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twistdfateangelNote: This story is not one of my better ones. It was one I wrote to be sold but it was rejected for being unbelievable. I'm posting it anyway, because it's one of the few pieces I've finished.
Day 0--
I want to say, right off the bat, that this was my idea. Oh, sure, Mom and Dad wanted to test it. But it was my idea to be the test subject. I have in no way been coerced or tricked. I wanted to be the first, so that no one could say it was poisonous or addictive. Maybe then they'll give them the funding.
My parents named me “Butterfly”. In High School, that turned into “Butterface” from my classmates. My parents, convinced it would damage my psyche, got me a tutor and kept me home. I don't care if I'm ugly. I care if people notice. So, I'm finishing my High School Diploma at home and plan on getting a job where no-one will ever have to notice. Maybe I'll sell stuff online or write books about parrots. I like parrots. They don't care if I'm Quasimodo with breasts, as long as I let them out in the greenhouse on Saturdays and tell them what pretty birds they are.
Dad brought me a new one from Brazil last year. He'd been down there talking with Maritoni, who's some kind of wise woman for a tribe down there. She'd told him about some ritual they have for the dying. There's a frog in their little area of the rainforest, a glistening purple and teal thing, the size of a half-dollar. The young men of the tribe go out and collect a few and the wise woman blesses them and slaughters them, catching the blood in a bowl made from a seed pod and mixing it with honey and milk. She blesses it again and feeds it to the person who's dying. Supposedly it gives them just enough time to say goodbye, but they're transformed by it. Dad saw it for himself. One of the girls, Lumatu, a beautiful kid my age with AIDS and the flu, drank it and came out of her hut looking like a goddess. She kissed her parents, her four-year-old son and her husband. Then, she went back into the hut and Maritoni hung a long red cloth over the door and went back in. When she came back out, they set fire to the place and had a big feast, because “Lumatu had joined the gods”. Dad couldn't get over it. He had known Lumatu from previous visits and she'd always been gorgeous, curvaceous and sturdy, with huge black eyes and skin the color of coffee. But, after the drink, she'd become luminous. Any imperfections were made perfect and her voice, always a gravelly razorblade of a voice, was a mellow purr. So along with the parrot, Dad brought home a tank of six of these little purple-and-teal frogs.
They call them the Alang. Dad named them the “hyla psychae”, for the lover of Eros. He's got six breeding pairs now, because he thinks they may have the secret to eternal youth. He's raised a bunch more to be used in distilling whatever it is those frogs have in them. We've named them all, just to be able to have something other than numbers to identify them. Helen, Adonis, Fabio, Iman, Miranda, Prospero, Penelope, Salma, Brad, and George, each and everyone a speckled gem on a banana leaf or a branch. Mom milked George and Iman today, to test and see if the gender of the frog matters at all. Dad took a sample of my DNA to check for aging signs. I'll admit, part of me is hoping this experiment fails. I hope that I can die beautiful, like Lumatu, glowing like an earthbound star. But, then, another part of me wants badly to see Mom and Dad get that funding.
Day 1--
I took the first dose today. The distilled product was a glittering metallic ash the color of pure gold. I took it like Maritoni gave it to Lumatu, in a glass of milk with a tablespoon of honey. The powder was only pretty as long as it was dust. It turned the milk an unsanitary yellow-brown, like the pictures of the Yangtzi river in flood stage. I had to close my eyes to get it past my gag reflex. It was surprisingly good and very sweet like rosewater. I poured some spring water into the glass to get the last of it up. I can't afford to miss a drop.
Mom insisted on monitoring my vitals all day. She's terrified that the stuff might kill me in its purest form. We've been entertaining ourselves watching old vampire movies and trying to come up with a good name for the new orchids Dad brought back for her. They, like the frogs, are cool, peaceful, hues, crystal blue and plum, with stripes and speckles as pure black as the depths of space. She wanted to name them after my sister, Luna. I suggested Lumatu's name, until Dad pointed out that Lumatu's name means “river snake”. So, they're Luna Jeanne orchids and I'll have to think of some other way to thank Lumatu for showing us the frogs' effects.
I don't feel any different. My face is still flat and unappealing, still blotched with acne and pasty. My hair is still dull and my eyes are still a muddy mix of gray and brown. But, it hasn't made me sick yet, so I'm probably fine.
