Where Butterflies Swim

Written for the Jefferson County Public Library teen writing contest- Summer 2022

4,933 words

Estimated reading time- 25 minutes

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy!

*****

Where Butterflies Swim

I needed to clear my head one day, so I took a walk. When I pulled up next to the water, it wasn’t empty. Something glinted like quicksilver. It was a fish.

 Alone.

And it was dying.

*****

    I couldn’t look at my brother’s body as they dragged him from the rocks. He had lain there, baking against bone-bleached stone for three days. The sea had turned his edges pale and ragged to match.

    I couldn’t look at the townsfolk who waded out in protective suits, fluorescent specks against the inky waves, to wring the toxic waters from his form.

    I couldn’t look at the people who slipped from the doors of their stilted, metal homes. All of them forming a macabre parade down the cobbled street as we marched him to the plaza.

And, if I couldn’t look at those, then I certainly couldn’t look at the flames that took him away. Hissing. Fighting to lick the air with their cracking tongues. Their sharp light rippled bright in the night. Dancing across the brassy roofs and pipes and guardrails that made up the city of Littleport. The pinprick town that used to smell of sunlight and salty ocean waves. Recently, it had only smelled like decay. The swarm of dead sealife bodies that appeared after we turned the waters dark made sure of that.

    Right now it smelled like smoke. A smell that lingered taunting and heavy in my nostrils even after it was done and my mother had a hand on my shoulder. Escorting me gently home. Our house wasn’t the lowest in that cluster, but fortunately, it was not the highest either. The people who lived high enough for skylights had always been a subject of envy, but I knew if I had to climb one more step to reach a home like that, I would fall. A crumpled heap on the sharp stairs. When I peeled off my shoes inside the metal-framed entry, something cracked. Widening and widening until there was a gaping hole in me. Stretched to its limits by the sight of my socks. One colored cool. The other warm. The way Emmett and I had worn them for years, always splitting the pairs between us.

Emmett, who would never walk through this doorway again. Who would never smile or laugh or heave dramatically into his chair after a long day. Those were memories now, locked forever in my past. Never to be experienced again.

Gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be here. Sitting with me and mom as we ate our supper. Breaking the silence with musings and jokes. Scratching miniature, rough blueprints into the white of his napkin. But that was gone, too, and there was nothing to break the quiet as I spooned globules of tough meat and too-ripe carrots into my mouth.

It wasn’t like there was anything to talk about anyhow. Words of comfort hung in the air between us as we ate, but they stayed inside. They were false and shallow, and we both knew that. So, when dinner was done, she let me collapse in on myself and run shaking to my bed, unable to do anything about the warm tears pricking in the corners of my vision. I let them fall loose and wild into my pillow until I had run out. There were only dry, painful hiccups to replace them.

Eventually, it became too stifling. Small as it was, my room was never too hot. Yet, right now, it was like a furnace. Maybe it was because my nose had become too stuffed to use. Or because the thick darkness that hung over the town had grown so much thicker recently. Whatever the reason, it was unbearable, and I had to push myself off the bed, wobbling over to throw open the crooked window.

It wasn’t just the cool air of night that washed over me. There was a sound as well. A distant, off-key warble. So beautifully and impossibly familiar it brought the tears flooding back.

*****

The horrendous sound floated through the little house. I had been called a generous person all my life, and even I wouldn’t call it singing. It was more akin to the dying gull-screech overhead. Stepping down the hall, the origin became clear. Emmett’s room. I fell into the door, opening it with a dramatized huff. The motion almost sent my cap falling from my head.

He was sitting folded over his work table. One hand moved, furious and trembling, making small marks on a paper I couldn’t quite see. His thin, Auburn hair was pulled in a bun. It must have been serious. He fell silent when I entered.

“Greetings,” I padded over to him and peered over his hunched shoulder, “How goes…this?” He gave a confused, blurry-eyed look before sighing,

“It goes poorly. No, scratch that. It doesn’t go at all.” His pencil had fallen from his hand, so I swiped It and sketched a smile in the page’s corner. He plucked it back when I started another.

