BLUE EMPEROR

Luke came to with a splitting headache and found himself lying right on the edge of a stone ledge, one wrong move could send him over. He slowly shifted away from the edge and pressed his back against the wall. The land lay far below him; down in a deep gorge, a black ribbon of river snaked through the forest, and far away, beyond the farmer's fields and pastures, on the horizon, the blue sea merged with the blue sky. Where was he? What happened? He could not remember. His head refused to think, and the harsh sunlight only made his headache worse. Every part of his body was either sore, or itching, or bleeding. A swelling on his wrist, red and raw, pulsed with terrible pain and made the whole arm tremble. It's a bite! Crap, he was bitten by something venomous—he needed help now! Triple Zero. Where's his phone? Luke dug through his backpack, jerking the zips open and rifling through every pocket. Turning every bloody crease inside out! There was no phone. No! Luke screamed, a long cry, his stomach tightening with fear, until he was out of breath. But all around him were mountains and rainforest; the trees and leaves swallowed his scream whole, without so much as an echo.

Still, the scream snapped him to his senses, his head clearing. A quick solution is critical, something practical and simple as a glass of water. Speaking of which, where's his water? A sudden realization hit him like a punch in the gut. The stupid water bottle rolled over the cliff while he was at the top. He didn't even get a chance to drink much! He felt dizzy and nauseous, his heart thudding, but thirst was a real torture. Fighting to stay conscious, he screamed again with all his might. And somehow it worked again, the panic eased, even though the facts he was piecing together seemed crazier and crazier: he had been bitten by a venomous creature, and his condition was getting worse; he had fallen off a high cliff and, luckily, he didn't break any legs or arms but had gotten stuck somewhere on the way down. There was jungle all around, and he was alone. No water, no phone, no chance of being rescued. How had he screwed up this badly? Whatever, now he just had to find a way out on his own. Climbing back up seemed like total suicide; instead, he would go down. It's risky as hell, too, sure, but it would take less energy and fewer hours. All right, let's get to it!

Every movement made him feel more nauseous and weaker. With sweaty, covered in scratches and cuts hands, Luke clung to jagged rocks, coarse tree trunks, and clumps of tough grass. His bitten hand was throbbing, shaking, and starting to go numb. The midday sun burned down, a merciless, blinding, fiery ball. Drenched in sweat, his shirt, pants, and underwear all soaked, Luke just hoped he’d get lucky and stumble onto his fallen water bottle. Suddenly, another memory came back and nearly paralyzed him: his camera! No! He let his precious camera slip from his hands, and it tumbled off that stupid cliff, chasing after that stupid water bottle. And then, he followed them both—because why not—falling himself. Madness! And who was he if not an idiot? Luke screamed again, starting as a roar that turned into howling.

And like before, the tropical forest swallowed his scream, only this time the forest responded. A fresh wind stirred the leaves and grasses and they started whispering in their own mysterious language, something disturbing that felt either like a warning or a threat. Luke jumped as the kookaburras suddenly shrieked close by. Frowning, he listened to that choking and mocking cackle echoing through the forest, starting as a guttural chuckle but growing louder and more maniacal and sinister, as if it was coming right out of the depths of hell. It sent goosebumps down his neck and back, arms and legs. He was not alone. Far from it. He was surrounded by an ancient, living rainforest, teeming with both visible and unseen creatures. They heard him and watched him closely. They would intimidate him, sting, bite, stab, cut, and suck his blood until they killed him or devoured him alive. He was tricked and trapped; and they would not let him get out easily.

His own helplessness pissed him off. He found a melted chocolate bar in the pocket and shoved it into his mouth, struggling with nausea for a few minutes. More memories were coming back—it didn't start with that stupid water bottle—when a sickening, debilitating drowsiness came over him, his eyelids heavy and sticky, and unable to fight it, he passed out.

The striking blue color, standing out against the velvety green, an almost magical sight. The Blue Emperor! Here it is, the photographer's reward for getting up before sunrise, for hours of wandering through the rainforest with heavy gear, braving the hellish heat, fighting mosquitoes, and battling thirst and hunger. The height of summer in Tropical North Queensland is not the time to spend hours outside of an air-conditioned house. It's very hot and very humid. Ideal for butterflies, dragonflies, and other grasshoppers, and therefore for the macro photographer. Though the early morning offered no relief from the summer heat, it spared him the crowds. Luke disliked people; they were distractions, ruining compositions or scaring off his subjects. They gawked at his gear, lingered behind his back, breathing, fidgeting, whispering; phones in outstretched hands, faces wrinkled in pretentious comprehension. Honestly, people annoyed Luke to no end. He loved butterflies, a little more than other macro subjects.

