But She Never Ate The Food

Shelly was mad once, in a dark and lonely cave. It was two days and three nights, with a guide and two friends slowly dying in their sleep and Shelly. That’s where she saw them first. Strange and wonderful, even though their taxonomy is baffling. At first she only heard shaking waking sounds and squeaks but soon she gained an ear for the tongue. The more she understood them, the less she understood everything else.

Far away from the cave where her madness was conceived, she searched for a book. Her madness was hidden deep with all those other thing she wasn’t allowed to ponder. . Shelly found it again in the place between Jane Austin and Isaac Asimov in the very broad fiction section. It bubbled up from the thousand fathoms where she kept it and exited with a gasp. She tried to convince herself that it was just a butterfly but butterflies don’t have legs.

“Come back to me Shelly, you left me alone.”

Butterflies don’t ask for favors either. Butterflies don’t ask for anything. Shelly rather liked the days long ago, when she couldn’t discern insect from fairy. Those days were gone, gone with the days when bubble gum ice cream tasted good. For Shelly faeries were strictly an adult phenomena. Her burden of insanity was directly tied to the day she put away childish things and lost her friends.

This one was from the cave. It’s round face and bobbed black curling hair were unmistakable. It had hazel eyes although Shelly didn’t quite know how she knew that. Slowly, Shelly breathed and counted to three like the doctors told her to. Then she adds her own therapy, from her bag she withdraws a can and makes a quick puff of the critter. It falls dead.

Later a librarian will find it and see only a dead monarch. Shelly can’t help that, Shelly can only live her life.


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