“Well, it’s not going to any art museum, but it looks like it’s going somewhere.” He snorted and trailed graphite-stained fingers across the slapdash blueprint. I wasn’t sure what it was for, but it looked impressive if not well-drawn.

“I think it would fit in perfectly at the art museum. Most of the pictures there make around the same amount of sense.”

I pulled my hand to my chest in mock-offense, “I can’t believe you would insult the art museum like that.” I let my elbows rest on the table, “Anyways, how about instead of moping about it, you tell me what it is?” The way his gaze flickered to life told me I was in for a long conversation. Which was fine. I didn’t want to study for my test anyhow.

“It’s a purifier!” He tapped the design with his eraser, “Okay, so if I can just figure out a way to make it work, I think it can help clear the toxins from the water.” The toxins. We all should have seen them coming. They crawled in like a fungus after the introduction of Mystic, oil harvested from the remains of the great beasts that ruled the seas centuries ago. Alight with magic properties. It wasn’t until sea life started floating dead to the surface, and the corpses of infected animals began spattering the hillsides, that Mystic production was stopped. By then it was too late. The water could only kill.

I studied the picture with new regard. A scratchy teardrop with two wide fans spread out on either side. Almost like glassy butterfly wings. “What are those?” I gave them a tap. He rubbed his neck sheepishly,

“Well, they’re parts of the design. I added them based on some stuff I found by the stream, but they’re probably not important. I could scratch them, if-“

“No, don’t even think about it! They look cool, I promise.” A beat, “What did you see by the stream that looked like that?”

     He grinned, “Well, I needed to clear my head one day, so I took a walk. When I pulled up next to the water, it wasn’t empty. Something glinted like quicksilver. It was a fish. Alone. And it was dying.” My nose wrinkled. What a depressing thing to design from. “But, when I looked closer, it wasn’t alone. The little thing had built a nest of moss and leaves and trinkets. Small, sparkling objects the sea had stolen over the years. And, among all of that, there were creatures. Crabs and smaller fish. Things like that. They were alive. And that was when I looked even closer and realized the most amazing thing! The water surrounding the nest was fresh, Sunny! I don’t know how that fish did it, but it did.”

     There was a pause. A breath, “That got me thinking. Well, that was a butterflyfish. They only live for a couple of days, but that one had done so much. I guess it’s an inspiration. Just because its life is short doesn’t mean it’s worth nothing. Doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. Doesn’t mean it can’t make an impact on what’s around it. Doesn’t mean it can’t be wholly and vividly alive.” He chucked, “Sorry for the rant.”

“That’s a lot of doesn’ts,” I yawned.

By the time we had finished talking, sleep tugged on my eyes. I wiped at them in a futile attempt to chase the grogginess away. I still had to study. He must have realized that, too, because he uttered another, “Sorry,” and snatched his pencil from the work table. He tucked it into my cap, just by the ear, beside the black brim, and smiled softly, “There. That makes you look smart, so, objectively speaking, you’ll do lots better.” Then it was goodnight.

*****

I reached up to touch the pencil, still safe in my hat, as Emmett’s singing drifted through the open window. The night’s salty wind buffeted my hair as I leaned out, surveying the city below. Nothing. Not even the lamps were lit.

Was I losing my mind?

But then the warbling loudened, and there was no way it could be anything else.

Emmett!

He’s okay. He’s out there.

This was all a big mistake. I didn’t stop to pull on my shoes as I scrambled out of the house and down the bronze steps. I pinwheeled in the plaza, searching every street. Where was his voice coming from?

 There. Down the long road that led to the sea. I charged, stones rough against my bare feet. The unlit towers of homes climbing on either side of me were like sentries. Watching with dark windows. But the closer I got to the pier, the less they were visible. They shrunk to two, maybe three houses a stack, and sunk into the fog. Pale, rolling, and humid, it blanketed the world. By the time I reached the coast, it had swathed everything in cottony whisps. Even squinting it was hard to see more than a few feet.

