Broken Butterflies | A Short Story [COMPLETE]

Broken Butterflies

Monarch butterflies were so delicate. Their wispy orange and black wings were as fine as the pages of Papa's water stained Bible and their legs were like thin threads of gold holding up their entire universe. I always wondered how such a minute body could carry them thousands of miles every migration. But Dellie never questioned things like I did. She just laughed and spun in circles as the little winged creatures surrounded her, enjoying their presence like she always did.

Even though we saw them every year, my constantly changing perspective made the phenomena more wonderful as time went on. Mama told me that I had grown like a weed since I turned nine, and pride swelled in my chest when I sided up against Dellie. She was two years my senior, yet my strawberry blond head nearly surpassed hers as we stood back to back. This year as I screeched with joy upon seeing a butterfly flutter past, I hoped that, maybe, those extra three inches would make them seem even more beautiful than I remembered when I was eight.

"Dellie!" I screamed with all my throat could handle. "Dellie, the butterflies are here!"

I had no idea where my older sister was but I yelled anyway, knowing that sound traveled through the walls of our old, ranch-style home. Papa sometimes ranted about how the contractors seemed to have "forgotten the insulation" but I really didn't mind too much.

"Dellie!" I belted once more upon receiving no response. I slid around the corner of the dining room and searched the family sitting area. Still no luck.

I huffed in exasperation, confusion clouding my excitement. "Del-"

But before I could finish screaming her name again, the back patio was thrown open and crashed against the perpendicular wall. "They're here!" Dellie squealed as she sprinted in.

Before I could ask where in the world she had been, she snatched up my hand and left as quickly as she had entered. My head snapped back as I was dragged past the threshold of the french doors, causing a sharp dizzy spell to throb in the back of my head. I had to take a moment to regain my composure before being able to properly run alongside Dellie.

As I sped up to keep pace with her, I took in the sweet September day. I had grown up in Alabama, so I had never really known anything different than the muggy, suffocating heat that lasted from May to October. The wet air smelled of soft pine as it whipped past my face, and the long, yellowed grass scratched the tops of my bare calves. They were most likely going to leave little red streaks that I would discover that night in the bath like they always did but I didn't care; the butterflies were here.

Finally, we came up upon Creek Ridge, the part of Papa's land that Dellie and I spent most of our time at. The expansive field held a gash that cut down into the earth being the length of a few pickup trucks. Rocks and rich, black soil made shallow walls around a trickling stream at the bottom of the tiny canyon. I had no idea when Creek Ridge was first discovered by our family, but as far back as I could think, it had always been there as our playful yet tranquil hideout.

We stopped and Dellie's breath was sharp and deep from our run, but she ignored it as she smiled up into the bright blue sky. I followed her gaze and my lungs seemed to stop working as the air became trapped in my chest.

A single orange and black dot fluttered our way. Pent up anticipation buzzed in the air between Dellie and me as it bobbed closer and closer to us.

We waited as patiently as young girls could manage and when it approached us curiously, I held out my hand slowly with my finger spread out. It inspected me for a moment, flying around my arm hesitantly. But the prospect of rest must have been too appealing to the insect and it eventually landed on my ring finger. I barely felt anything until it crawled up my hand a few steps, leaving only tingles where its legs once were.