#hey batter batter swing (at the hornet's nets)

[monstroso]

You are wrong about Aristocats. I don't want to argue about it, I just had to say that.

That's okay anon, I should have realized that the people on the Marvel gif website would think ickle-wee kittens singing and playing piano is high art.

[redhooverwriter-blog]

The Butterfly Catcher

The morning dew had settled on the leaves of the woods. Slight rays of early sunlight peeked through the canopy, but it was still a dim place. A child’s footsteps sounded along the narrow wooded trail, splitting the morning’s silence. Tripping and missteps were common for the curious hiker along this thickly wooded trail, the roots had a way of always finding one’s feet. For this boy, for Miguel, tripping was not an occurrence, he was too sure-footed and besides, this forest was his home. The roots and brambles kept him moving at a slow pace, but he didn’t mind much, these were his father’s woods. He had brought Miguel here when he worked. Now they were Miguel’s.

A boy’s paradise, was what his father had called them, adventure and treasure were at every corner, under every rock, and up every tree. Miguel clutched an aged and tattered notebook in his hand, filled with years of notes of his father’s treasure hunts.The pages were battered and filled, except for the final page, blank, awaiting the final treasure of his woods. In Miguel’s other hand was a net, perfect for catching butterflies, the treasures of the woods. Miguel’s dad had documented, captured, drawn, and studies every species in these woods, except for one. Miguel couldn’t remember the name, but his dad had called it Blue. It was the final prize, and the final adventure of the woods.

Dad is gone now. Now it’s on me to find Blue. To finish the notebook. Miguel was resolute in his thoughts.

The early dew soon gave way to the dry leaves and the light of morning. It was then, that a streak of light, breaking through the canopy, caught a glimpse of blue in its stream. Miguel saw, and, with his heart pounding, readied his net. The adrenaline made his hand clumsy and the swing of his net missed its mark. Blue, sensing capture, fluttered away into the treetops.

No! I am not losing you that easily, my treasure! Miguel thought in a panic. His net, he placed in the crook of his arm, and his father’s notebook was stuffed into the cargo pocket of his shorts. He began to climb, following the fleeting glimpse of his treasure.

Higher and higher, he climbed. The branches of the trees grew denser and denser. A buzzing came from his other pocket, and instinct turned Miguel’s head toward it. My phone. He thought. He thought to reach for it, but the thought of finally catching Blue was too strong. He turned his head back toward the treetops, ignoring the buzzing. The light had begun to fade in the thicket of the branches and Blue was gone, lost in the dark.

Miguel hung onto the branch, gazing and hoping for another glimpse of Blue. Sap from the tree had caked itself on his hands, Miguel’s fingers moved with difficulty and could only cling to the branch. No… I was so close, so close. He thought, almost whispering the words to himself. His fingers began to slip, his focus was shot, and he could not stop the tears from dribbling down his cheeks. He could not hang forever, so he lowered himself to the lower branch, wincing in pain when he moved his fingers. But he could not stop descending, neither for the pain nor for the returned ringing of his phone.

When he returned to the forest floor, he checked his hands. They were caked in sap, dirt, and newly torn blisters. He checked his phone, three missed calls, all from his mother. He then pulled his father’s notebook from his pocket, flipping open to the last blank page. His fingers smudged the blank paper and a few tears came to dot the page. Sadness gave way to frustration, and anger.

It’s over. He told himself. His hands trembling, creasing the pages of the notebook. Blue is gone, dad is gone, mom will be angry and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t catch Blue. I failed! With a shout, Miguel hurled the journal, dad’s book of treasures, into the dark of the woods. Falling to his knees, he beat the ground with his hands, crying and screaming.

A humming filled the air, Miguel checked his phone, but it was silent. This busy was much more alive. Bees? Miguel thought. Hornets? Bees or hornets it made no difference, the journal had hit a hive. A cloud of stingers rushed out from the trees and the swarm was upon him. In a panic, Miguel dropped his net, running through the bramble of the forest floor. Around trees and through bushes, he ran, but the swarm persisted.

Can’t climb a tree, no water to hide in, no… his thoughts were interrupted, jerked to a halt as he lost his footing on a root and tumbled down a ditch and into a thicket of bushes. Miguel found new cuts and bruises all over, but the humming passed. In the shade of the thicket, Miguel couldn’t see the swarm. He lay there in the shade, ignoring the stinging pain of his sores.

Another buzzing , this time from Miguel’s pocket. Phone, probably mom. He thought, checking his pocket for his phone. The screen was cracked, the display broken and useless. He pulled the cover off the back and took out the battery, the ringing stopped. Mom is definitely not going to be happy with any of this. He rolled out from under the thicket. The dirt of the underbrush stung his cuts. Here, by the ditch, was part of the woods Miguel didn’t know, a clearing. With the trees spread out light shone more clearly. It was almost a silent place, broken only by the chirping of a single bird. Miguel looked for it and found it nesting in a tree, and in its beak, a flash of blue. Blue!

Anxiously, he crept over, crossing the clearing, to the tree where the bird perched. In its beak, freshly caught, was Blue. Blue’s wings fluttered weakly trying to escape. Miguel fell to his bottom. A bird beat me to my treasure. He remorsed. Now laying on his back he felt a sharp pain underneath him. He reached under and found a small rock, jagged in its edges. His movements didn’t frighten the bird, it sat peering down at him with Blue still clutched in its beak, almost taunting him. Half in anger and half just to make an effort, Miguel tossed his newfound stone up at the bird. His throw was lazy and short, and the rock bounced off the branch rather than the bird. But it did the trick, the bird cawed in fright, dropping its catch and petering off on the wind. He dropped Blue…

Rolling over onto all fours, Miguel crawled over to the base of the tree. There, laying helpless and fluttering its wings weakly, was Blue.

“Hey there Blue.” Miguel whispered, as he reached out, gathering Blue up with a loose and gentle grasp. I got him. Miguel thought, almost in disbelief. It’s mine, the adventure, dad’s adventure, is over. He looked down at the pathetic creature, its delicate wings were twitching. He remembered his first treasure, a red one with black spots. He remembered how it had fluttered about and how dad had clapped him on the back, proud. This is the last one, the last adventure.

Miguel opened his hand, Blue lingered for a few moments, but flew off nonetheless. A smile found itself on Miguel’s face as he watched, picking himself off the ground. It wasn’t long before Blue disappeared into the dark of the woods. Miguel followed, not to find Blue, but to look for his dad’s notebook. He returned home that afternoon to his worried mother, empty-handed and all the more happy for it. He had an adventure to look forward to.