When the sound of thunder echoed with the hiss of the night wind, when people snored, and the streets mourned the silence, Metta was actually present in an alley alone. The hallway was cold and damp, the dark alley filled with foreign air from the face of the earth.
Steps were led towards a light hole that formed a spiral circle twenty meters from Metta's body, the closer it got the wider the light. She wondered why the dark alley suddenly became bright. Twenty minutes ago she heard Mama's voice crying over her condition as she lay in the ward, but now she felt the movement of her body as light as cotton if she was invited to fly. is sick, could the hole lead to the end world? Lay world waiting for charity recompense? Was Metta that close to death?
Honestly, Metta didn't want to move forward, but the light seemed to have a magnetic field that forced the sick person's cloth-covered body. He couldn't even ask for help, because at that moment his voice was silent. It is simply following a false instinct to get closer to the light, fused with the particles of the other world.
For a moment the hallway became very bright, as if there were millions of neons shining in unison on the ceiling of the room, or maybe there were trillions of fireflies partying in the hallway. It's up to you to imagine what it's like, one minute later Metta's body was absorbed by light, her spirit seemed to be sucked in by another aura, she entered another earth, or the new world. Without realizing that her steps have been so far from his parents.
Mama on the side of the ward, she lays her head down while holding the hand pierced by the needle, but Metta's spirit? Her spirit left the frail body.
***
"So you're awake, Miss?" A male voice helped Metta blink her eyes. She do not know since when she fell asleep on the green carpet with a sprinkling of pink paint so wide. There were bubbles of dew spreading all over. The world has just been showered with rain from the sky. She didn't care, the problem at that moment was that Metta had to be able to wake up from dreamland. The imaginary nature that lulls in the taro leaves.
"Where are my parents?"
"You say you want to leave them because they always leave you?" said the voice again. Metta got up in a half-sitting position, using two hands to support her frail body. Her neck moved left and right, looking for the source of the sound that didn't show the bridge of his nose.
"But not leaving them out of the world! Could it be that I'm already dead?" Then her eyes flashed in all directions. She is trapped in a forest. The giant trees towered over. Fern leaves and wild plants thrive. The porang swayed as if to greet him with the wind dance they could. Then the caladium people live freely among the thickets of bushes. Taro was once Metta's favorite plant in the yard.
She collected them after hunting in various areas of the village, looking for all kinds of taro, starting from the ones that were sprinkled with red, then mixed with white, then sprinkled with chocolate, some even had holes on the surface. If the wild is pulled free, but if the taro is master she redeems it from the owner, around one hundred to two hundred thousand rupiah, depending on the artistic value of the leaves and the color of the taro.
"Death is imminent for those who fear death. You know the answer to your own question, my lady."
Metta looked up, the sun shone through the forest alleys, the sky seemed so far away, some crows flew freely flapping their wings. Yes, crows look so dashing, in his eyes she paints them like giants with pointed beaks ready to eat their flesh. She wondered at the clock on the wall that wasn't there, what place was it? Can it be called a forest? While she saw there were clouds hanging low with the ground.
On the surface of the ground there were huts with tiny thatched roofs, then a few wings came out flapping in beauty. A butterfly with black wings with polka dots carved on the right and left wings approached Metta. He had turned his body in front of her face. The butterfly was bigger than Metta's head, bigger than her belly, while her eyes were the size of marble seeds. Even though it is black, it has colorful flashes of light on its wings.
That place is exile, for there is no one but Metta.
"Hi, Miss Metta, welcome to our world,"
"You? Can you talk?" asked Metta in surprise then suddenly her breath quickened. She heart rumbled in disbelief at what had just happened.
Metta was so shocked that she fell from the taro leaf, her body as light as cotton being tossed about by the wind. She feel the butterfly is not an alien creature, only its body is larger than expected, disproportionate to its original size. His body slammed on tree branches, sometimes hitting the surface of small leaves which then reflected her body again so that it bounced far away.
"Help!" shouted Metta for help. None of the creatures wanted to help him, they just gave Metta an indifferent look.
The black butterfly actually flew down to compensate for Metta's body movements. The difference is that if Metta fell against a tree branch, he actually perched on it while enjoying the panorama. Earth's gravity felt so strong, but Metta himself doubted that it was planet earth. He assumed he was in a dream world.
"Help! help!"
"Tell me the reason why I have to help you!" The butterfly was cold.
Metta's life seems to be a toy. She wanted to sob but couldn't shed the dew. Her screams went beyond limits. But there is no being in that world who has compassion for Metta's suffering. Butterflies from another hut came out, looked down, flew down towards him, but again they weren't helping, they were just spectators. Some perched on the surface of leaves, some perched on branches and tree trunks, not a few who braked the flapping of their wings in the air. Indeed it was a beautiful sight, but Metta's body in free fall made him deny the beauty, the planet was terrible.
"Because you... you... you, you're the butterfly I once helped on the road!" shouted Metta a little doubtfully, yes Metta's memory revolved in the past. An object that should have died he encountered in a strange world. The imitation butterfly looks so real and has a soul. There should be a pair, where is the other?
Metta once picked up butterfly earrings from a ditch near a convenience store. The imitation butterfly became a valuable item that she often wore. Because the bacteria gnawed at her ear, Metta forced the butterfly off.
"Hahaha. Metta you poor teenage girl, I'm rusty, beautiful but hurt, why did you pick me up? Something beautiful isn't always fun, Me." The black butterfly is convoluted. Every consonant of letters that are strung together cannot be understood by Metta.
Metta's feelings grew even more painful imagining that down there, there was a rock that was perched proudly on the edge of a swift river, so fast that it was certain that anyone who fell there would be dragged by the current to the upper reaches of the ocean. Then what if the head hit the rocks? Metta is unable to use reason in such a situation. Not to mention the high sticking ferns full of thorns, her body could be crushed before waking up from the dream.
"This isn't a dream, Me. This is the real world. The world of Metta, a world of solitude and insects. You always wanted to be alone didn't you? No one else would ever help you!"
"If this is the world of insects why don't they care about me? I took great pains to pick them up from the filth, clean their bodies, give them proper food and bedding, why do they care about me?"
"They have a grudge against you, Miss Metta!"
"Feud?" asked Metta in surprise as he brushed the dry leaves off his face. "Why revenge?"
"Mind your own life, see you if there is a chance!"
The black butterfly flew up. Metta is allowed to continue down. In a split second his head hit the rock surface. The world went dark.