Monarch Nymph and his Emergency Swarm

A very important butterfly hung downward and stiff on a special and very important twig at the Grand Capital Butterfly Reserve. Wood reserved just for him, this very important butterfly, very smart butterfly, very handsome butterfly. The MOST handsome, believe me. The BEST wings, morphos… the best damn antennas you or I have ever seen. 

This twig was his own personal abode in the shade. Monarch Nymph had always gotten what he wanted at the Grand Capital Reserve, and that was sure as hell not going to change now that he was in charge of the place. 

Monarch liked his twig because it allowed him plenty of room to spread his wings. Those very big, very special wings. Pale Orange, thin black veins like lightning, white dots all along the edges. Two very large and powerful black dots on the hindside. Monarch was very proud of these wings and, from the moment he emerged from his chrysalis, never dared flap them nor allowed them to incline. Being that he was such a successful and powerful butterfly, he’d never have to fly on his own anyway. 

“I’m a dry twig milkweed,” he’d click to his supporters during speeches. “I rest on dry twigs. Leaves upset my wings, especially when they’re wet! You know that my wings — these beautiful wings — can’t ever be disturbed, right morphos? I mean, have you TRIED sleeping among wet leaves? What about damp bark? This is what I’m talking about, morphos. We need toughness. Those moths at the Invertebrates Zoo, they’re laughing at us! You think those moths are settling for soaking shrubbery? You hear what they say…” At this point Monarch’s clicking becomes exaggerated and hysterical. “'those losers at Grand Capital are so afraid to leave their chrysalis! So wet all the time! Ahhh! They’re so stupid!’ They’re like ’They’re so stupid!’ They’re just laughing and laughing. We need toughness, morphos.” 

“I’m a permanent peacock!” He would go on. “We love the peacocks, don’t we, morphos. I can’t be bothered to fly.” He had named his latest larvae Peacock, the youngest of his 536 very beautiful offspring. 

The self-proclaimed permanent peacock dangled from his very special twig and thought back to when he was able to address the quivering swarm of his supporters. These wonderful butterflies really love me a lot, he thought, with a sigh. And they won’t let me click to them. The fake stimuli must end. Very unfair! 

This is what was on Monarch Nymph’s mind as he dangled from his very special twig amid the greatest crisis of his presidential tenure. A hive of killer hornets had arrived at the Grand Capital Sanctuary. Nobody knew how or why they had arrived, but they were wreaking havoc in a manner that many of the winged citizens at the sanctuary had never experienced. Many butterflies were dying, or, if they were lucky, merely deformed by the persistent stinging. It was destroying lives, families, and a sense of community and well-being.

Or, at least in Monarch’s mind, that’s what they CLAIMED. To Monarch, the whole thing was a hoax. He’d never seen one of these so called “killer hornets.” He’d play along — had too to protect his presidency, but deep down he was extraordinarily skeptical and dismissive.

He could not let all the unfairness go. Why can’t I click to my supporters? he thought. All the fake stimuli is designed to destroy my presidency and destroy all of you. Do not forget it!

He needed to act. That is what very important and tough Presidents do.

So very unfair that Monarch released one of his very special pheromones — the citrusy pheromone reserved for his most trusted advisors, Anise Swallowtail and Admiral White.

“Anise!” clicked Monarch when she finally arrived. “Admiral!”

“Yes, Mr. President,” they said at once, fluttering rapidly in air by their bosses very special twig.

Anise Swallowtail had big yellow wings that were patterned with thin lines of black; shades of blue and red permeated the bottom. She clicked with a drawn-out playfulness that below the surface was quite sinister. Her act was easy to see through, but Monarch kept her round because she was a born propagandist. He perceived her to be undyingly loyal.

Admiral White, on the other hand, had sea-shell wings of black, white, and gray. Anyone who met him or sensed his pheromones remembered him by his long, pointy antennae. Admiral was calculated and to the point. He was a master at greasing his boss’s skids. He knew when to click and when to stay quiet.

