a day that people congregate around for the Storytelling of Jack, and I really want to see!” I let a part of my hair fall on my blue skinned complexion, sighing. The vines hadn’t even moved in response!

“Please?” My eyes bubbled up. They loosened—however slightly, in approval. That was a good answer for me!

Blue light coursed through my body, from the very ends of my frayed white hair to the pear shape of my hips, manifested in a pleasurable moan. My hands cascaded down the bump of my neck, energy satisfyingly quenching my dry throat after the short absence of magical waves. Glowing bright, my eyes transformed into a new, ambitious shade of blue.

Feeling a breeze of relief, I gently grabbed another flower, caressing its petals. It glowed with blue light, the light drawing blue lines upon them. My thumb brushed its yellow center, dashing it with a bit of magic. Slowly, the flower telescope opened up, this time from a flower’s perspective, low down on the beanstalk.

Her back faced me, letting me take in all the mystical bits of her springy red hair, small natural ringlets formed towards the bottom. As red as ever. For some reason the thought made me want to find out more. I love the color red, fiery, ambitious, frightful, fierce, passionate… the list goes on and on. Of course, I just had to be blue! I gazed down at my knees, dark blue in its pigment and my hair also a lighter, but equally blue shade.

From behind Jackie’s figure, I saw a tiny boy. Who was this? My interest rocketed to him, his stubborn nose and a mischievous smile, strings of brown emerging from his head. And what did he want from Jackie? He appeared to be holding her hand and was certainly out of breath, huffing and puffing.

Fortunately, Jackie seemed to be in her own world, nostrils widening, (We have all heard “eyes widening” before! Why not give it a change?) to smell the scent of vanilla, whirling in the air. She enjoyed my scent! Following her nose, she ended up staring into my eyes hypnotically, through the eyespot, ready to catch a fresh whiff.

I scrambled back, a flustered blush swaying on my cheeks. Magic, having its repercussions, blasted from my fingers to the flower I was using as a telescope. Boom! It exploded, yellow pollen and seeds blanketing my bosom, as chaotic vines grew up from there. In panic, I frantically tore out the crazy plants, trying to minimize the magic I recently reloaded myself with.

Magic does two things: it either reacts with magic quickly and easily, or reacts with normal items slowly and with hard spells. – a note taken from the Witch’s Handbook.

As I tore at the flowers, more and more grew in an endless cycle, the overwhelming scent that I used to love burning the insides of my nose. They continued growing, vines swiftly edging up my torso. If I didn’t do something quickly, the plants would encase me! I shuddered at that thought, gagging at the smell as a barricade of flowers bloomed above my chest.

“Stop!” I giggled, a single leaf tickling my belly button, “Stop it!” My giggles escalated to painful stomach hollers, “hWOoo… If you don’t stop?” I was getting drunk on the scent— that’s what I get, I guess, for making such a simple mistake. They climbed up further, into strands of my hair, and circling around my neck. Everything was turning foggy, pink blobs of flowers fluttering in my face like lethal butterflies, with delusions intoxicating my mind, painting it with ink.

“STOP!” A ragged yell pranced from the corners of my mouth.

BOOM! Magic roared from up above. BANG! BOOSH!

The flowers stopped growing, doused in an infinite amount of magic. Even the cloud seemed to be exhausted from my explosion. I was out of breath, holding onto everything I could manage to grasp, every part of my body pulsing with pain, my eyes hurting the most, now dulled of their once vibrant color.  Naughtily, I gave a tired smirk, thinking, It’s all okay! If I could just…

I blacked out.

Part 1

Part 2

-Spinette Spyder

Jackie- A Short Story

If can’t already guess by the title, this post will be about a story of mine.

Description:

A retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk!

Kicking rocks along the street, boots worn, and short ginger colored hair-this is the outward look of a girl with many secrets, most of which she doesn’t even know.

Jackie is a rough seventeen year old girl, hardened by the loss of her parents. Today is the ceremony of the Storytelling of Jack, a warrior who protected her quaint village from an aggressive giant. Every year the once poor orphaned boy is celebrated for his achievements. Jackie looks on to Jack for inspiration, and dreams to climb up the Beanstalk just like him. But she can’t. Or at least, not without some help.