Day 2--
There's a subtle, sharp tang behind the floral sweetness. Maybe I didn't add enough honey this time. It was actually more pleasant for it, but Dad says that the honey might be neutralizing any toxicity, so until they test it, the honey stays. I got on the treadmill and walked a mile, while Mom monitored me. Still no ill side-effects, but no good ones either. I suppose I'll live, after all.
I let Danny and Tess out into the Conservatory today. Barney seems a bit peaky today and didn't feel like getting out. I coaxed him onto my arm and took him out there anyway. The Luna Jeannes seem to like this environment. They've clustered around the big old apple tree in there. It hasn't given fruit in years, so I think it's nice to see it being friendly with newcomers. Danny blew raspberries at the flowers and Tess refused to go near them. Barney just moped and glared at everything. He's always been a little emo, but I have to wonder if he's sick. He didn't even perk up when I turned on the TV to watch gangster movies. He loves gangster movies. He did hop off my arm to sniff at the Luna Jeannes, but Tess screamed at him, until he left them alone. While Mom wasn't looking, I picked one and took it to my room. It's on my dresser now in a bowl of water, next to a photo of its namesake.
Luna died a few days before I born. She was six years old and her pictures are always beautiful, with her shiny black hair and blue eyes. Makes me wonder what went wrong with me. She had some form of leukemia that apparently laughed at chemotherapy. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if she'd lived. When I was little, I used to think I could see her if I looked in the mirror and tried to look into my own eyes, as though she and I shared a soul.
According to Dad, the Itchanhua, Maritoni's tribe, believe that there is a finite number of souls in the world. When one person dies, they spend a few days with the gods, before they come back to Earth and take on a new body. I have to wonder if the Baby Boom wasn't some kind of spiritual fallout from World War II. Mom says it's a load of bull. It's probably worth noting that Mom was a devout Episcopalian until Luna died.
Day 8--
Eighth dose, and Dad's upped it the amount. I mixed it into a cup of chai, because it was a chilly morning. The sweetness mixed nicely with the spices and gave the aroma an interesting hint of roses. Today, Mom noticed that my pupils were dialated and I seemed much more relaxed. I still felt the same, but while brushing my teeth, I noticed my hair certainly seemed shinier. It was darker and softer, too. Maybe Mom and Dad can get funding from a natural cosmetic company, because the stars of Hollywood would go crazy over this.
Barney seems a little perkier now. He was sniffing at the Luna Jeannes again and ate one. Mom had a cow. Danny yelled along with her until I put them all away. New rule: No birds in the Conservatory. But, eating that flower seems to have lifted his spirits a bit.
I had an odd dream last night. I was sitting by a river in a rainforest and talking with a guy about my age, 18, possibly older. I hardly remember what we were talking about, except that he said I was beautiful.
My parents have said I was beautiful, but that's just something parents say. Tess can say “pretty girl” and “hi, good-lookin'”, but of course she says that, she's a parrot. I've never thought of myself as beautiful and nobody my own age thinks I'm beautiful. I'm not going to mention this to Mom or Dad. Fantastic dreams probably aren't a side-effect.
Day 10--
This morning, Dad noticed that my eye color seems less muddy. I hadn't noticed that, but I had noticed that my skin is clearing up and getting softer. My hair is now amazingly shiny and manageable. I catch myself touching it from time to time. I can hardly believe the texture. It's like satin.
Barney got into my milk and honey this morning. I didn't think much about it at first, but when I looked at him, he seemed amazingly happy and calm. Danny and Tess won't go near him and Tess bit him when he got too close and stuck his wing into her cage. I've put her cage on the other side of my bed until she can behave herself.
The Luna Jeanne I picked is finally beginning to wilt. Its petals are becoming dusky and crumpling like a new butterfly's wings. That decay is somehow beautiful. I wish I had been around to see the real Luna when she died. I think it must have been like the orchid, a beautiful, inward, folding like a flag furling as the wind leaves it.
I had another dream about that guy. He walked with me along that riverbank and pointed out the various butterflies, naming each one. Just before I woke up, he kissed me on the cheek.
I wish I remembered what he looked like.
Day 11--
Woke up to find that Barney had died in the night. I didn't hear him fall, probably because of the dream I had. All I recall is him holding me and telling me he loved me. I buried Barney under the apple tree, which is blossoming, funny enough. It seemed appropriate.
