Butterfly Hunters

Void. Nothing. "Don't overtink this," I thought without my mind. Permeating me, the words, "Peace, perfect peace," Blackness.

Thoughts... more thoughts pervaded me. A force, like petroleum jelly, collided into me; like I was some sort of dam burst, or an accessible creek where run off from a storm rolled over children's carefully placed rocks and pebbles, in Easter school holidays, trapped guppies for their fish tanks.  

Rivers, Creeks, flowing, flowing, flowing as thoughts with energy. More black, more thinking. Hyper focus. No reaching out to touch. Nothing. There is no tongue to taste the air. No movement, I was static.

I thought, "Was I dead?" Were prayers being said? I can't hear anything.

Silence. The sensory deprapavation gave me a sense of boldness. Having no visceral meaning. Yeah, no anxiety! Then learned helplessness, I was stuck in some damn thoughts bouncing around in some damn "Never, Never"

I had heard of this, and they, somebody, whatever, or whoever called it "NO Mind," the part where consciousness rises above the human timeline. Where one deals with the clutter of thoughts and experiences from their incarnation, or incarnations from the Earth life, during death, or drug hullicinatoon, or advanced meditation in some form of universe of Higher Self... 

Perhaps I was dead? Or maybe I was lucid dreaming? I remember trying a sleep hypnosis on that, a thirty dollar bill popped into that night's dream; Australian currency has only five, ten, twenty, fifty, and a hundred dollar notes! The cue of the false note awoke me, and I was able to walk through my previous dream landscapes like swiping computer photos or changing pics on one's home screen.

Indigo. I held my bloodied son, squished face, swinging limbs, crying, covered in a white waxy substance. I felt joy and realised that it happened twenty-three years ago! I stood proud. My daughter in gown received her scroll, university degree some ten years ago! I felt loving seeing how much she had grown into a beautiful self sufficient young lady. Driving home in a storm, heavy water fogging my windscreen. Bang! I was scared, that lightning was close!

Bang! OUCH! A propellent like a bullet stung me on my leg! Bang! OUCH! Anothemoon my arm!

Suddenly, I felt a one-metre circumference of space encapusulating me. I reasoned, "Perhaps remembering helps? " Trying to get closer to home , I might have to find the exact last memory i have..." Then "... I might be able to stabilise that sensation! Make it permanent! Recognise what the hell I'm in! And get out of here. "

Friday! A lopsided fridge magnet appeared in my thoughts. I strained, "The magnet was crocked." A small vortex appeared. Panic. The vortex shrunk. "Keep remembering Rose! Visualise! Umm... Manifest! Give it energy!" The magnet had a blue butterfly. Yes, it had some of the plastic rolling on the edge. There was a bit of mildew around another magnet... " The vortex was stationary. Disappointed, I continued to prod my memory. The words "Butterfly Hunters" came through. The vortex started to spin. I thought how much I had to control my feelings living with a disorganised flatmate. It enlarged to a hole you could put your hand in. I saw the magnet adjust to upright. Nothing? Frustrated, "If I could only replay?" The scene replayed. "Oh my!" I reached out superimposed my spirit hand over my memory hand and mimic the visual action. Bang!!

Azure. A high cliff. Below me a bursting, whiteness of crashing sounds like the swelling, deep, turbulent ocean. I looked out my round moist bird eyes, "White soft clouds, to the left, white soft clouds to the right." If a feeling could be called "Jupiter, I would call feeling Jupiter., showing the sense of expansiveness of the solar system of heaven. Power was in my wings. I did not fly by flapping, I floated like a baby in the womb, sublime and peaceful.

Red. I awoke, my pillow comforted me. I wiggled my toes and fingers, "Still there." I breathed in a breath of ylang ylang diffused oil, still lingering in my room. I breathed out stress and tension as I felt my real body.

Morning sun shot my face. I was wide awake. Blinking. My phone pinged. Looking, an email notified me, "You have comments on Reedsy Prompts." 

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10. The nicotine patch was secure on my forearm covering a scar.

Coffee made. Outdoor chair sprawl with PJs absorbing cigarette smoke, who cares?

Glasses focused on Reedsy. Two sorts of general comments usually appear; either an editing response,, or a personal response.

The first comment,

Quintessential John

"This story seems incomplete? I was not sure if it were a parallel dimension?"

I remembered last week's prompt was to leave your story open ended, maybe being more specific would help the narrative?

I replied,

"I like to leave open ended stories since our second last prompt (what was I thinking second last prompt!)"

Thumbs up.

Thumbs up.

Thumbs up.

Another comment from a comradee handle, 

P8, 

"Hi Rose

Really liked how your character, Sydney flew like an eagle."

I paused, "Huh- I have never given a fictional name of Sydney. Maybe they had read someone else's story beforehand, got mixed up? And "Fly like an eagle...that does not make sense!"

The usual magpie interrupted me. I say, "He" because the nape on the back neck was pure white indicating male. The females have a smokey white. He was young, had little confidence with humans, he warbler. Not wanting to discourage him, I retrieved some mince meat from the fridge. As I shut the fridge door. I saw that magnet, that blue butterfly, those words, "Butterfly Hunters". 

The magnet was on its side, I turned it to upright. The feeling of deja vu came over me. My mind shocked and for a moment I scattered and jumping in panic. I focused on the Magpie. Take a few breaths Rose, this too shall pass. Meat bounced over grass roots and into niches of shadowed earth. The Magpie flapped his wings, devouring the first of the generous gift.

I had a headache. Washed my hands, splashed my face. Leaning on the cold stainless steel sink I tried to steady myself. Flash! Boom! White! I blinked repeadedly, my eyeballs spasmed and rolled backwards. I breathed made it to the chair

I grabbed another smoke, "it was only a panic attack and they calm me." I guzzled the luke warm coffee with two pain killers.

Settling, I read, was a bit hard, my concentration was jumping like my nerves. Another drag. "Butterfly Hunters!" I was confused...

Another comment lit up the bell. I focused hard.

Skye Pritchard

"Hi Rose

Loved your work.

I got mine done too."

In my life, there was plenty of work to be completed. Work meant customers. Customers meant pay. Pay meant paid living expenses plus extra to save. Sometimes, I would work overtime, when we were overloaded. I would say to others scorning me, "Well, the Elves and Pixies won't do it for us, you know!" I felt like the little red hen, growing the grain, milling the grain and then baking the bread by myself, except I shared the bread.

There before me was a written story, Butterfly Hunters" Hurredly. I skimmed the story to the end and then paused. Stroke was a weak family genetic health problem. Both my Uncles died of stroke. My father died from a heart attack, before that a debilitating stroke.

I had had a small stroke about ten years past. Had trouble remembering friends names, worse I could not remember my son's name for weeks. I would start with "R" names, Robert, Ross, Rodney, Rahul. After two weeks of nonsense, I remembered his name, "Mum, its Leon", he said compassionately touching my hand. Later, better still,, i would touch his hand and say smiling, "Leon David Reed".

I had been stressed this last week. Smoking too much, tossing in my sleep, high blood pressure and high Colestrol too. Yesterday, driving the car, with a leaking radiator hose and stuck in a traffic?

I don't remember writing the story nonetheless, I usually write and post my before bed. Put simply, I know I must have lost a little time- a small memory loss- probably minute stroke. In the near future, I'll remember writing this story.

Calendar

30 SEPTEMBER

Event

Dr Barlow

3pm.

--------

Reminder

Ring between

1.30 pm and 2.30 pm.

Now, I will read Skye's prompt submission.