But Emmett’s voice was still there. A guiding light.

Where are you? He sang louder in response, and that was when I realized. The voice was coming from the rocks. My eyes prickled picturing them. Where his body was found.

“Emmett?” I teased the word, creeping closer. The voice fell dead, “Emmett?” I sped up, stumbling. What did I do? Did I scare him off? “I’m sorry!” I choked, and as I did, they came into view. Jagged, midnight forms lurking in the mist. Putrid water lapping up their sides.

This is where it happened. No. I couldn’t think about that. Not now. I need to-

Eyes flickered in the dark. Glassy and bright. Around them, a form slunk from the haze. A willowy silhouette with hair piled in a high and matted bun. There was nothing to stop the sob that tore from me then. He was here. Right here.

He wasn’t gone.

Everything was going to be alright.

“Emmett…” I repeated around tears. He cocked his head. It was too dark to see his features clearly, but those glinting eyes were undeniably trained on me. He whispered a note, stretched thin as the fog. Then another. And another.

Then he keeled over sideways and plummeted lifelessly into the murk. I screamed, scrabbling forward. Throwing out my hand. Reaching desperately for where he had been. But he was gone.

Gone.

And the water was still and black.

*****

When I rose the next morning, it was hard to tell what was real.

My brother was dead.

That much was evident from the way his door hung wide open. Emmett never left it like that. I didn’t want to peer inside, but I couldn’t help it. My breath caught. The butterflyfish was in a box, pulled down from the work table. His project, the one he had spent months slaving over in the morning hours had been…moved. For a moment, hope lit inside me.

What if it was him?

It snuffed itself out a moment later.

He would never subject the butterflyfish to the floor. I turned away from the room before its contents could break me. Even if he was out there, he hadn’t been back here.

It had been a dream.

But what if… I shook my head as I padded down the steep stairs. Don’t hope.

But-

Stop.

Mother’s face was grim as I entered the dining room. She waved her fork at a haphazard stack of toast and motioned for me to sit.

“Mom…” I started once I had, “Did you..move the butterflyfish?” She tensed. I studied the table. Her voice was lifeless when she said,

“I had hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“Why?”

Nobody touches the butterflyfish. That was Emmett’s rule.

“It wasn’t going to help anyone- sitting unfinished like it was. I thought maybe, well, the house is in shambles, so perhaps a bit of money could-“ She picked at the tablecloth like she always did when she knew I wouldn’t like her words.

“You’re selling it?” I shoved the toast away, “That was his life’s work…” I never yelled. This was the closest I could bring myself. She knew that.

“There are other inventors. Maybe one of them could take the parts and make something else wonderful. It won’t have to go to waste. It would only be a small action, but I think it could make a lot of difference.” I pictured some greasy, goggled figure. Pulling Emmett’s love apart at its silver seams in the dark of a stuffy workshop.

 No.

I was out of my chair before I realized it. Backing towards the stairs.

“You can’t.” Tears strangled my words.

I fled.

*****

The stones were slick under my shoes. Pale sea spray crashed over them as I stood on the shoreline, looking out into the black.

It was a dream. The other night. Just a crazy dream.

So why am I back here?

“Emmett?” I called.

Please.

 In response, the mist sang. That same upbeat tune, butchered, the way he always hummed it at the workbench. As soft and fleeting as the fog. I scrambled to peer closer, but the moon was hidden behind thick clouds. Everything was dark. “They’re going to destroy it!” I cried, “The Butterflyfish. Mom’s selling it!” More garbled notes. Worse than I’d ever heard from him, “You have to come back! You can stop her. You can keep it safe!” I maneuvered until my feet had left the flatstones, and landed on the base of a jutting spire. I gripped the spindle for balance. Saltwater assaulted my face. Its toxin stung like needles. “Please! We need you back!”