Dad's thinking of injecting doses soon, rather than having me take them in milk and honey. I think it takes away from the psychological aspect of the experiment. He thinks that aspect is negated by adding the other stuff, which may be having a placebo effect and making me think I'm happier and more relaxed. Mom stepped in and offered a compromise. From now on, she'd fix my toddy and, at some point, would begin introducing a sugar substitute and testing the effectiveness. I think it's all ridiculous, but they have the doctorates, not me.
Danny seems to be afraid of me, now. Tess refuses to talk and bit me when I went to clean her cage. I don't understand it. Maybe the powder is making me smell funny to them. Maybe they don't recognize me. I've begun losing weight and my skin looks healthier, making my face look slimmer and better defined. I don't want to scare them, but I can't drop out of this now. Mom and Dad are counting on me to prove that this is safe.
Day 14--
My dreams have been growing more intense. Last night, “Aaron” told me his name. The rest of the dream is blurry now that I'm awake, but there was blood on my sheets and I was sore all over this morning. I'm definitely not telling my parents about this. They'd freak out.
My body hair is getting very fine, except my eyebrows and eyelashes, which are darker now, like the hair on my head. My skin almost glows now, and after my showers, I just stand there and look at myself in the mirror. I'm actually beautiful, now, more beautiful than Luna. No. No, I look like Luna would if she'd grown up. That must be why I caught Mom crying this morning.
One of the frogs, Miranda, died today. Dad thinks she's been milked too much and the stress killed her. He's doing an autopsy right now to find out. I held her first, turning her little body this way and that. Her skin shimmered and I thought for a moment that Aaron's eyes were the same shade of purple. I hope that the gods of Brazil don't mind a little purple-and-teal tree frog staying with them a few days. When she comes back, I hope she can be a parrot, so she'll always be beautiful.
The Luna Jeannes have grown so quickly, they've covered the roots of the apple tree. I don't know why or how. The apple tree is still blooming and the whole Conservatory smells like flowers. Other plants are reacting, now. The banana trees have fruit the size of my head. The magnolia is in bloom and the roses have started to bud. It's like Eden in there and Mom is going ape trying to figure out why six different plants are all reacting like that at the same time.
Day 15--
Today's dose was the placebo. I could tell, it tasted and smelled different. I drank it anyway and pretended I hadn't actually noticed. I watched Metropolis today. Everything seems so strong and heavily saturated right now. The light seems brighter and I could see every flaw in the film, every scratch and cigarette burn. Even Maria's lashes seemed sharp and three-dimensional. Her every feature lifted off the screen at me. I could see why they were all crazy about her. I wanted to kiss her through the TV screen like Aaron had kissed me. He's in every dream I have now. I can't even remember what dreams were like without him.
Dad still wants to inject me with the stuff. He loves the idea of stabbing me with things. I'll bet he'd get a rise out of autopsying me like he did Miranda. He loves cutting into things, I know it. I watched him with his steak. He didn't cut it up, he attacked it. Dad sawed at it, shredding it up angrily. Mom didn't seem to notice. She kept eating like nothing was wrong. I couldn't watch him eat. It was rare, too, so there was blood all over his plate. Did he see my face on that steak?
I think my dad wants me dead, now. He never talks about Luna, but I must look a lot like her now. Was he perhaps happier with an ugly daughter, one who didn't remind him of the one he lost?
Day 18--
Still on the placebo. Hair looks dull again and I found three zits on my forehead. Didn't feel like getting up. Danny is gone, but his feathers are everywhere and my nails have dried blood on them. Mom won't look at me now.
Aaron hasn't come to see me lately. I miss him so much. It's only been a few days, but I want to see him again, to touch him, even if its just a dream. I love him, more than birds, more than the gold powder, more than life itself. I need him. I need him like I need air.
Day 19--
God, I'm a wreck. I look like shit again and feel worse. I need the powder again. I need milk and honey. I can't go on like this. Doesn't Dad know I hate needles? I hate them. I HATE THEM. God, my hands are so stiff, I can barely type. Everything seems darker and blurry. My skin keeps cracking and bleeding everywhere.
I think I ate Danny. Oh, god, I ate my baby. Tess keeps screaming and screaming. She knows I ate him. She knows my drink killed Barney. Luna, I killed Luna, too. Not enough souls to go around. Somebody has to die so somebody else can live. Where's Lumatu now? Is she a snake like her name? Is she a tadpole in a pool? Is she a fluffy baby parrot, all gray puffs and beak?
Aaron, where are you? Is this how you treat your wives, you son of a whore? You romance them and leave them looking and feeling like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe? I hate you, you beautiful bastard! I hate you more than needles! I hate you!
