Another one from the archives this week. This one harks back to our Orkney trip and our visit to the Tomb of the Eagles. The tomb itself (which houses no eagles, alive or dead) is rather dramatically sited and a fair walk from the visitor centre. As we were wandering back, minds filled with neolithic musings, the pictured butterfly fluttered over the path then followed us some way. The photo doesn’t do it any kind of justice. Its electric blue wings practically glowed in the sunlight.
John silently cursed his luck as he tiptoed through the tangle of reeds and grasses. Here he was with neither his net nor his proper camera. He hadn’t even picked up his notebook. After all, it had just been a wee stroll along the coast path. Something to clear his head.
He’d walked this route hundreds of times before. Familiarity had proven his enemy: it hadn’t occurred to him that there were new discoveries to be made on that well beaten path. Foolish. That was why he was here, after all. But his six-month expedition to the islands was drawing to an end and he hadn’t seen anything new in weeks. Then this happened.
Stealing closer to his quarry, John held his breath. Experience told him that the slightest drift in the air could mean the difference between discovering a new species and taking a photo of empty grass. No mistakes. Well, no more mistakes anyway. He’d only caught a glimpse of the beautiful creature. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, this would be the discovery of a lifetime. Perhaps something even greater.
It wasn’t hard to spot. The butterfly’s blue wings screamed for attention against the sea of greens where it rested. At first, he’d thought it merely an adonis blue. Nothing special. Barely worth a second look, really. But then it had moved and his whole world shifted.
The butterfly slowly shifted its wings. The white rims surrounding the shimmering blue brightened and tiny sparks rippled along its length. It beat them harder in response to some imperceptible air current. The sparks grew larger and zapped out to the nearest blades of grass leaving a speckle of black where they struck.
Moving at speeds that would lull a snail to sleep, John drew out his phone. He snapped a couple of photos at maximum zoom. Not great, but it was something at least. Taking all possible care, he closed in.
A step.
Another.
The hairs on his arms stood up as a prickle of static washed over his arms. The butterfly flapped lazily in the morning sunlight. Standing as close as he dared, John snapped another few photos and switched to video mode. The flapping intensified and the air fizzed with electricity. John’s heart hammered in his chest.
The butterfly took to the air like a snowflake that forgot how to fall. It drifted up. Bouncing with the turbulent air but moving, on average, toward John.
His heart was in his mouth by the time it had reached him. He hoped his phone was still recording. Couldn’t spare a glance to check. It was within arm’s reach now. John held out a trembling hand and felt the nip of tiny electric shocks as it toured the air above his hand.
The wind shifted suddenly. A gust that threw the wonderful creature toward his phone. Energy crackled all around the butterfly. The sparks surged.
Pop.
The butterfly vanished.
John couldn’t breathe. His heart thudded. Once. Twice. The air rippled and the butterfly reappeared on the other side of his phone.
“Tell me you got that,” he whispered to his device. He looked at the blank, black screen. A curl of smoke wafted from the charging port.
Brandon Lim 