Prologue
The butterfly is a representation of life. Power, structure, development, response...the wings respond to light. The light is a metaphor for knowledge. If the wings are not getting enough light, it will bend and twist and do whatever by any means necessary to get light...
Hissing, Michael stressfully rubbed the sides of his head in a soothing circular motion using his index and middle finger, in desperate attempt to relieve the ceaseless pain between his seemingly pulsating temples. This was his third migraine this week alone and he only hoped that this one wouldn't cause so much agony to the point of another blackout.
Or maybe he did. Past blackouts seemed to have triggered his RAM in the most outlandish way possible. Childhood memories that he wouldn't have typically remembered, came inundating back like a broken dam and would cause him to be homesick every once in a while.
Closing his comprehension notebook, he tossed the object to the side and laid back on his bed with one arm thrown over his eyes while the other hand rested palm down on his stomach. He closed his eyes.
The light is a metaphor for knowledge...power, structure, development, response...
The idiom seemed to swarm the darkness of his mind in the most taunting way possible, blazing into his brain like a branding iron to a steak, it penetrated his sanity. Mentally, he began to excessively underline those words until he was finally able to commemorate a distant and rather obscure memory of his.
Months ago, a cruel case of insomnia, had him on a (unplanned) early morning stroll, even though, rain had been coming down in torrents just the night before, leaving behind a grey sky and a rash number of sizable muddy puddles in the dips of the sidewalks. Unsure of the weather's forecast, Michael still threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before leaving his sleeping roommate behind as he quietly left his dorm. Stepping out into the winds of New York, He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes on the slippery concrete beneath his worn Nikes, listening intently to his surroundings—honking horns, distant conversations between all the other early morning starters who would sell their souls to be home and in bed right now. After all, this was New York—the city that never sleeps.
In any other small city, the streets right now would be considered busy. Michael had already seen the worst of New York streets and would boldly protest to such a claim with the affirmation of being an official citizen of the Big Apple for the past two years and a half. It was mandatory that he learned to adapt. The streets moved fast and the city had no problem with leaving behind anyone who couldn't catch up. Day and night came hand and hand here and it was an easy falling off the log to let your days past you by if you allowed them to.
Cutting the corner of a bodega, Michael came to a abrupt pause, catching the glimpse of a blindingly bright rust-colored butterfly that shuddered on the sidewalk, locked in a seemingly helpless struggle to free itself from it's now useless cocoon.
Frowning, with connected brows and narrowed eyes, Michael quickly glanced around before crouching down before the cocoon. A feeling of pity washed over him while he scrutinized the insect thoroughly. Finally, coming to a decision, he sighed before reaching into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out his stainless steel pocket knife. After flipping it open, carefully, he began to cut away at the cocoon to set the butterfly free.
In it's own rarity, Michael even cracked a small smile, as the insect shuddered free. However, his elfin of a smile didn't last for much longer, when, much time his dismay, the insect laid on the sidewalk and convulsed weakly for a moment before dying. Standing slowly, he couldn't find it in himself to look away from that newly departed flap.
It was so close...
Carefully, he flipped his knife shut before slipping it back into his pocket while shaking his head. A distant but nearing pattering noise of feet slapping against the wet ground caused him to look up. A woman who'd been checking her wrist watch as she jogged, a pair of black headphones over her ears that were plugged into the yellow and black Walkman clipped onto the hem of her black biker shorts. Her direction was headed right towards him, making it clear that she wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings. Michael had the idea to scram and get out of the way, but, instead, he glanced down at the lifeless insect that she was preparing to unintentionally step on before looking back at her.
"Wait—"
It was too late. She had already stepped on the insect and crashed into Michael.
"Shit." She grunts, stumbling back. Michael quickly grabs hold of her arms before she could plummet down on her rear. She glances down at the large hands that held a tight grasp around her biceps before looking up at the hooded stranger.
Her almond-shapes meeting his dark orbs, that easily resembled two cups of black coffee.
"I'm sorry, I..." Quickly, he retracted his hands and cleared his throat.
The organs of his sight briefly began to surf her features. A smooth brown diamond sculpted face plastered with various beauty marks, full oval shaped lips, dark inky irises and a button nose. He knew he'd never met this woman a day in his life, yet, he couldn't help but to feel familiarized with her mien. He had even found himself waiting for her to recognize him first so he could put a sure finger on where exactly he knew her from. Could it have been possible that they were mutuals who went to high school together but never met directly? Or maybe, could they have gone to the same church?
"No, no. Please." She objects, waving him off before pulling her headphones from her head, she wraps the cushioned headband around her neck, "I'm the klutz who wasn't paying attention. Sorry 'bout that, sir, have a nice rest of your day!"
"You too..." his voice was almost inaudible and he was positive that she hadn't heard him as she jogged around him, pulling her headphones back up to her ears while proceeding with her morning run.