Day 20--
I think we've proven now that it was the drug and not just my head. Dad found me this morning in his lab. Iman and Penelope were gone, I had a wooden bowl, a bloody kitchen knife, the milk and a bottle of honey. My face was covered in some kind of golden goo and frog blood. Dad's locked me in my room on my request. I'm not touching that stuff anymore. Ever. It's awful. But when I looked in my mirror, I glowed. My hair, my skin, my eyes. I looked like Luna.
Mom walks me to the bathroom and back and brings me food. She's taking Tess to a parrot rescue place down the road. I can't bring myself to think of what I did. I must have been sleepwalking and looking for anything like the blood of those tree frogs. I'm an addict now. My body thinks it needs this stuff.
We're shutting down the experiment. I don't need to be beautiful. I don't need to have dreams where I screw around with pretty boys. I need to be well.
Day 21--
I dreamt of Aaron again. This was the strongest dream I've had yet. He was leaning over me, saying how sorry he was, how he didn't want to lose me.
“I'll wait for you,” he said, “I'll be right there when you want me again. I love you, Butterfly, and I'll wait as long as it takes. I'll wait a hundred years, a thousand, until the end of time and past it.”
I wanted him, too and I told him that. He shook his head, saying that their weren't enough souls in the world. But, I would always be beautiful to him, his Amazon Butterfly. He kissed me on the cheek. When I woke up, I could still feel his cool lips on my face.
I've been trying to get back to normal, today, reading my old books, walking in the Conservatory and trying not to think about parrots and tree frogs and Lumatu. Dad says that maybe a gradual step-down would be best. I think he just wants to jab me with needles. I buried Danny's feathers under the apple tree. It's covered in Luna Jeannes now and has apples the size of melons. I picked one and examined it myself. The skin was the color of lust, a rich, gleaming red like the lips of a harlot. The inside was bone white and filled the room with that sweet scent of autumn and friendship. I tasted a piece. It was sweet, juice gushing onto my tongue like a flood.
Suddenly, I was crying. I remembered being very small and asking about the apple tree. Dad had said that Luna loved apples and then clammed up. I had the oddest thought, suddenly. I thought, I'll never taste apples again.
Day 24--
I've been running a mild fever for the past few days. My skin is breaking out horribly and my hair has been falling out in clumps. I haven't had any more dreams about Aaron. I feel awful, but I'm not craving that powder anymore.
I found a box of Luna's things while cleaning up Mom's sewing room. A christening gown the color of bones. A rag doll with a purple dress and a pointy hat like a fairy tale damsel. A bag of marbles. At the very bottom, a stack of crayon drawings. Most were fairly mundane, Luna and the apple tree, Princess Luna and the purple horse, Daddy and his new car. But three seemed to remind me of something. She'd drawn a man with butterfly wings and a bow and arrow. His eyes were doodled as big purple circles. His name was written at the bottom of one. “My freind, Misster Arrows”.
I thought of Aaron, my lover with purple eyes. Had Luna known him, too? Or was I remembering him, now, in place of a grown-up Luna?
I spent the rest of the day in my room, staring at the mirror, gazing into my own eyes. I used to ask her questions. Now, I demanded the truth. She said nothing to me. She didn't need to.
Day 27--
Mom just told me she's pregnant again.
I know what I have to do.
Mom, Dad, if you find this, I love you. I hope I come back to you prettier and happier. If I'm a girl this time, I'd like it if you'd call me Vanessa. It's a kind of butterfly. Don't be sad, please. I'm starting over again. Death is a chrysalis. You're losing the ugly little caterpillar and you'll get a pretty little butterfly with rosy cheeks and black hair. But, I'm going to go now. I'm going to die like Lumatu. I'm already dying, but now, I can do it right. I can leave this world beautiful and clean and happy. Look at it this way, too.
I'm getting rid of all those spare frogs.
[Note—There is no day 28. Butterfly Zoey Arden, daughter of reknowned scientists Max and Genevieve Arden, was found dead in the Conservatory. The reports position her under the apple tree, surrounded by a newly discovered species of orchid and holding a wooden bowl. She had to be identified by DNA, as she barely resembled her pictures, with luminous skin and black hair. Reports also say that her skin seemed to glow for a few days after her death.