I need-

And suddenly there he was. A Shadow. Seeping into existence, as if the fog had pulled him together out of bits and pieces of itself. His hair had fallen from its bun, a thin tangle around his shoulders. His once warm eyes were lifeless atop bags the color of week-old bruise. Graying skin was stretched thin over cheekbones, higher and sharper than I knew he had. Silently, one arm raised, fingers reaching for me. His singing rolled to a stop, replaced by a low wheeze.

“Sunny?”

“Come back. We’ll make everything alright again, I promise.”

“Please…”  But before I could do anything to respond, his strings snapped. His body collapsed in a limp tangle of bony limbs, and the dark ocean sucked him in again.

*****

“Aston Laurier was found dead this morning.” Through the early-day fog and my exhaustion, it was hard to pay attention to my mother’s words. But I caught that, and it chased the grogginess away.

“What?” Aston? Bulky, redhead Aston who worked the smith by the ports? No.

Her eyes were dark over the rim of her teacup,

“They found him near the rocks…” The cup lowered, unveiling her frown “Right where-“ She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. My throat was already starting to constrict. I had only spoken to Aston once, but he had a fascinating face and a personality welcoming enough to sit still for an hour so I could draw it.

“That’s awful,” I muttered at the tablecloth.

“You were out there last night, weren’t you?” I jolted. She knew. Should I try to deny it? No. She had enough going on. The least I could do was not add the worry of a lying daughter to her growing stack.

Had she heard the singing too?

“I thought I saw Emmett,” I admitted, voice stifling, “I…heard him.” Was I crying?

Her brow-furrow deepened,

 “Sunny.” The soft sympathy was like a knife. Slicing through the mask I was already struggling to hold in place. Sending dampness to my cheeks, “He’s-“

“I know that! But I also know what I saw. He’s out there. He-“ I remembered his gaunt hollowness. His bony edges. His plea. “He needs us.” My head fell on the tablecloth, shaking with stifled sobs. Her hand rested warm on my shoulder.

“This isn’t an easy time for any of us. And the fogs are full of deceit. I believe you saw something out there, but Emmett is…” She shuddered a breath, “Gone.”

“What if that’s not true?” I cried, pulling up. “What if he’s out there?”

“And would you looking for him involve visiting the sea rocks again?” Don’t lie. My silence was all the answer she needed, “It’s not safe out there. If they find another body on those stones and it’s yours I-“ She had tears of her own, now, “I can’t let that happen. So, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you going out after dark again.” I blinked at her in disbelief. First the butterfly fish. Now this.

Didn’t she care? Emmett was her son. She should love him. She should care.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t lose my temper. Not ever.

But I could feel it pushing towards the edge.

*****

Maybe mother didn’t care. But I did. Wind snapped at me, tearing at the loose ends of my hair. My clothing. Sending it fluttering like a whip in my face.

I’m coming, Emmett. Just hold on.

I’m not going to abandon you.

I’m bringing you home. Fog caressed me on either side, rolling thick and lazy. In my vision’s corner, the jutting stone shapes looked like figures. Reaching things flickered between them. Eyes shot open, bright against the dark. But, when I looked closer, there were only rocks. Eventually, the air became saturated with the stench of brine and decay. Over the craggy shoreline, gray waves frothed. Sending spray in a tumble across the stone. The cold felt almost warm in that moment, as the first notes of a broken lullaby drifted to me. Hollow and haunting. A guiding thread to where my brother was suffering. I pushed my way through the smoky wisps. My breath caught when I saw him- The ends of jagged bones straining against thin, gray skin. Veins a pulsing web of sickly blue. Wide eyes pulled so far into his face that I could almost see the sockets rimmed all the way around. More fractured notes found my ears. Each one like it was being pushed through sandpaper.

The singing stopped when he noticed me. Head jerked with a snap. Pupils only specks in the murky yellow eyes that used to be brown.

 “Sun-ny,” he croaked. Dark seawater spilled from between his lips.

“Emmett…” Come home. Come back, “What happened to you?” A hand, all sharp knobbles and spindles raised,

“Please.” The desperation in his shattered voice caused my throat to squeeze.

