A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 23: Lost My Beloved

Between the flash and blur when I traverse through times, there's a limbo of sorts. It's gray and pixelated, and nothing makes sense, but I'm still in control of myself. It feels like it lasts for a few seconds or minutes, depending on how long it takes for me to make up my mind about where I want to go.

In that duration, this time, I take Sachelle out of my pocket, loosen his tassels, toss the obsidian in and tighten close the bag's opening.

"Sachelle, I didn't hear a word out of you in that realm. Are you okay?" I ask.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" He drawls.

"You complain about suffocation sometimes, and that could kill. I thought I'd check."

"Agh. If you must know, I didn't speak because I consider myself quite above other talking objects in that precious realm of yours. Are you satisfied now, princess?" He rasps in frustration.

"Suit yourself," I reply and return him back to my pocket.

And then, I picture Dad's friend — Hans and the sorrow in his grieving eyes.

***

What I notice first are the giant butterflies. They have black wings with pale yellow eye patterns.

I however, have obviously shrunk again. It seems like my ability has an Alice in Wonderland aspect to it. Is time-travel all about making me miniature and then stretching me back out? It's my fault, I suppose. I put myself through these quests, all in the same night that I find out I have the ability to do so. The ennui in my life must have lent me ten human's worth of adrenaline.

One of the large black butterflies flies down to the ground.

"Hi, my name is Specka! I don't think I've seen you around here before," she screeches.

Perfect, maybe Specka is Pollen's friend. This realm doesn't look like Grassland though.

"Hi Specka, I'm Jemma. Can you tell me where am I?"

"You're in a garden," she points out, simply.

Specka's voice is squeaky and feminine. It emits from her facial region somewhere, I try not to outright stare at her.

"Does this place have a name? Or is it just a garden?" I ask, trying to gauge my geographical orientation.

"It's just a garden," she repeats.

Well, that's a simple concept for a change. I'm just in a garden.

"I'm looking for a Bijou Maven," I tell her, almost absent-mindedly.

"I wouldn't know who that is, I'm new here! But I think my friends might know who you're talking about. Who's that, again?"

"The Bee-joo May-ven?" I enunciate for the speckled butterfly. The things I've had to do today, I mentally shake my head.

Specka flies back to her friends, hovering around what looks like an enormous rose bush, or more like, a forest of huge twigs and stems.

Moments later, she returns to inform me, "They say you should see the Queen Bee, she might be your best chance around this garden."

"Oh, thank you," I say, as if in a trance.

Specka's black eyes look at me questioningly. Since butterflies don't have eyelashes, she does not blink. Her dark gaze is constant and eerie.

"If you like, I can take you to the Queen Bee," she finally says.

I suddenly realize how exhausted I feel and quickly stifle a yawn. My body seems to be reeling under the consequences of time travel.

"That would be really kind of you. But before you take me to the Queen Bee, is there some place where I could rest. I would like a nap, right...about...now...so very much," I tell her, tiredly.

Specka considers this and then says, "I have just the place for you. Can you fly?"

I look down at my shoulders and hands. Nope, no wings. "I'm afraid I can't."

Specka draws closer and bends down even closer with her back towards me. Her dark wings fold in neatly as she says, "Hop on, I'm stronger than I look."

I gently climb her back, making sure my sneakers don't catch her wings. As soon as I'm holding onto her securely, we head up towards the monstrous rose bush.

Within seconds, Specka is lowering me down into the folds of a soft flower. She settles herself on another flower, neighbouring mine, and then drops down deeper into the flower to sip on its nectar.

After a while, she pauses and flies towards me only to drop some nectar, on the petal before me. It looks like watered-down honey.

"Have some, I'm sure it's good for you. It's like water, but sweeter."

I creep closer toward the drops of nectar and drink a handful. "Thank you, it is sweet!"

"You can sleep on the flower, the flowers don't mind us resting on them."

Obediently, I fold into petals, which are suitably cool and comfortable.

But before my eyes give in, a twinge of questioning strikes me as it often does, "Specka, have you ever lost someone in your life?"

Specka immediately stops sipping on the nectar and gravely remarks, "We lose friends, every week. We don't live very long, you see. I lost my beloved, this past week."

It suddenly makes sense to me. The butterflies lose their kind more often than humans. Their grief is recurrent.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I tell her with a renewed sense of sympathy.

"It's all right...Bono was wonderful, you know. He was smaller than me, he had orange eyes instead of yellow ones like mine. I thought he was the prettiest butterfly I had ever seen. I was so miserable after he died. I tried to find the darklight flies. I thought their poison would be my only comfort. But then I found other Speckled Wood butterflies and my friends helped me. They showed me wonderful gardens and I drank all the healing nectar. I know now...there is more to this life than sorrow. I decided to live my life well, for Bono's sake, because he would want me to be happy."

I listen to Specka's story with admiration. She knew what Hans felt like, except her account was definitely sadder. The lifespan of one week must really suck, even though I'm sure in butterfly terms, it must feel longer.

"What are the darklight flies? I don't think I've heard of them," I say, wondering about the anomaly in her story.

"The darklight flies mimic the Speckled Wood butterflies, in appearance. But they drink poisonous nectar. Their sting makes you imagine that which is not real. With their help, I could pretend Bono was still with me. My friends saved me before I could make that mistake."

I nod thoughtfully at her. The darklight flies essentially sounded like drug dealers from my realm. Handing out sanity in exchange for insanity, nothing consoling about that.

I stifle another yawn, the exhaustion was laying itself thick upon me, brick by brick.

"I'll let you rest, Jemma. I'll be around here, when you wake up. This garden is my home. We'll go see the Queen then."

I nod and smile at her. I cushion myself deeper into the petals and let myself go.