The Ardens have moved to Sao Paolo, where their daughter, Vanessa Renata, is now in the seventh grade. Her teachers say that she's easily the happiest, most popular and most beautiful student in the class.]</lj-cut text
Day 0--
I want to say, right off the bat, that this was my idea. Oh, sure, Mom and Dad wanted to test it. But it was my idea to be the test subject. I have in no way been coerced or tricked. I wanted to be the first, so that no one could say it was poisonous or addictive. Maybe then they'll give them the funding.
My parents named me “Butterfly”. In High School, that turned into “Butterface” from my classmates. My parents, convinced it would damage my psyche, got me a tutor and kept me home. I don't care if I'm ugly. I care if people notice. So, I'm finishing my High School Diploma at home and plan on getting a job where no-one will ever have to notice. Maybe I'll sell stuff online or write books about parrots. I like parrots. They don't care if I'm Quasimodo with breasts, as long as I let them out in the greenhouse on Saturdays and tell them what pretty birds they are.
Dad brought me a new one from Brazil last year. He'd been down there talking with Maritoni, who's some kind of wise woman for a tribe down there. She'd told him about some ritual they have for the dying. There's a frog in their little area of the rainforest, a glistening purple and teal thing, the size of a half-dollar. The young men of the tribe go out and collect a few and the wise woman blesses them and slaughters them, catching the blood in a bowl made from a seed pod and mixing it with honey and milk. She blesses it again and feeds it to the person who's dying. Supposedly it gives them just enough time to say goodbye, but they're transformed by it. Dad saw it for himself. One of the girls, Lumatu, a beautiful kid my age with AIDS and the flu, drank it and came out of her hut looking like a goddess. She kissed her parents, her four-year-old son and her husband. Then, she went back into the hut and Maritoni hung a long red cloth over the door and went back in. When she came back out, they set fire to the place and had a big feast, because “Lumatu had joined the gods”. Dad couldn't get over it. He had known Lumatu from previous visits and she'd always been gorgeous, curvaceous and sturdy, with huge black eyes and skin the color of coffee. But, after the drink, she'd become luminous. Any imperfections were made perfect and her voice, always a gravelly razorblade of a voice, was a mellow purr. So along with the parrot, Dad brought home a tank of six of these little purple-and-teal frogs.
They call them the Alang. Dad named them the “hyla psychae”, for the lover of Eros. He's got six breeding pairs now, because he thinks they may have the secret to eternal youth. He's raised a bunch more to be used in distilling whatever it is those frogs have in them. We've named them all, just to be able to have something other than numbers to identify them. Helen, Adonis, Fabio, Iman, Miranda, Prospero, Penelope, Salma, Brad, and George, each and everyone a speckled gem on a banana leaf or a branch. Mom milked George and Iman today, to test and see if the gender of the frog matters at all. Dad took a sample of my DNA to check for aging signs. I'll admit, part of me is hoping this experiment fails. I hope that I can die beautiful, like Lumatu, glowing like an earthbound star. But, then, another part of me wants badly to see Mom and Dad get that funding.
Day 1--
I took the first dose today. The distilled product was a glittering metallic ash the color of pure gold. I took it like Maritoni gave it to Lumatu, in a glass of milk with a tablespoon of honey. The powder was only pretty as long as it was dust. It turned the milk an unsanitary yellow-brown, like the pictures of the Yangtzi river in flood stage. I had to close my eyes to get it past my gag reflex. It was surprisingly good and very sweet like rosewater. I poured some spring water into the glass to get the last of it up. I can't afford to miss a drop.
Mom insisted on monitoring my vitals all day. She's terrified that the stuff might kill me in its purest form. We've been entertaining ourselves watching old vampire movies and trying to come up with a good name for the new orchids Dad brought back for her. They, like the frogs, are cool, peaceful, hues, crystal blue and plum, with stripes and speckles as pure black as the depths of space. She wanted to name them after my sister, Luna. I suggested Lumatu's name, until Dad pointed out that Lumatu's name means “river snake”. So, they're Luna Jeanne orchids and I'll have to think of some other way to thank Lumatu for showing us the frogs' effects.
I don't feel any different. My face is still flat and unappealing, still blotched with acne and pasty. My hair is still dull and my eyes are still a muddy mix of gray and brown. But, it hasn't made me sick yet, so I'm probably fine.
Day 2--
There's a subtle, sharp tang behind the floral sweetness. Maybe I didn't add enough honey this time. It was actually more pleasant for it, but Dad says that the honey might be neutralizing any toxicity, so until they test it, the honey stays. I got on the treadmill and walked a mile, while Mom monitored me. Still no ill side-effects, but no good ones either. I suppose I'll live, after all.
