The Tearsmith

White Butterfly

There's a mystery in each of us.

It's the only answer to who we are.

I always thought that Rigel was like the moon.

A black moon who kept his face hidden from everyone, shining in the darkness, eclipsing the stars.

But I was wrong.

Rigel was like the sun.

Limitless, burning, unapproachable.

He was blazing. Dazzling.

He scorched my mind bare, cast shadows inside of me that consumed all thought.

When I got home, his jacket was already there. I wished I could have said I didn't care, but that would have been a lie.

Things were different when he was there.

My eyes searched for him.

My heart fell.

I could get no peace, I couldn't stop thinking about him. The only way to avoid his penetrating eyes was to stay shut in my room all the time, until Anna and Norman got home.

I hid away from him, but the truth was that there was something that frightened me much more than the cutting cruelty of his gaze and his cold, volatile temperament. Something that stirred inside me, even when we were rooms apart.

But one afternoon, I decided to set aside my concerns and go down into the garden for a bit of sun.

Around here, February was pleasant, grey and cool. Our winters had never been too harsh. For people like me who were born and raised in South Alabama, it was not difficult to imagine seasons so mild, bare trees and rainy streets, white clouds at dawn and, already, the scent of spring.

I loved to feel the grass between my toes again.

I was studying in the dappled sunlight under the apricot tree, savouring a moment of peace.

Then, a sound caught my attention.

I got to my feet, intrigued. But my high hopes were dashed when I found out what was making the noise.

It was a hornet. One of its legs was stuck in the mud. When it tried to fly away its wings made a loud buzzing sound.

Despite my usual sympathy for the plight of animals in peril, I found myself staring at it in terror. I thought bees were really cute, with their stumpy legs and furry little bodies, but hornets had always quite frightened me.

I had got stung quite badly a few years previously. It had hurt for days, and I didn't want to relive that pain.

But he carried on thrashing about so uselessly and desperately that my sentimentality got the better of me. I approached cautiously, torn between fear and pity. Tensely, I tried to help him with a twig, but I jumped away with a sharp yelp when he started that furious buzzing again. I went back with my tail between my legs, distressed. I wanted to try to help him again.

'Don't sting me, please,' I begged as the twig snapped in the mud. 'Don't sting me...'

When I managed to free him, relief flooded through my chest. For a moment, I almost smiled.

Then he took flight.

And I blanched.

I threw the twig away and ran like mad. I hid my face in my hands, squealing in a shamefully childish way. I tripped over my own feet and fell over. I only avoided hitting the paved driveway as someone caught me at just the last moment.

'What...' I heard a voice behind me. 'Are you mad?'

I whirled around, astonished, gripping the hands that held me. He was staring at me, dumbfounded.