Magic flowing to the tips of her fingers, huddled over a leather notebook, scrambling with a ink pen is the Giant, so far in the sky. She sits on her cloud, sighing as she nostalgically feels something she cannot remember. It’s fluid like soothing water, but passionately burning like fire at same time, a magic she can’t even begin to place. The memories are so palpable, yet so far away—a still emptiness.

Who will fill the void in her heart?

(I know, it’s corny)

Prologue: 

Giant’s POV

-Have you ever seen a giant climb down a beanstalk? No? Well, this is what I did that night… so long ago.

Found one.

The little girl scuttled away, racing through the fields, her feet making these soft taps in the dirt. The dust billowed upon my face, as I stifled a cough, hoping desperately that she did not hear me in the still sound of the night. Choo! I sniffled. Not apprehending my presence, the adolescent ran off into the village, wearing a mask of urgency and with a slight crook in her thick eyebrows displaying swallowed, compressed fear.

I crawled through the forest of trees, my giant monstrous body causing them to rattle. Leaves crunched under my hands as I hastily tried to maneuver myself, every move a hideous crash. A few paces later, I perked up, surveying a villa. It was small, quaint, with wind slipping through the cracks of sleeping huts. Then I saw her. A blast of red, then the lock of the door. Click!

Circling around the suburb, I restlessly settled myself down near the home the adolescent sneakily slid into. I looked through a window, eager for the story I was about to unravel. The girl’s eyes were wide as she flinched at each minuscule squeak. I folded my fingers together, tight, as my eager thoughts flipped to dread, waiting for what was to come next for the poor girl.

She trudged down the hall, as my curiosity went along with her, my vision darting towards the next window, inside a kitchen. The teenager was haphazardly throwing damaged pieces of silverware, opening wooden cupboards and loudly calling for someone. Seamlessly, her tension softened into concern which, of course, quickly fastened into worry.

-Humans have crazy emotions.

Her ragged breath blew in and out, fixing itself with the rhythm that the house was bouncing along with the thumps of my heart. Ta-dum, ta-dum, tad-dum. It was the only constant thing among the chaos of her crashing, clashing and screams.

“Mother!” The call was adamant.

Nothing.

Immediately, like lighting, the girl’s boots clunked up the steps. With my curiosity on full blast, I grabbed the top of the house, pulling my face closer, almost so the very tip of my nose touched the window. This one uncovered a bedroom and an older woman sleeping peacefully. I hope her daughter doesn’t disrupt her calm tranquil dreams. I swiped a quiet , calculating finger across the window, feeling the texture of smooth glass. It was new to me— I never had felt it before.

Then a red swish flew through the door. The girl, I thought, recalling when I saw the red haired teenager enter the hut. Her cheeks were red, her hair matted with sweat, as she climbed onto the bed. She whispered something, something I couldn’t hear from the outside, so without weighing the consequences, I pressed my ear against the wall. Warningly, the house wobbled, dirt and planks falling from the roof. The girl fell on her napping mother, somehow failing to wake her up, but didn’t even gaze in my direction. Thank goodness. My shoulders fell, as I blew a gust of air from my lips, fogging up the window.

A shrieking cry emanated from the room, an incredible, incoherent cry that shook me from my head to my toes. Tinglings of the shriek vibrated in my mind, as I wiped the fog off the window, slowly unclothing the scene, my eyes progressively dilating, my brows folded in disbelief. I gasped, my fingers fanning in front of my “o” of a mouth.

The mother’s chest was scarlet with blood, a knife glinting from the wound. The mother’s blanket was thrown to the floor, and with that a terrifying secret.

-Don’t ever ask me to describe “death” of those creatures.

I ran away. Up the Beanstalk, in the middle of the town. Giant goblets of water drooped along my long, narrow face, flicking themselves off my jaw, wetting my hair and chest. I clutched at my breasts, thankful that I still have mine. Remorsefully, I took one last look of the village. It was so beautiful, with eerie hidden horrors lurking inside, a world of stars never seen above the clouds. I was so sorry that I had to leave so soon.

A early rising lumberjack yakked at my appearance. He withdrew his axe,  quickening my departure.

 

So… that’s my story! If you want to check out more of it, the story is on Wattpad too. I hope you guys will like it!