I let Danny and Tess out into the Conservatory today. Barney seems a bit peaky today and didn't feel like getting out. I coaxed him onto my arm and took him out there anyway. The Luna Jeannes seem to like this environment. They've clustered around the big old apple tree in there. It hasn't given fruit in years, so I think it's nice to see it being friendly with newcomers. Danny blew raspberries at the flowers and Tess refused to go near them. Barney just moped and glared at everything. He's always been a little emo, but I have to wonder if he's sick. He didn't even perk up when I turned on the TV to watch gangster movies. He loves gangster movies. He did hop off my arm to sniff at the Luna Jeannes, but Tess screamed at him, until he left them alone. While Mom wasn't looking, I picked one and took it to my room. It's on my dresser now in a bowl of water, next to a photo of its namesake.
Luna died a few days before I born. She was six years old and her pictures are always beautiful, with her shiny black hair and blue eyes. Makes me wonder what went wrong with me. She had some form of leukemia that apparently laughed at chemotherapy. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if she'd lived. When I was little, I used to think I could see her if I looked in the mirror and tried to look into my own eyes, as though she and I shared a soul.
According to Dad, the Itchanhua, Maritoni's tribe, believe that there is a finite number of souls in the world. When one person dies, they spend a few days with the gods, before they come back to Earth and take on a new body. I have to wonder if the Baby Boom wasn't some kind of spiritual fallout from World War II. Mom says it's a load of bull. It's probably worth noting that Mom was a devout Episcopalian until Luna died.
Day 8--
Eighth dose, and Dad's upped it the amount. I mixed it into a cup of chai, because it was a chilly morning. The sweetness mixed nicely with the spices and gave the aroma an interesting hint of roses. Today, Mom noticed that my pupils were dialated and I seemed much more relaxed. I still felt the same, but while brushing my teeth, I noticed my hair certainly seemed shinier. It was darker and softer, too. Maybe Mom and Dad can get funding from a natural cosmetic company, because the stars of Hollywood would go crazy over this.
Barney seems a little perkier now. He was sniffing at the Luna Jeannes again and ate one. Mom had a cow. Danny yelled along with her until I put them all away. New rule: No birds in the Conservatory. But, eating that flower seems to have lifted his spirits a bit.
I had an odd dream last night. I was sitting by a river in a rainforest and talking with a guy about my age, 18, possibly older. I hardly remember what we were talking about, except that he said I was beautiful.
My parents have said I was beautiful, but that's just something parents say. Tess can say “pretty girl” and “hi, good-lookin'”, but of course she says that, she's a parrot. I've never thought of myself as beautiful and nobody my own age thinks I'm beautiful. I'm not going to mention this to Mom or Dad. Fantastic dreams probably aren't a side-effect.
Day 10--
This morning, Dad noticed that my eye color seems less muddy. I hadn't noticed that, but I had noticed that my skin is clearing up and getting softer. My hair is now amazingly shiny and manageable. I catch myself touching it from time to time. I can hardly believe the texture. It's like satin.
Barney got into my milk and honey this morning. I didn't think much about it at first, but when I looked at him, he seemed amazingly happy and calm. Danny and Tess won't go near him and Tess bit him when he got too close and stuck his wing into her cage. I've put her cage on the other side of my bed until she can behave herself.
The Luna Jeanne I picked is finally beginning to wilt. Its petals are becoming dusky and crumpling like a new butterfly's wings. That decay is somehow beautiful. I wish I had been around to see the real Luna when she died. I think it must have been like the orchid, a beautiful, inward, folding like a flag furling as the wind leaves it.
I had another dream about that guy. He walked with me along that riverbank and pointed out the various butterflies, naming each one. Just before I woke up, he kissed me on the cheek.
I wish I remembered what he looked like.
Day 11--
Woke up to find that Barney had died in the night. I didn't hear him fall, probably because of the dream I had. All I recall is him holding me and telling me he loved me. I buried Barney under the apple tree, which is blossoming, funny enough. It seemed appropriate.
Dad's thinking of injecting doses soon, rather than having me take them in milk and honey. I think it takes away from the psychological aspect of the experiment. He thinks that aspect is negated by adding the other stuff, which may be having a placebo effect and making me think I'm happier and more relaxed. Mom stepped in and offered a compromise. From now on, she'd fix my toddy and, at some point, would begin introducing a sugar substitute and testing the effectiveness. I think it's all ridiculous, but they have the doctorates, not me.