“Please what? What do you need?” I would do anything to bring you home. To fix you.

“…Y-ou.” This time, the damp on my cheeks was tears,

“I need you, too,” I whispered, “I need you to come back. Home. And we can walk by the streams and slide down the guardrails and try on funny socks and-“ it was hard to keep the words coming. They were being strangled by sobs as they passed. Hitched and low, “If we can fix you, we can make things the way they used to be.”

“Used…to-“ he tasted the words. Then he started forward on skeletal legs. His knee buckled. His foot slipped. He crumpled, gasping, to the top of the stone. I lurched forward.

No no no no.

His head wobbled up to meet my gaze. Dark blood oozed from where cheek had met stone,

“Help…” It was more than a plea. And it was all I needed to scramble the rest of the way to him, blinking back hot tears. My shoes slid across the slime of decaying algae. My knees and palms scraped hard against the rock. But eventually, I was there. My hand in his. Bony joints jutting into my skin.

“I have you. You’re going to be okay.” So close.

“O-kay…” He nodded on his frail neck. Then his second hand snapped up. It wrapped around my upper arm and the grip was like an octopus. Sticky and immovable.

He smiled at me.

And there were teeth in the smile.

I shrieked, wrenching my arm back. It was caught fast. His hold tightened until I could feel the mottled bruise forming under his fingers.

“Emmett!” But when he looked at me, all Emmett was gone from his eyes. Blinding yellow. Crazed. Nearly pupilless. Saliva dripped foamy between dagger teeth. His knobbled fingers begin to creep up my flesh. Pulling me closer. I snatched at the skeletal arm. The skin was slick with toxic water and it didn’t break when I dig my bitten fingernails into it. “What are you doing?” It was a desperate plea. The last tatters of a hope. A wish that would never come true.

This wasn’t Emmett.

He would never hurt me.

He was never going to come home.

I held in tears as I kicked. The thing didn’t loosen. It scrabbled across the crags in the rock, dragging me behind it. Towards the edge and the waters that churned with death. Closer. Closer. My fingers clutched desperately at the stone. Searching. But there was nothing. They came away torn and raw from the grit.

Help.

I tried to cry. Scream. Someone would hear. Someone would save me. They had to.

But no one had heard Aston.

No one had saved Emmett.

If they find another body on those stones and it’s yours I- Her words flickered in my mind as the creature slithered to the edge. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

The first of its fingertips brushed dark waves. I caught their stench in my nose. The smell that came from months of decay, squirming under the surface. Then it slipped into the black. I slid, half over the water. Its spray lashing my face. It burned where it touched. The hands crept farther up my arm, pulling me down until I had no choice but to look the beast in the eyes.

And it was so clear.

This had never been Emmett.

There was no kindness anywhere in its crazed face, and there never had been. Spittle flew between gnashing teeth. Rancid breath ravaged the inside of my nostrils. Spears of pain clawed up my arm where the thing touched me. I slid farther over the edge, tendrils of hair falling to brush the waves. Toes tried desperately to catch on stone. No good.

I was going to die.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Dark fuzz grew in the corners of my vision. Everything stung. I loosed a final, desperate cry, but the wind tore it away.

As the light started to flicker out, there was a voice. Hazy and familiar.

Just because life’s short doesn’t mean it’s worth nothing.

Emmett. I’m sorry, Emmett. It’s going to get me, just like it got you.

…Doesn’t mea-n..it’s worth nothing. His eyes had been tired when he said that. And he had reached up to tap the pencil behind his ear. So, with the last traces of consciousness, I did the same. The wood was smooth. Warm.

What could I do to make this worth it? The creature’s breathing was on me now. A long tongue slithered out.

My fingers locked around the pencil.

I could make sure I was the last victim.

It was all I had.

…Doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.

With my free arm, I tore it from the folds of my hat, where it had sat for so long.

Doesn’t mean it can’t make an impact on what’s around it.

