Monarch Butterflies

By Anika Herath-Redmond

Lepidopterophobia - fear of butterflies

“Why a church out of all places?” protested Edward, only just sitting to eat his lunch.

All I could do was nod, mouth filled with beef pie. Edward Myers, my ride or die. We’d practically known each other since birth. He angrily bit into his vegemite sandwich. He was in a mood.

There were 36 students sprinkled across the courtyard of Saint Mordred Church, some playing tag while others talked in hushed conversation. Teachers chased the bad, while others had plenty of fables, sharing their myths with the few who would listen. For Edward and me, this was the first time we weren’t kept under heavy surveillance by our teacher, Mr Kiley.

“Is Mr Kiley here?” 

“Yeah. Over there,” Edward blubbered out in intervals of chews.  

I looked to the sky; soot-like clouds plagued every inch. Even so, the bird song was still clear; it caused the peculiar sense of tension to rise. I did feel tense. I glimpsed at Edward. Sandwich in mouth and hands busy writing whatever it seemed fit to note. He was most likely recording notes for the report due by next Thursday. I couldn’t be bothered. I felt too gross to even try.

People with the fear of butterflies are extremely afraid of winged insects. Typically, they experience a disgusted response at the sight of these creatures.

Church bells rang, echoing throughout the block, now lost in a wave of fog. ‘A fog tsunami’ Edward named it. The teachers called for the students to line themselves along the walls of the Church entrance. They sorted us out by age, Edward and I standing side by side as we both were 14.

As they continued to count, I stared upwards once more. From my position, Saint Mordred Church loomed over us. Butterflies swarmed my stomach. I felt nauseous. Edward noticed.

“Everything okay, Colin?”

“… Yeah, I’m fine,” I faltered for a moment. "It’s probably just my lunch.” Seeing Edward concerned was touching. But the only problem with knowing someone so long, as he and I had, was that they could tell when you lie. 

They feel afraid, nauseous, or panicky, particularly at the sight of butterflies.

Walking into the Church was nothing exciting. More anticlimactic. We filed one by one down the centre. Strangers sat in different rows. I snickered. They all had such disappointed expressions at the sight of 36 delinquent children. We walked to the front rows. Thanks to this, our conversation would be limited.

The Church was cold, but not cold meaning temperature. Cold in appearance. The paint was old, chipping slightly, and the glass windows were tainted with dust. Each little window portrayed a small story, the stained glass pains placed to make figures. The window closest to me showed a young girl playing in a sunflower field. I didn’t look at it again. My uncalled-for anxiety started to heighten. I felt panicked.

Not now.

If my anxiety grew any more, I would cause a commotion. I didn’t need that, nor did anyone. 

Why am I like this?

Soon, after some silence, a female voice sang out from the balcony above. How did I miss it? A choir balcony laced the edges of the walls and wrapped its way all around the building. The female singing, at the centre, her voice was intoxicatingly beautiful. She almost sounded like a Siren.

The constant fluttering of winged creatures can cause fear that the insect might brush against their skin, giving the sensation of creeping. 

I was intrigued but for a very different reason.

I nudged Edward in the ribs. As discretely as I could, I pointed in her direction. Edward followed my gaze.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“She hasn’t blinked!" Edward wasn't following. "I swear, not once!"

Lepidopterophobics experience deep anxiety or panic at the sight of butterflies. They experience a host of symptoms like trying to flee, crying, shaking, and sweating.

Edward shrugged it off. I could sense eyes on me. Her eyes. How did she … I could feel my throat parched. The tension that enclosed me was suffocating. I looked towards Edward. No reaction. Why wasn’t he feeling it too? My thoughts began to flash through my mind at speeds so fast I was unable to comprehend.

“Colin, she is blinking. What are you – oh my, are you okay?"

I hadn’t realised, but I was gasping for air. Tears flowed down my cheeks. Edward. I could see through tears, Edward was looking for a way to leave. He got the okay from the teacher and helped me stand, and we both rushed out of view of everyone.

“What happened back there?” he asked.

“I-I-don’t … I don’t know,” I breathed. My coughing fit slowly faded. He sat us down on the steps, patting my back. I gasped for a little longer until my normal breathing came back. My face eventually returned to its Irish paleness. 

“Thanks …”

He gave his signature grin. “No biggy. But we should probably head back in, now you’re okay.” I could only muster a nod. We stood, and as Edward stepped up, I noticed an orange colour.

“Ed, I think you stepped on something.” I pointed at his foot. He moved, and I let out a small gasp. A Monarch Butterfly lay spread on the step. We shared a glance.

“Poor thing, didn’t mean to kill it …” Edward muttered.

“It’s alright. Butterflies don’t live long lives,” I replied, trying to make him feel better.

He nodded. “It’s still sad though … when innocent things die.” I stared at the butterfly.

Don’t say it.

“Not all beautiful things are innocent,” I mumbled. Edward was taken aback.

“Forget it, let’s go.” I took his arm, steering him away from the butterfly, and pushed the door open.

No one was inside.

A haunting ambience was still there, in the fading tone of the song, close to the enchantment of butterfly wings beating. The song, once full of personality, seemed sparse, waning almost like an old tree in the wind. 

In place of the singer, the choir, the strangers, and our classmates, were millions, upon millions, of Monarch Butterflies.

From Anika

“The original idea came from the haunting feeling of cathedrals and how butterflies are haunting in a way too. I wrote this story as part of an English assignment. Coincidentally, the original English assignment was to make it into a podcast. It was interesting how it added a different layer to the story. It’s like a virtual reality and adds depth to the writing.
“My advice for writers is to get the first draft out. Personally, I find I overthink the first draft. My advice is if you have an idea, you have the basics, so just go for it. Don’t think about editing it while you’re writing. Just get it out there and then come back to it. That’s what I did for this piece, and it definitely works – it’s a lot easier than trying to make everything perfect before you start writing.”