• Butterfly in Mourning

    By Mahogany Sunset


    A small child ran through fields of wheat, searching for something in the tall fields. Her long, blond pigtails bounced along behind her. Tears flooded down her cheeks.

    "Daddy?" the little girl called, her tiny voice barely reached her mother's ears, who was sitting in a wicker chair on the patio in front of the remote cottage by the shore that served as their home. The child called out again, searching for her father among the wheat fields behind the house. "Daddy? Daddy, please, come home!"

    The girl fell to her knees, her tears soaking her once pink dress, which was now covered by the dust and dirt of the road. Her sun-kissed hair fell in front of her face; a pigtail had come loose.

    Every sob wracked her body, every cry of pain shook the hair in her other pigtail loose. She wrapped herself into a ball, burying her head in her arms.

    Her mother stood on the very edge of the patio, leaning on the railing, looking frantically around for her daughter. Her hawk's gaze didn't find her child; she picked up her skirts and moved as swiftly as she could toward the edge of the fields.

    She heard tiny sobs coming from the middle of the field, but couldn't pinpoint exactly where they were coming from. And then the sobs stopped; they stopped so suddenly, she couldn't be sure if they had ever begun. The mother began to run as fast as she dared, for she feared she would run over her little child.

    The girl felt a weight on her shoulder. Flinching, she looked up. A face smiled down at her. "Hi, sweetheart. Did you miss me?"

    "You aren't real..." she whispered. "My father is dead."

    The girl's mother kept running. Her dress hindered her, but there was no point in stopping. Her legs grew tired, but she finally found her daughter.

    She was in a small clearing, empty of wheat. Her daughter was sitting down, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees, staring in wonder at a man who looked exactly like her daughter's late father. The girl's mother stopped dead in her tracks. Her breathing slowed to a quiet rustling in the air.

    The man kept looking down at the tiny girl. "Please, Butterfly. You must remember me. I just got home from the war."

    She pondered that for a moment, her dark eyes had a fire burning in them. "The war ended thirteen years ago," she said. "You died before I was born, left my mother heartbroken, and we had to move to this tiny piece of land."

    "Did it really end thirteen years ago? Such a long time gone..." he replied, putting his hand to the girls wet cheek.

    "Don't you dare touch her."

    Both of them looked at the Butterfly's mother. She was still clutching at her skirts, her hair was falling out of her French bun, and the laces on her dress were coming loose. "Carrin, it's such a pleasure for you to join us," the man said.

    "Come here, Butterfly," Carrin said, not taking her green eyes away from his deep blue ones. She gestured to her daughter, and the girl got up, dusted herself off, and backed away from the man and into her mother's arms. "What do you want with us?"

    "Why, I don't want anything," the man said. "Butterfly wanted me home."

    "Well, I don't," Carrin replied, her eyes icy.

    "Such hostility, Carrin! I thought I was your husband," he pleaded, taking a step closer.

    "You were. And what did I get from it? Nothing. You left me with a wounded heart, penniless, and with a daughter to take care of on my own. How would you feel if you were in my position?"

    "I would feel like I still loved you, and missed you, and I would hate myself for being drafted everyday."

    With those words still lingering in her ears, he leaned even closer, and kissed Carrin on the mouth. Butterfly, standing behind her mother, just stared, eyes as wide as they could possibly be.

    He stood back, and whispered softly, "See you in Heaven."

    His form started to shimmer, and he gained a look of transparency. A silver light flashed, and a tiny butterfly flitted around where he had been standing.

    Carrin sank to her knees, and her daughter sat in her lap, holding her small hand. She was too shocked to cry. All she said was, "He's really gone."