The point raised. Trembling.

Doesn’t mean it can’t be wholly and vividly-

It plunged.

Alive.

There was a sickening, high scream as the sharp edge pieced soft and soaked flesh. It sucked and fizzed around the wound. The pencil buried deep where chin met neck. The thing wrenched its hand away from me, grasping at the hole.

“How dare you?” I panted, twisting it deeper. Dark fluid spurted, coating my fingers. “How dare you use his form for this.” It was beautiful.

My teeth grit.

It deserves its rest.

Blood bubbled up between the creature’s lips. It sputtered.

And I screamed. And the pencil snapped.

And the killer tumbled limply into the water, swallowed up for the last time. I watched for a moment, the ripples that spread from where it landed.

The world fell silent and still as I pulled myself back to the safety of the stones and allowed myself to collapse.

*****

It sat delicately in the water. Long, elegant wings spreading serene ripples around its quicksilver body. People clumped around it, straining against each other for the closest look. Foggy clouds of breath were puffed into the chilly, morning air. Mother’s hand fell on my shoulder from behind. When I looked up, she was smiling.

In the end, we made it work. Looking for a buyer, together. Someone who cared about the town and its people the same way Emmett had. Someone who loved the butterflyfish for what it was and what it could do instead of the pieces that held it together. That someone was up there now, her hair a fiery, frizzy tangle as she polished the last patches of soot away from its pristine hull. Kit was her name. Kit Laurier. Aston’s sister. When her gaze caught mine, she smiled and beckoned. The eyes of the onlookers bored into me as I moved to join her, one hand clamping the other arm. My gaze fell to my feet. One sock warm. The other cool.

It had been months since the attack, but the feel of the creature’s claw sometimes came rushing back. Like a ghost. Many of the townsfolk were calling it a siren. A rogue or defective one that had fled from its brethren on the distant sea stones.

I was just glad it was gone. Kit gave me a moment to breathe when I reached her. Then she began,

“Good morning everyone!” She chirped, “I’m sorry to drag you all out of bed so early, but, well, I’m sure we can all agree that it’s well worth it for what we’re about to-well- what we’re about to try to do! And, uhh, well,” She fidgeted with one of her suspender straps, “I feel the need to acknowledge that this wasn’t a solo effort. When I took on the project, someone had already done all of the heavy lifting for me, so, today I want to thank Emmett Fellowes for all his work on the blueprints and early modeling. This is his project, more than it is mine. He isn’t here to do the honors. But the people he loved are. So, I thought-“ And here she turned to me, smiling softly, “Would you like to do them for him?” My breath caught. Through the cold, everything felt warm. I looked out across the crowd, all of them watching wide-eyed and hopeful.

This is for them. As much as it is for you.

“I would love to.” So, she stepped back. And gingerly, I approached, kneeling beside the beautiful thing in the stream bed.

Moment of truth, Emmett. Let’s see how many people you can save.

I caressed the pearly surface. Clean and smooth.

Then I flipped the toggle. Everything was quiet. The town held its breath.

The butterfly hummed to life. The dark water that pooled around its base hummed with it, rippling and bubbling.

And the world exhaled. The invisible weight that had been dragging its shoulders to the ground swept away by the new, faint current. It would be days before a real change could be seen. So maybe it was only my eyes playing tricks on me when I saw the cool, clean, freshness lapping at the device’s sides. Before the surrounding dark swallowed it up.

It was a start.

The little thing had built a nest of moss and leaves and trinkets.

I reached up a final time and plucked the jagged remains of Emmett’s pencil away from my ear.

Small, sparkling objects the sea had stolen over the years.

And I let it rest. There, at the base of the butterflyfish. Where it could watch the fresh water bubble and flow and send life dripping bit by bit back into the hills.

Where it could watch us try and fail and succeed and learn to be better.

Where it could watch life be beautiful again.

I pulled back, eyes closed, letting a quiet smile tug at my mouth.

Goodbye, Emmett.

You were the most wholly and vividly alive.