Ghost Whispers

O. Black and Senseless

                     "We delight in the beauty of the butterfly,
                      but rarely admit the changes it has gone
                            through to achieve that beauty"

                                                                  ~ Maya Angelou

Ghost Whispers © Ash K. 2014
O. Black and Senseless.

Myka's eyes shot wide open. Her brown orbs being controlled by a shimmer of madness. Rapidly, her chest rose and fell. It took Myka a while to take hold of reality and lock away her nightmares for another day. When she snapped out of her daze, she welcomed the silence. It caccooned her body, shielding it from harms means. However, even with the tranquil feeling surging through her veins, she was restless. Her gaze continued to stare at the plain white ceiling, waiting for the horrendous site of red to haunt her mind.

Myka had seen death, heard death and conversed with death, yet blood was still her weakness. The crimson substance was more than danger; it meant the end to Myka. An end, which would have drastic consequences.

There were always consequences.

She sighed, heavily. Closing her eyes once more, she painted herself a heaven. It would have a sky as blue as the ocean and as dazzling as broadway lights. The sun would shine warm rays while a calm breeze would ease everyone, and everything, into a peaceful trance. When you would walk through the orchid meadows, fingertips brushing against every colour ranging from the greens to the vibrant hues of yellow, blue and red, your eyes would catch a glimpse of an opening. Deers, rabbits, zebras, horses, as well as big cats - they would all lay under the willow tree as if it were normal to sit and talk, or just sit, with their predator and/or their prey.

Subconsciously, Myka felt the corners of her lips tug into a small smile.

And then she saw it, capturing the black and white beauty with her eyes. It fluttered gracefully towards each of the creatures, stopping to sit on a part of them. It sat on a deer's antlers; a rabbit's button tail; a zebra's eye; a horse's maine; and finally on a lion's mouth. They all glared at the butterfly. All but the lion who looked at it with indifference. They barked, in their own tongues, at the insect.

And then the lion snapped its mouth.

But the butterfly was already flying away, somewhat dejectedly.

It came closer in Myka's vision, closer until it felt like the butterfly was on her nose. She thought she saw it smile, or maybe she felt it. So she smiled as well.

Surprised, Myka woke up to the feeling of her nose being tickled. A blurred black and white covered her sight. As her eyes adjusted to reality, she saw it was a butterfly - the same butterfly from her dream - sitting on her nose while softly fluttering its wings. They both enjoyed the silence, the feeling of company and content.

"Hi," she whispered in hopes to not scare away her friend. Yet her attempt was futile, the black and white veined butterfly went up in smoke. It left nothing behind to make evident of its presence. Myka tried telling herself that she wasn't affected by it. However, she knew how wrong she was.

She would always be affected.

Having nothing in memory of a person, who matters more than the world itself, was devastating. It was as if you couldn't live, in fear that by every passing second you slowly forget them. The way they smelt - of classy Chanel - when ever they got too close, to the small habits - like the nail bitings and the hair flipping - they would hide whenever they were out.