Butterflies

Rodrick studied the butterflies as they danced in the wind, glowing red eyes able to track their movements with precision. Butterflies had always been one of his interests—a primary motivator that pushed him into his career as an entomologist. The field had seemed perfect for someone with such an introverted personality. He had been one of a graduating class of twenty-seven, back in his college days, and had since enjoyed the seclusion that his profession afforded him.

Rodrick had never intended to play any significant part in history, happy to be considered “that odd man in the corner who plays with bugs” as long as it directed any attention away from him. How he had ended up in the country’s capital of all places, sweating under the intense lighting in his tight-fitting suit, was up to anybody’s guess. He moved to shuffle his papers on the podium standing in front of him, only to remember he had been handed a tablet earlier instead.

Rodrick was old-fashioned. Unlike the rest of the world, which had been digitized in recent centuries, he preferred to use paper. It usually cost him a pretty penny for paper sheets since most stores didn’t sell them anymore, but he preferred the smell and always found it satisfying to end the day by finally clearing his office desk of paperwork. The swipe of a notification never seemed to feel as good.

News reporters chatted amongst themselves, seated in rows of metal fold-up chairs just beyond the outdoor stage's apron. Further still were crowds of people almost as far as the eye could see, blocking whatever grass had been visible earlier. With different head movements, sometimes the embedded lens in the reporters’ foreheads would glint in the intense overhead lighting and catch Rodrick’s attention. The entomologist chewed his lip and attempted to steady his breathing. He avoided watching the large floating screens in the distance that mirrored his every movement and maximized every sweaty pore on his face.

Individuals dressed in black suits and ties crowded on either side of him and guarded either side of the stage. With their black sunglasses and black, circular metal implants in their temples, the State guards looked exactly like they did in the movies. If Rodrick weren’t such an awkward man, maybe he would have attempted to ask them if aliens were actually real. He wasn’t, however, and so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the creatures fluttering about above him and the guards.

The butterflies that seemingly nobody else noticed were vividly colored. They floated so carelessly in the air, accepting every gust of wind that changed their course. In recent years, they had been popping up all over the country, mostly unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for butterfly breeds to appear and disappear—their genome was one of the most unstable in the entire biological kingdom. Even then, butterflies usually had a set definition of what made them butterflies—a diurnal, six-or-more-limbed insect that generally had a slender body, knobbed antennae, and broad colored wings.

A year ago, Rodrick had arrived at his work office in the early morning. He was allowed to work on his own schedule, thus often turned up early just so he could sit on the bench in the parking lot and observe nature. His go-to breakfast of coffee and a sugary, pink-glazed donut sat on the bench next to him—this was how he had discovered that these butterflies, in particular, had an affinity for refined sugars. A bright blue and orange butterfly, attracted by the donut's color and sweet scent, descended from above and fluttered gently into the scientist’s hand.

Unlike a standard butterfly, he had been able to support its unusually weightless form—the thing was composed entirely of biological material, no metal or mechanical parts whatsoever… and alive.

Rodrick’s attention was drawn to the left, where the stage’s stairs were when the crowd's chatter suddenly hushed. In her black knee-length dress, shiny black high heels, dark shades, the Chief of State strolled into the room. Her strides toward the scientist were all of equal length, calculated and precise. The Chief of State typically wore her hair in an afro, but today had it braided back. The lack of dark coils around her temples revealed and almost emphasized the dark metal circle in her temple that otherwise was usually covered by hair.

Chief Flowers’ irises didn’t glow like Rodrick’s. She had natural, human-like brown eyes and was more than likely a more highly advanced model than Rodrick was. The entomologist wasn’t one for trends and couldn’t remember the last time he’d even been to the doctor, but he figured that running a country meant doing both of those things. Another good reason he’d always stayed away from something like this.

The Chief had what could be kindly referred to as a “resting serious face.” It wasn’t that she never smiled, but the woman simply had a powerfully stoic aura about her. Rodrick typically stayed away from authority figures in general, preferring to keep his clothing free of sweat stains. Seeing her on television was enough to make him anxious, but it was nothing compared to seeing her in real life.

“Allontae Flowers,” the woman introduced herself as if Rodrick weren’t familiar with one of the most influential people in the country. She held her hand out firmly, tipping her head to the side and giving Rodrick a polite smile. The way she tilted her head made it so that her shaded glasses fell down the bridge of her nose a few inches, allowing Rodrick to see her eyes directly. The two of them held eye contact as Rodrick shook her hand.

Rodrick stumbled over his own name but managed to blurt it out without an ounce of grace to his voice.

“Rodrick Roach. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Rodrick’s voice cracked near the end of his sentence.

“I assume you’ve had time to prepare for the address?”

“I-I’ve looked over it a couple of times, yeah. I’m still- I just- Are you sure that I’m the right man for this?” Rodrick knew it was too late to back out now, but his tone was nonetheless borderline pleading. “I’m just ‘the bug guy.’ I mean- It was barely a discovery. One moment I was drinking my morning coffee, and the next—”

The man’s voice fizzled out into an anxious whimper when Flowers firmly grasped his shoulder. She lifted a hand and removed her shades, boring into his luminescent red eyes with her own.

“I don’t make mistakes, Rodrick.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rodrick squeaked. His wide-eyed demeanor prompted an amused, toothy grin from the Chief before she relinquished her hold.

The buzz of the microphone turning on signaled that it was just about time to begin the address. It would be seen by millions of people beyond the vast stretch of citizens in front of him. These were Rodrick’s last few moments of being unknown. After this, he would never be able to go back to being the quiet insect researcher left to his own devices. He would be known. More than anything else, that was terrifying.