Danny seems to be afraid of me, now. Tess refuses to talk and bit me when I went to clean her cage. I don't understand it. Maybe the powder is making me smell funny to them. Maybe they don't recognize me. I've begun losing weight and my skin looks healthier, making my face look slimmer and better defined. I don't want to scare them, but I can't drop out of this now. Mom and Dad are counting on me to prove that this is safe.
Day 14--
My dreams have been growing more intense. Last night, “Aaron” told me his name. The rest of the dream is blurry now that I'm awake, but there was blood on my sheets and I was sore all over this morning. I'm definitely not telling my parents about this. They'd freak out.
My body hair is getting very fine, except my eyebrows and eyelashes, which are darker now, like the hair on my head. My skin almost glows now, and after my showers, I just stand there and look at myself in the mirror. I'm actually beautiful, now, more beautiful than Luna. No. No, I look like Luna would if she'd grown up. That must be why I caught Mom crying this morning.
One of the frogs, Miranda, died today. Dad thinks she's been milked too much and the stress killed her. He's doing an autopsy right now to find out. I held her first, turning her little body this way and that. Her skin shimmered and I thought for a moment that Aaron's eyes were the same shade of purple. I hope that the gods of Brazil don't mind a little purple-and-teal tree frog staying with them a few days. When she comes back, I hope she can be a parrot, so she'll always be beautiful.
The Luna Jeannes have grown so quickly, they've covered the roots of the apple tree. I don't know why or how. The apple tree is still blooming and the whole Conservatory smells like flowers. Other plants are reacting, now. The banana trees have fruit the size of my head. The magnolia is in bloom and the roses have started to bud. It's like Eden in there and Mom is going ape trying to figure out why six different plants are all reacting like that at the same time.
Day 15--
Today's dose was the placebo. I could tell, it tasted and smelled different. I drank it anyway and pretended I hadn't actually noticed. I watched Metropolis today. Everything seems so strong and heavily saturated right now. The light seems brighter and I could see every flaw in the film, every scratch and cigarette burn. Even Maria's lashes seemed sharp and three-dimensional. Her every feature lifted off the screen at me. I could see why they were all crazy about her. I wanted to kiss her through the TV screen like Aaron had kissed me. He's in every dream I have now. I can't even remember what dreams were like without him.
Dad still wants to inject me with the stuff. He loves the idea of stabbing me with things. I'll bet he'd get a rise out of autopsying me like he did Miranda. He loves cutting into things, I know it. I watched him with his steak. He didn't cut it up, he attacked it. Dad sawed at it, shredding it up angrily. Mom didn't seem to notice. She kept eating like nothing was wrong. I couldn't watch him eat. It was rare, too, so there was blood all over his plate. Did he see my face on that steak?
I think my dad wants me dead, now. He never talks about Luna, but I must look a lot like her now. Was he perhaps happier with an ugly daughter, one who didn't remind him of the one he lost?
Day 18--
Still on the placebo. Hair looks dull again and I found three zits on my forehead. Didn't feel like getting up. Danny is gone, but his feathers are everywhere and my nails have dried blood on them. Mom won't look at me now.
Aaron hasn't come to see me lately. I miss him so much. It's only been a few days, but I want to see him again, to touch him, even if its just a dream. I love him, more than birds, more than the gold powder, more than life itself. I need him. I need him like I need air.
Day 19--
God, I'm a wreck. I look like shit again and feel worse. I need the powder again. I need milk and honey. I can't go on like this. Doesn't Dad know I hate needles? I hate them. I HATE THEM. God, my hands are so stiff, I can barely type. Everything seems darker and blurry. My skin keeps cracking and bleeding everywhere.
I think I ate Danny. Oh, god, I ate my baby. Tess keeps screaming and screaming. She knows I ate him. She knows my drink killed Barney. Luna, I killed Luna, too. Not enough souls to go around. Somebody has to die so somebody else can live. Where's Lumatu now? Is she a snake like her name? Is she a tadpole in a pool? Is she a fluffy baby parrot, all gray puffs and beak?
Aaron, where are you? Is this how you treat your wives, you son of a whore? You romance them and leave them looking and feeling like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe? I hate you, you beautiful bastard! I hate you more than needles! I hate you!
