Miss Butterfly
Tristan D'Agosta
A new butterfly tore out of its cocoon in a slow-motion frenzy. Once it had figured out the nature of three dimensions it bounced through the air and rested upon a marvelous twig.
"My," said the butterfly, "what fun it is to be a butterfly! I will write poetry."
Dreaming poetic glories, it dosed. When it awoke, blue twilight had stifled the day!
Then a big, beefy butterfly thudded onto a neighboring twig.
"My dear," he boomed, "it is mating season. You must mate. I would like to mate with you."
"No, that's okay," replied the butterfly, "I am going to write poetry!"
The big, beefy butterfly heaved into the air like a Saturn V.
"I will be the greatest poet in all the world!" smiled the butterfly; and saying so, she swirled to a higher branch.
"How softly speak the crickets!" she said. "I will write music."
Dreaming musicalities, conducting with antennae, she sweetly dozed in the sweetly night, the stars a thousand light years far.
When she awoke, the sun was dashing toward the zenith!
And then, a dainty frilly-collared buttered butterfly became a presence on her twig.
"Come, come!" the frilly-collar said. "It is nature's calling—let us be as one!"
"You silly boy," she said, giggling forth a rainbow, "I am going to write music!"
The frilly-collar fluttered up and urgently was gone.
"Oh, world of wonders!" she cutely sang. "Scrumptious everything! I will be the greatest musician ever known!" Up and up she twizzled, finally feeling homey on the highest branch of all. "What beauty," she observed: "the clouds and treetops, oceanic fields of buttercups... I will be a painter!"
Dreaming color swatches: so she dozed.
When she awoke, a third evening was upon her!
A striking figure sailed above the leaves and rested near Miss Butterfly. He spoke in whispers, never to disturb the twilight air: "My siren, my only love. Come with me. Let us live out our lives in praise and fulfillment of this world."
"Tee hee!" said Miss Butterfly, on wondrous runs and scales. "I am a painter!"
The striking figure sighed with all its body. It left—falling below, where the others were.
"What glories!" said Miss Butterfly. "I will paint the essence of the world!" And then she dozed; but that is all she said and ever did.
For the life of a butterfly is three days long, and no one told her.
Tristan grew up in a small fishing village in Maine. He spends most of his time on writing, reading, composing, playing the piano, astronomy, and computer programming. Some of his work will appear in upcoming issues of Bewildering Stories and Cause & Effect.