That voice. He recognized that voice but couldn't put a finger on it's possessor. That honey-coated voice that obviously belonged to a New York native was something he'd recognized from one of his distant memories or possible dreams. Like greased lightning, he whipped around to steal a gaped stare of the woman who had already disappeared into the crowd of the busy streets. Michael checked his watch quickly, noting that it was already nearing five a.m.—that's when the busyness of the streets began to intensify and he most certainly didn't want the hassle of getting caught in the stampede.
Reluctantly, he walked the opposing direction, careful not to step on the insect, although, there was no doubt in his mind that with all the ongoing traffic of unknowing pedestrians, the insect would be trampled into smithereens.
Michael wended his way back to his dorm, a half an hour after his roommate, Johnathan, had just woken up and was currently rummaging through his drawers for clothes to throw on after just coming out of the shower. They were one of the lucky students to get one of the dorm rooms that included a personal bathroom. It might've been small-scale, but, Michael would take it over using the student accommodation showers any day.
Johnathan, on the other hand, was an absolute germaphobe and would rather, in his words, "kiss the ass of Lucifer" than to use the student accommodation showers, which, to Michael, seemed much more unsanitary. He majored in Biology and minored in English philosophies, as apposed to Michael who made the wise decision to put his knowledge and undying interest in Ancient Rome, Greece, Africa and China to good use by studying to become an cultural anthropologist.
"Yo, you just getting in?" Johnathan greeted, grinning ear to ear in two white towels—one wrapped around his waist and one thrown over his bare right shower with a blue toothbrush sticking from between his lips as he brushed while winking at Michael, "Booty call?"
Michael rolled his eyes, smiling softly as he made his way over to his bed and began removing his shoes, "Nothing like that and even if it was it wouldn't be none of yo' damn business..."
Sucking his teeth, Johnathan gives him a look and makes his way back to the bathroom to spit.
"Nothing like that..." he mocks, "Yeah, a'ight. I heard yo' ass tryna sneak out at three in the morning."
"I went on a walk, dumbass." Michael chuckled, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it to the foot of the bed, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt.
"Right...three in the morning."
"I'm serious, I had trouble sleeping so I went out for some air." He folds his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling fan. Silence fills the air, the only noise that occupied the room was the low humming of the ceiling fan before Johnathan spoke up,
"You good, man?"
Michael gulped and nodded as if he could see him.
"Yeah..." he spoke after a moments reflection, "It's just—I...you, uh...you remember those dreams I told you about? Those ones I keep having?"
"With the girl, right?"
"Yeah...those," he verbalized.
"Yeah, what about them?" He exited from the bathroom just as he was pulling on a long sleeved red shirt and sat on the foot of his own bed while pulling on his socks. He briefly glanced back at a quiet Michael, taking note of his reluctance to answer.
"Did something happen?" He spoke slowly.
"Can I ask you something?" Michael retracted, eyes still invested into the spinning wooden wings of the ceiling.
"I guess...?" Confusion written his expression as he switched to put on his adidas.
"Relax, it ain't nothing bad," Michael assured, "I know you study Biology and stuff. That includes insects and shit, right?"
"I mean, they're living organisms, right? So yeah." He shrugs, "What's bugs got to do with anything?"
"Earlier, I, uh...when I was walking, I mean. I saw this butterfly that was stuck in a cocoon and it was tryna get out, so, I used a switchblade to cut open the thing so it wouldn't be stuck anymore. It was alive for a little bit but then it just died..."
Johnathan became quiet as he tied his shoes with furrowed brows "Cool story and all, but, where's the question?"
Michael rolls his eyes, turning on his side to face his roommate, now laying on his elbow so his hand supported his head, "I mean, like, why did it die when I tried to help it?"
"Ohh, okay. I see. I actually think I read something similar last semester." Johnathan stood up and went to grab his coat. He explained as he slid on his jacket, "That's actually the worst thing you could've done. Butterflies are supposed to struggle so they can develop the muscles they need in order to actually fly. So, technically you robbed it of that struggle which made it too weak to live..."
Nodding slowly, he laid back and continued to stare up at the ceiling fan, tuning him out. In that very moment, he strictly had one thought on his mind; If only he had left things alone and allowed nature to take it's course, the butterfly would've still been alive. It shouldn't have been a big deal, Michael knew that, but, he couldn't shake this feelings of there possibly being an underlying, much more important lesson behind it all. Maybe even some form of symbolism.
But for what?
He stumbled across a weak insect and caught himself trying to change the outcome of it's situation, to ensure the insect would survive and thrive in the healthiest way possible. His attempted aid only killed the creature. If only he had let nature run it's course...
Then there was the woman. He felt he knew her, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He could feel it in her presence and in her voice. She came in a form of a butterfly in his dreams, yet, took up the anthropoid of the jogging woman.
Or maybe he was just reading too much between the lines.
