Recent Posts



No tags yet.

Fluttering Butterflies

C. Pierre Chardot

Four blank walls, nothing upon them, just the immensity of the colour white. Amentia was held prisoner in a place where she was free to do what she wanted. As she observed the emptiness of the room conveying the emptiness of her heart. An image appeared on the wall. A face. She fluttered her eyelashes in order to swift away the representation of the only person that had warmed her frozen heart, but his faced persisted and stayed on the wall. She hated him. She loved him.

There was a time where the butterflies were real, fluttering in the rippleless wind of Hyde park, but as Time grew jealous of her, these butterflies had turned into the monsters of her imagination. At first, she was diagnosed with a small depression. Small. She had always found it fascinating the language of doctors. Euphemism upon euphemism, the truth seemed to be something they hardly ever diagnosed. Depression had always been in her head, dictating her every move and thought. Yet, she had learned to live with him, there were certain inconveniences, but at least she was never alone. She considered herself an optimistic depressed. Until she met him.

This time he wasn’t the fruit of her imagination. When her favourite time of the day arrived, the moment when the sky becomes dark velvet overhead, sequined with stars like an everlasting patchwork. She would go on her walk. Walking appeased Depression. One night, she had met him. They exchanged glances, and from the dark emerald wonder of his eyes, she was caught under his charm. From now on, her daily routine was to meet him, they talked next to the splashing of the fountains for hours. It was the first time, that she ever connected with someone. Usually, she was just put to the side and she conversed with Depression. Alone. Yet, here she felt what human warmth was like, she wanted to get out of bed in the morning, she awaited the stars like an eagle for its prey.

This is when Depression no longer became her friend. She persisted to be happy and to make as much time for her new lover as possible, Depression got jealous. He distorted everything that anyone was telling her. She couldn’t think anymore. By the pattering of the fountains, and the loving murmurs of her beloved, Depression took manipulated her mind. Twisted everything he said, whispered murmurs “he doesn’t love you,” “who would love you,” “look at yourself,” “he will never be happy with you”. She desperately tried to avoid the murderous tune in her mind. But he never stopped. He would only stop when she would collapse.

The blank wall was now covered with his face, the piercing dark green eyes staring into her iris. Tears were pooling out like endless rain upon her delicate cheeks. Her golden eyes shimmered and glimmered in pain. Once again, she was lost, lost could not be the correct term. Hesitant. Her mind was twisting and turning in every direction. The doctors had told her, insisted that it was dangerous for her not to have the power of her consciousness. Yet, Amentia defied all social conventions, defied who to listen to and defied life itself. Letting her mind float, was her way of escaping reality and be reduced to nothing. Nothing. Because what is more exciting that incarnating nothing? She was surfing and conquering every wave of life, danger was out of her reach. Not anything was to stop her. The domination of her mind was to her the only way to grow a pair of wings and be free from the golden cage of life.

The butterflies came back. Run. All she could hear, run, starting off as a whisper, slowly slithering into her right ear getting louder, each time getting closer, until it was written in scarlet red on the flawless white walls. Amentia had one last chance, either she let her mind and eventually her body out of her control or she captured the butterflies and came back to reality. For a split second, she hesitated. But the wonders of floating in the air, drifting in the direction of the wind was so appealing. Depression was calling her, needed her. She was running, going up the staircase, all she could think about was running. Where to? She didn’t know. Run. Faster, her long white cloak was caressing the polished white floors and dusting the impeccable white furniture. Run. She rapidly arrived at the top of the building. The lights of the megalopolis blinding her gentle eyes. There he was, awaiting her, butterflies beating their delicate multi-coloured wings all around him. “come with me Amentia and you will be free”. She obeyed and started approaching the edge of the irreproachable building, filled up with reproachable people. She observed the big city lights stretching as far as the scattering of the stars above. The stars, if she left with Depression she would never be able to enjoy the beauty of the stars, to lay on the fresh green grass and waste her time counting them. She would never be able to see his green eyes, she would not feel, hear, touch anything again. She tried to resist him. Yelling from the top of her lungs “I don’t want to, leave me alone”. She had decided that she was the one to be in control of her thoughts and emotions, no one else. She would live to see another shooting star.

Suddenly, a butterfly went on top of the edge and started flying in the warm summer breeze of London, it was too late. Amentia followed the butterfly. She closed her delicate eyes, took a step over the edge and her wings set her free to another world where hopefully she would be in control of her mind.