Day 20--
I think we've proven now that it was the drug and not just my head. Dad found me this morning in his lab. Iman and Penelope were gone, I had a wooden bowl, a bloody kitchen knife, the milk and a bottle of honey. My face was covered in some kind of golden goo and frog blood. Dad's locked me in my room on my request. I'm not touching that stuff anymore. Ever. It's awful. But when I looked in my mirror, I glowed. My hair, my skin, my eyes. I looked like Luna.
Mom walks me to the bathroom and back and brings me food. She's taking Tess to a parrot rescue place down the road. I can't bring myself to think of what I did. I must have been sleepwalking and looking for anything like the blood of those tree frogs. I'm an addict now. My body thinks it needs this stuff.
We're shutting down the experiment. I don't need to be beautiful. I don't need to have dreams where I screw around with pretty boys. I need to be well.
Day 21--
I dreamt of Aaron again. This was the strongest dream I've had yet. He was leaning over me, saying how sorry he was, how he didn't want to lose me.
“I'll wait for you,” he said, “I'll be right there when you want me again. I love you, Butterfly, and I'll wait as long as it takes. I'll wait a hundred years, a thousand, until the end of time and past it.”
I wanted him, too and I told him that. He shook his head, saying that their weren't enough souls in the world. But, I would always be beautiful to him, his Amazon Butterfly. He kissed me on the cheek. When I woke up, I could still feel his cool lips on my face.
I've been trying to get back to normal, today, reading my old books, walking in the Conservatory and trying not to think about parrots and tree frogs and Lumatu. Dad says that maybe a gradual step-down would be best. I think he just wants to jab me with needles. I buried Danny's feathers under the apple tree. It's covered in Luna Jeannes now and has apples the size of melons. I picked one and examined it myself. The skin was the color of lust, a rich, gleaming red like the lips of a harlot. The inside was bone white and filled the room with that sweet scent of autumn and friendship. I tasted a piece. It was sweet, juice gushing onto my tongue like a flood.
Suddenly, I was crying. I remembered being very small and asking about the apple tree. Dad had said that Luna loved apples and then clammed up. I had the oddest thought, suddenly. I thought, I'll never taste apples again.
Day 24--
I've been running a mild fever for the past few days. My skin is breaking out horribly and my hair has been falling out in clumps. I haven't had any more dreams about Aaron. I feel awful, but I'm not craving that powder anymore.
I found a box of Luna's things while cleaning up Mom's sewing room. A christening gown the color of bones. A rag doll with a purple dress and a pointy hat like a fairy tale damsel. A bag of marbles. At the very bottom, a stack of crayon drawings. Most were fairly mundane, Luna and the apple tree, Princess Luna and the purple horse, Daddy and his new car. But three seemed to remind me of something. She'd drawn a man with butterfly wings and a bow and arrow. His eyes were doodled as big purple circles. His name was written at the bottom of one. “My freind, Misster Arrows”.
I thought of Aaron, my lover with purple eyes. Had Luna known him, too? Or was I remembering him, now, in place of a grown-up Luna?
I spent the rest of the day in my room, staring at the mirror, gazing into my own eyes. I used to ask her questions. Now, I demanded the truth. She said nothing to me. She didn't need to.
Day 27--
Mom just told me she's pregnant again.
I know what I have to do.
Mom, Dad, if you find this, I love you. I hope I come back to you prettier and happier. If I'm a girl this time, I'd like it if you'd call me Vanessa. It's a kind of butterfly. Don't be sad, please. I'm starting over again. Death is a chrysalis. You're losing the ugly little caterpillar and you'll get a pretty little butterfly with rosy cheeks and black hair. But, I'm going to go now. I'm going to die like Lumatu. I'm already dying, but now, I can do it right. I can leave this world beautiful and clean and happy. Look at it this way, too.
I'm getting rid of all those spare frogs.
[Note—There is no day 28. Butterfly Zoey Arden, daughter of reknowned scientists Max and Genevieve Arden, was found dead in the Conservatory. The reports position her under the apple tree, surrounded by a newly discovered species of orchid and holding a wooden bowl. She had to be identified by DNA, as she barely resembled her pictures, with luminous skin and black hair. Reports also say that her skin seemed to glow for a few days after her death.
The Ardens have moved to Sao Paolo, where their daughter, Vanessa Renata, is now in the seventh grade. Her teachers say that she's easily the happiest, most popular and most beautiful student in the class.]</lj-cut text