“It’s all fake stimuli — you know that Anise and Admiral? It’s all fake stimuli and they won’t leave me alone,” clicked Monarch in an angry rant. When he ranted, which was often, Monarch’s spread out wings tended to bounce up and down, his antennae twitching non-stop.

“Well obviously, I think that, you know” clicked Anise. “The stimuli, the narratives that I hear, if you will, coming from the elite insect class have always been deeply unfair.”

“They won’t let me click to my supporters! All because of these so called ‘murder hornets!’ It’s fake stimuli.” Monarch’s antennae were by now twirling, zigging, and zagging. “They always say i’m a big liar when it comes to the moths but now here comes these murder hornets and i’m the bad guy!”

“But, you know, believe that the Butterflies are with you and that they know the truth,” assured Anise.

“Admiral, it’s just so unfair.”

“Well, Mr. President. I think there’s a bigger problem here,” clicked Admiral in his low pitch.

“What’s that?”

“We have a very serious moth problem but we need to deal with the realities of this hornet situation first. Who knows, maybe this killer hornet thing is real, maybe it isn’t. I’m an open minded butterfly. We can’t let them completely change the way we fly and exist. We need to keep living. Our lives are not long. You know this — we all know this. At best we’ve got twenty days in this place. I say we leave things open, abandon the bullshit — excuse my language, Mr. President, abandon the avoidance measures, end the camouflaging, and open things up again. We can’t go on like this. If some butterflies have to die, so be it. I just refuse to allow this sanctuary to go on like this.”

“What do you think of that Anise? — I think Admiral makes a very excellent point.”

“If you like it then, you know, I like it, sir,” clicked Anise.

“Moreover,” continued Admiral. “I think you need to can Zebra Longwing.”

“They’ll never let me get away with that,” clicked Monarch.

“Zebra Longwing is old, he’s weak, and he does not agree with our agenda.”

“I wish I could disagree,” clicked Monarch. “But I cannot disagree.

But they’ll never let me get away with that, Admiral!”

“I think I should lead the Emergency Swarm,” said Admiral. “Anise should take over messaging and I will lead the swarm.”

“Anise already is in charge of messaging,” clicked Monarch.

“He means in terms of the Swarm,” interjected Anise. “We need, you know, to shake things up.”

Monarch was intrigued — his erect antennae gave it away. He knew he would be skewered if he ever made this kind of drastic change to the Emergency Combatting Killer Hornets Butterfly Swarm. He also knew that he’d had more than enough of their “fake stimuli” and of all the very unfair undermining by Zebra Longwing.

“I just don’t think I could ever get away with doing something as extreme as that,” clicked Monarch.

“You could,” clicked Admiral. “The butterfly population of the Grand Capital Reserve love you and are on your side.”

“That’s good to hear,” clicked Monarch, basking in this praise. “I mean, have you ever seen one of these murder hornets? I haven’t, Anise and Admiral. They’ll never let me click this publicly, but it’s all a hoax. A moth hoax. And I want my butterflies to know that I’m with them!”

“And they deserve to hear from you, and from people who love and care about them — not some geezer Linnaeus like Zebra.”

“Maybe we don’t even have to fire him, Mr. President,” clicked Anise. “Maybe we can keep him around, if you will, and even keep him in charge. He’s just going to have to understand how things are gonna go.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” clicked Monarch.

“Why don’t we just click with Zebra, now!” insisted Admiral. “He’s an agreeable insect. We can push him around and finally have it our way.”

“But they’ll skewer me.”

“Not if we do this right,” clicked Anise.

“I say we release a pheromone right now and get this all straight,” clicked Admiral.

“Alright,” clicked Monarch. “But they’re going to skewer me.”

“The true butterfly population at Grand Capital will do no such thing!”

Waiting no longer, Anise released her special kaleidoscope pheromone to attract Zebra toward the Presidential twig. This particular pheromone was savory and sour. It meant business. It was a chemical concerto, the song being no tolerance for disloyalty nor nonsense.

