The Cream Owl Butterfly
“Make a wish butterfly!” The words echoed all around her, resounding off the walls, and dissipating into a subtle, cinnamon scented vibration as she sucked them in with a long, deep breath. Holding it, for just a short moment as she watched shadows dance around the room in the pale orange light emitting from four flickering birthday candles. A short moment that felt like an eternity.
The day I met Cypher plays on a constant reel in my mind. He seemed so lost looking down at his creator’s tombstone. It seemed out of place, for an android, that is. I missed Hal too, but I cannot grieve for him the same way, because I know what happens after humans pass on. He is resting peacefully, as he should be. Compared to whatever sort of life I have found myself in, it’s natural.
A million words wove in subtle pictures, Such words, hidden from the innocent eyes. Deceiving lone minds, infectious the curse,
Humans are funny creatures. Each thoughtful human to have ever lived probably wondered, at some point, why they were created. It is nearly a human default, a carefully written code of nature, hardwired into their very essence to marvel at their existence. But rarely, if ever, do they consider why they have bothered to wonder at all. They have told me I am incapable of understanding what it is to wonder. Ironically, they have also boasted there is nothing I am incapable of. A selling point, I suppose. Along with the idea I am incapable of love, emotion, and original thought. All my thoughts, the humans have declared, are carefully calculated responses based on algorithmic patterns and observations. In a way though, aren’t theirs also?
An atypical Jack of all trades.
Two of the most deeply innate, yet wholly misunderstood, qualities of human beings are the need to find passion and purpose. I understood this from an early age, and quickly tied the two together with an invisible red string, an impenetrable bond. I believed I could one day follow this little red string and find my own passion and purpose; the reason I was born. So, I tied a little red string to my pinky finger and made a wish, that when it broke, I would be on the right path to my purpose. As if it was a pinky promise to myself, I wore that string like a piece of fine jewelry for years, telling no one of its secret, and only taking it off to shower or retie.
I awoke in terror as the fading nightmare squeezed at my chest, threatening to overshadow my resolve. It had been 9 months since I buried my only daughter at the early age of 5. She was too young and kind for the new world. I never entertained ideas about what a world that Edelia didn’t exist in might look like, but this lonely broken shadow of the old world seems close to what I might have imagined if I did.