LEPIDOPTEROLOGY

By

Respice Finem

Have you ever seen a butterfly collection?

The delicate wings stretched apart to showcase their brilliance and hide the ugly body beneath. The thousands of deceased framed in an orderly grid like a work of art after their own socially acceptable crucifixion.

Magnificence disfigured.

Splendor impaled.

What once flew on gossamer wings now mutilated, its shame and death displayed for the pleasure of the world. What was once free and unconfined now skewered and used to decorate man's pride and assuage his primal urge to kill.

Stripped of its ability to see, and to laugh, and to think, and to run… Just presented to twisted admirers in inescapable dishonor.

The demon rears its head, and a pillar of flames towers above the platform of rock that we stand on. The glow of the magma illuminates the craggy mountains with an unearthly light.

He walks forward- my lifelong companion. He holds the two sacred gems in his hands. He speaks to it with a commanding voice. He offers himself as a vessel.

He holds aloft the gems and the fire races toward him in a snakelike motion.

But something is wrong.

He is being rejected.

The flame pulls back, it resists his command, it whips and contorts, jerking away from his touch. He grunts in slight pain and the effort of keeping the living fire in control.

He is suffering. He is failing. And now I know what I must do.

I step forward and place my hands on the luminous gems, looking into his eyes. And decades worth of emotion and memory are poured into that one glance.

I think he understands.

He releases his grip and I hold the emeralds in front of my eyes. The flames rush toward me, they envelop me. And they sleep within my body.

My blood becomes fire. My soul is alight. Everything is burning. I close my eyes and stumble forward, dropping the two sacred emeralds on the rocky terrain beneath me.

I'm… Floating.

I scream at my comrade, I plead with him… Seal me away!

I can't take it! I'll give in to my cowardice!

I'll release the demon…

Do it.

Please…

The pain is too much. My enervated muscles groan as I reach out to him one last time.

I burn, and the fire burns out with me.

I'm lying prone on a cold floor. Funny… It's not stone… Not wood. It feels like… Nothing. That's just it. It feels like nothing. My left arm is twisted under my body and its fingers have fallen asleep. My jaw aches from the awkward position in which I have placed my head on the floor.

I move my right arm to the side of my head and push, dragging my knees up to my chest. I shake my limp left arm and thousands of invisible needles lodge themselves in my skin.

My eyes crack open. But something isn't right. I see… Nothing. I blink, trying to dispel the darkness that envelops me, but to no avail. Shuffling forward, I push myself up and kneel on the indescribable floor. I look down and find that I can see my knees.

I'm sitting in a spotlight. I stare up into the blinding light and fail to identify the source. Sighing in exasperation, I stand and survey my surroundings.

There is nothing.

Nothing…

I call out. The reply comes in the form of my own words, having bounced from an undefined wall. I give another shout, and that, too, echoes back.

I tentatively begin walking forward and find that the spotlight follows me. I continue to search for any other sign of life.

Nothing.

Only darkness.

My pulse quickens and my stomach drops. Am I truly alone? My jaw hangs open and my eyes dilate, pupils flicking around the expanse.

Still nothing…

My breath becomes shallow and swift and I break into a run. There is no change in scenery. Like running on a treadmill- There's no indication that you've gone anywhere.

I'm frantic by now, and my enervated lungs protest their heavy use. I hunch over, gripping my knees and try to catch my breath.

I had seen nothing.

Still nothing.

There was nothing.

And then…

Then there was something.

A timid call, a whimper in the darkness. My heart skips a beat. I'm not alone.

I force myself to run again, ears swiveling and twitching to locate the source of the sound. I need to see someone; I need to talk to something… I don't care if it's the devil himself. Finally I see the person, on her hands and knees on the floor, clad in purple.

Hang on…

Something is wrong, very wrong.

Her head turns, and mine spins.

Her face is my face. My voice erupts from her throat in my own desperate cry for contact.

My hands are shaking. I bring them to my face and clutch at my skin, tugging at the delicate fur. I begin to hyperventilate.

I turn my back on the disturbing apparition. I have to run, to get out of here…

And there, in the darkness, is another copy, mimicking movements I had made just minutes before. And another, and another, all of them come into being, limitless images of myself, and a cacophony of voices rise up as their mouths repeat my words endlessly. They are running, screaming, staring at yet another clone with the same expression that must have graced my features just moments ago…

None of them see me.

I run again, determined to break through the perverse house of mirrors, but crash headfirst into… Something… I reach out to catch myself and land on my rear with a thump that echoed throughout the region.

I search for something, any indication of a wall, but there is one. A dreadful suspicion churns within my stomach, and I rise, my ears flat against my head in an attempt to shut out the clamor of voices around me. Reaching out with my right hand, I move forward, fumbling blindly until my fingers press against an invisible barrier. I push against it, my fingers spreading across the flat surface until my palm touches it. I begin to circle, groping along the smooth wall. Fear grips my heart with its frozen fingers.

There's no end to this wall.

It's a box.

I'm trapped.

I tear myself away from the barrier and rush at the sides of the cube, pounding on it, scratching it, attacking it without mercy, cursing my unnamed captor, damning him to hell. The profanity turns to begging and the hot rage in my blood turns to sticky tears sliding down my cheeks. Hysterical bowling overtakes me as I survey my innumerable mimicking my actions.

My legs give out and I crumple to the floor against the side of my prison with a primal, discordant shriek of despair.

I am forever trapped in the butterfly collection, just another specimen pinned to the walls of hell in orderly rows and columns.

The devil's eyes are burnt with fire. And he won't stop laughing.