“Going to do it to all of us, are you?” he asked evenly, keeping his doubts out of his voice. He felt his four followers group around him, and he grew a little more confident.

          Adam’s gaze had bothered him a little; suddenly it scared him, for it blazed with a harsh burning light he’d never seen in another human being. It was a light of totally unafraid and fast-raging rightness. It emanated out of Adam’s eyes like a metal spear, stabbing Marvin in the heart, the brain, the stomach and the genitals.

          “No,” Adam said softly. “Not all of you – just you, Marvin. Just you.”

          Marvin felt his sphincter tighten with fear. He’d told – and been told – enough lies in his life to know the truth when he heard it for the first time – and it scared him. He turned, bumped into Nigel, pushed him out the way angrily, dropped the useless pistol into his bag, picked up the bag and charged across the field, looking for someone on whom to vent his anger. The others followed uncertainly.

          Mr Knott, who’d seen the stand-off, but had known with certainty that Adam could handle it, moved forward to head Marvin and his not-so-merry men off at the pass. Giving them a harmless task, like a stint of note-taking would defuse the situation for now.

          Back over the other side of the playing field, Adam turned and went back to his standing place by the Yellow Saxifrage. He had been writing a poem about its rock-breaking abilities. It was really a poem about the power of poetry. He had nearly finished. He would have finished if he hadn’t been interupted. He took his notebook out of his pocket and opened it onto the page he’d been writing on. He took his pencil out of his shirt pocket and held it ready to write the coda – the final line that would contain the logical conclusion to the rest of the poem.

          Something landed lightly on the poem.

          This time he didn’t jump; this time he stood perfectly still, looking in wonder at the Apatura iris as it raised and lowered its wings in readiness for its continued flight.

          Adam examined the nearly-stationary butterfly carefully. Delicate yet strong; fragile yet indestructible; carefree yet careful. It’s just like a poem, he thought.

          As he thought this thought, the Purple Emperor took to the air, flying up and up and up, higher than it had ever flown before, making its way to somewhere new.

          Adam watched it go. It had told him so much. It had also given him his last line. Very carefully, he wrote

                   Sometimes butterflies land on them

                                                     – then he closed his notebook and made his way across the field towards his teacher and his fellow students.

The Purple Butterfly

© R J Dent (2010)

iwww.rjdent.com