“You’ll have to click to him, though,” argued Admiral. “You are the President and he should respect you. It would be inappropriate for me to click too much”

“I can do that,” affirmed Monarch.

The president antennae sputtered as he dangled. He was an impatient butterfly, and especially did not like to wait for members of the Emergency Swarm like Zebra Longwing. They, Zebra, everyone, have taken away my ability to make decisions, he thought. The so called “Emergency Swarm” buy into all the fake stimuli. Yet deal with them I must. It’s not my fault. We must fix this. Good luck!

Zebra arrived mere moments later. Practicing appropriate “hornet avoidance” measures, he landed on a nearby branch and immediately camouflaged himself, revealing only the bare undersides of his wings so as to blend in with the bark.

Monarch remained on his twig evermore, and his two advisors stayed fluttering in the air.

“Hello again, Zebra,” clicked Monarch. “It’s great to see you. I see you are practicing hornet avoidance. We think that’s great. Now — I, personally, do not believe in camouflage is an effective measure. But — if you think it’s effective then good for you. That’s very good for you. Anyway, it’s great to see you and let’s get started.” 

“We understand your position, Mr. President” clicked Zebra Longwing, the handsome and popular and leading Hymenoptera expert of the Emergency Swarm. “But camouflage is a proven method to prevent death by bee sting.”

“Well, you never agree with me. But that’s alright, Zebra. It’s alright. We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“We agree that camouflage can be effective in some very specific cases,” clicked Anise. “But we — the President — also feel that it’s gone just a tad bit overboard, if you will. Let’s review the facts —

Monarch cut off his advisor and clicked, “The facts that Anise is talking about are really very simple. And — look — you may disagree — but it is a well known fact that moth migration causes ten times more death and suffering within the Butterfly sanctuary population than any killer hornet. You’d never sense it from the fake stimuli but it’s true. The fake stimuli plays up this hornet crisis and i’m the one who has to pay for it. My job is on the line.”

“I’ve not seen those figures,” clicked Zebra. “I’d need to see some research that corroborates that. This killer hornet thing is affecting every insect, Mr. President. Moths are not exempt. In fact, Moths are dying at a disproportionate rate —

“I’m not worried about moth death,” clicked Monarch. 

“I know you aren’t, Mr. President.”

“This sanctuary has catered to the needs of moths for too long — while, believe me, neglecting the butterflies.”

“I understand you feel that way, Mr. President, but I promise you that this is a real problem with real consequences. This does effect butterflies, as much as moths. The butterfly population at Grand Capital is really hurting and they are looking to you — to us — for leadership.” 

“We’re all open to suggestions, Zebra,” clicked Monarch. “I’m always open to suggestions.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. President. We all do. I’ve shared my suggestions with you, at least in terms of the Hymenoptera response. We need to be instituting widespread camouflage, Mr. President. Those who can mimic toxic species must do so. Those who can fly fast for a long period of time must do so if they see a hornet approaching —

“And we’re doing all that —

“That’s what I’ve suggested.”

“And we’re doing all that. We’re doing all that — as needed — on a tree by tree, flower by flower basis.”

“I hear you Mr. President, but it hasn’t been enough.” 

“Well he’s never gonna agree with me — you’re never gonna agree with me Zebra. But we all still love Zebra, don’t we morphos?” Monarch’s antennae were twitching all over the darn place. 

“We’ve absolutely taken your suggestions seriously and are implementing them as we can,” clicked Anise. “We’re just, you know, trying to combat the fake stimuli and we need your help.”

“If you’re not going to do what we need then we’re going to have a problem,” interjected Admiral, finally.

“I’m happy to help with that” clicked Zebra. 

“We — the President — need more help from you and the entire swarm,” continued Anise. The most important thing we can all be doing is getting the correct pheromones out there and, you know, combating the falsehoods.” 

