What is life if, full of care, we have no time to BLAST BUTTERFLIES WITH LIGHTNING. |
Shelby felt something land on her nose. She half-opened one eye to look. It was a butterfly. A yellow one. She sat up carefully, trying not to dislodge it. It flew off, fluttered around a bit, and returned to land back on her nose. Apparently it liked the taste of sunscreen. Go figure. The butterfly stared at her. She stared back. Impasse? Not quite. Shelby snapped it out of the air--no, it was gone. There. Flapping about aimlessly a few feet away. She leapt to her feet and jumped at it. Missed again. Her feet slid across the shingles. Leapt again--ohno. She skittered to a stop just before she fell off the roof. Arms pinwheeling wildly, she swayed back and forth until she could regain her balance. The butterfly hovered. Mockingly. “You want to play that game? Fine,” Shelby spat. “Don’t say I didn’t--you’re a butterfly, you actually can’t--oh forget it.” She blinked once. Twice. A flash of color coruscated across her irises. “Just die.” She backed up a few steps, swung her arms for a moment, then dove off the edge of the house. At the apex of her dive, she blasted the butterfly with all the power she could muster. She landed expertly, rolled to her feet, and turned to inspect her handiwork. The butterfly twirled through the air. Mockingly. Green and blue plasma twinkled along the edges of its wings. Shelby put her head in her hands. “Why can’t anything just work as planned?” she complained. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you just blasted a butterfly with plasma and just assumed that nothing would go wrong?” Eric drawled from behind her. Shelby swirled around, her eyes glinting gold. It was just Eric. Hands in his pockets. Looking smug. “All right, all right, stop gloating,” said Shelby, trying to disguise her surprise at his sudden appearance. “You have to admit that the St. Elmo’s fire is cool, though.” “Saint...Elmo’s?” “Oh? Looks like you’ve got some research to do this time.” She walked away grinning. |