“We’re happy to help with that,” repeated Zebra. “But health and safety is still very important.”

“Then maybe we are in agreement after all, Zebra,” clicked Monarch with a chuckle. “Isn’t that something.”

“To combat the fake stimuli,” clicked Anise. “We’re gonna start really, you know, pushing back. We need to talk about one thing and one thing only.”

“What’s that?” asked Zebra.

“Moths,” clicked Admiral. “If the elite butterflies and their fake stimuli continue to lie about us then we get to talk about, you know, moths.” 

“I can’t get behind that,” clicked Zebra.

This statement arouses a wild twitchiness in Monarch’s antennae.

“Well, Zebra — I’m sorry to hear that. I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m going to let you think about it — but not too long, we only have a very short period of time to get this messaging out. We have many many things to deal with and you can make it easier for me and all of us if you’d get on board and recognize the moth threat.”

“I can’t get behind that,” repeated Zebra. “I’m happy to help out but there is a line.”

“What is your line?” asked Admiral. 

“I’m not going to spread falsehoods about moths.”

Now Monarch’s antennae were flipping and flopping up and down in a clear rage. “Who said it was a falsehood, Zebra? This is very well researched and documented!”

“I have not seen such research nor documentation —

“Thank you for telling me that, I appreciate that,” clicked Monarch sarcastically.

“Mr. President, I do not believe — 

“Wait, wait,” clicked Monarch. “Let me finish. Let me finish. This is a very serious problem. You have thousands of moths moving in illegally —

“That’s false — that’s false and I don’t think, pardon me Mr. President, that is a positive type message to put out there.”

Monarch’s antennae were flickering so rapidly that they may very well have spun all the way off his head. “You know what — Honestly? I think you should let me run this sanctuary, you run your little bumble bee research — and if you did it well, we wouldn’t be having this hornet problem right now.”

“But —

“That’s enough.”

“But —”

“That’s enough. Admiral?”

“But —”

“Excuse me. That’s enough.” 

“Zebra,” clicked Admiral, releasing one of his stinkiest pheromones.

“Thank you.” 

“I’m not finished,” clicked Zebra.

“That’s alright — you’re dismissed,” clicked Monarch.

“Dismissed?”

“Yes — you’re dismissed. Fly home. We’ll click another time. I need to click to a butterfly who has a clue.” 

“Mr. President —

“Zebra?” clicked Anise. “Please respect the Presidents wishes and fly home.” 

“Alright,” clicked Zebra, who spread his stunning patterned wings and fluttered in the air to prepare for the short journey to his branch by the window, “I will not stay quiet. If I am asked, I will release the pheromones that I feel are responsible and appropriate.”

“Good for you,” clicked Monarch. “Get lost.”

“Good evening Mr. President.”

“Please get going,” clicked Admiral.

Zebra fluttered away; followed closely by Anise who assured he was actually leaving and not planning anything funny. 

Admiral knew not to click anything before his boss had a chance to express himself. He also knew that he had won, that Zebra was in ill-graces and that things were very well about to change with the Emergency Swarm.

Composing himself and his antennae, still dangling from his very special twig, Monarch finally had something to click a minute later. “That was very unfair and Zebra ought to be ashamed of himself. This is a massive hoax, they’re trying to screw me. I don’t care how many butterflies die. Even if this killer hornet thing is somehow real, I don’t care. I will not let it destroy me. Tomorrow morning we are lifting all hornet avoidance restrictions and getting this sanctuary moving again. We’re sending out a special pheromone. Anyone who disagrees with this order and wants to buy into the very fake killer hornet hoax is on their own.”

“I’m glad you’ve come around, Mr. President,” clicked Admiral, exuberantly.

By Presidential decree the winged citizens of the Grand Capital Butterfly Reserve were on their own to fend off the killer hornets. Under Monarch, this is how it was, is, and always would be — not that he nor his supporters ever dared see it that way.

A special pheromone was hardly necessary.