The Blue Emperor, a large butterfly, perched on a leaf, unfurled its wings and they shimmered with brilliant metallic blue, then slowly folded them and dissolved into shadows, looking like another weathered leaf, invisible to predators, an illusion. Adjusting his camera settings, Luke crept closer. A flash went off, then another, and another. He shifted from one clumsy position to even a clumsier one, trying to get a good look at the butterfly through the macro lens. The mosaic of its enormous eyes appeared both delicate and incomprehensible; the blueness of its wings reminded him of the ocean's mysterious depths, hiding the unknown; its microscopic scales reflected fleeting light, and thin legs clung to the leaf while antennae moved innocently. Deceiver! An instant, and away you would fly. Luke hit the shutter. Another flash. And then his phone rang. The butterfly's wings trembled and folded up.

Luke stood still, watching the butterfly fluttering away only to settle down again, motionless. The phone kept ringing, but Luke ignored it, sneaking up on the butterfly. He was a patient hunter and could wait for hours, stalking, shooting. One hundred shots, two, three, for the sake of one, unique and perfect, that could snag a cash prize in a major contest and land on the cover of BBC Wildlife or even National Geographic. His work had made it to the cover before. He had a knack for macrophotography, which he honed into a professional craft. He poured all his savings into getting top-notch gear, and whatever was left, he spent on Julia. She had become his second priority, and to keep her by his side for good, he had to earn more, secure more contracts, and focus on capturing unique photographs.

For just a moment letting the butterfly out of sight, Luke pulled the phone out of the breast pocket (always within reach in case Julia called). And she did. But Luke was not pleased. Firstly, her call startled the Emperor; secondly, it reminded him of their fight last night after the party at Tom's. As always, Julia tried to please and attract the attention of everyone around, but especially yesterday she was all over Tom. And Luke drunk on beer; the more he drank, the angrier he got. Tom, with his brownish skin, had an athletic body, especially broad shoulders, and Luke felt a twinge of jealousy despite never considering himself unattractive. Tom squared his shoulders and did not take his dark eyes off Julia as she laughed at his jokes and leaned in closer to hear him better over the loud music. Luke couldn't help but hate them both at those moments. There were other moments when Julia would return to Luke, snuggling up to him. How can you be bored, babe? Oh, don't start! But before long, she would drift back to Tom. What kind of cruel pleasure was she taking in his torment? Luke just couldn't understand it, yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of Julia, the bliss of just talking to her, kissing her, sleeping with her. Just being around her, hearing her voice, touching her would drive him crazy. And he'd die if she left.

Luke switched off the phone, shoved it into his backpack, and focused on his subject. Meanwhile, the insidious butterfly perched next to him, spreading its wings intimately, drawing him in with its closeness, only to flit away the moment he pressed the shutter, leaving him with a blurred picture. Beautiful and deceitful, it reminded him of Julia. Anger and obsession twisted in his mind. You little pest, I'll catch you and squash! But he couldn't stop chasing the butterfly just as he couldn't let go of Julia. The humid air clung to him, the salty sweat stinging his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. His finger on the shutter. Oh, just stop fluttering your wings! The button pressed, the flash fired. There it was, still and sharp in the frame, now solely his, a testament to his determination and passion. Though the angle could have been better...

When did he stray from the track? Where was the track now? Luke couldn't say. All around him was the rainforest, which was breathing and whispering, rustling, creaking and groaning. His obsession drowned out any instinct for self-preservation, and the only time he got scared was when he thought he lost the butterfly as it led him deeper into the shadowy, dense wilds. Occasionally, little lizards startled him by scurrying past his feet—elusive, barely perceptible creatures of the underworld, leaving behind only a faint rustling sound. Underfoot, decaying branches crackled, and his legs sank to the ankles in a loose layer of rotting leaves. The sweetish odor of damp decay penetrated his lungs, winding into his mind and wrapping around his consciousness like a sticky web. Or was it the sweet scent of flowers blooming high atop the trees and hidden by the foliage, that mingled with the smell of decay in unsettling combination of life and death? In this damp and dark world, life and death were intertwined in an endless cycle of renewal.

Now and then old, mighty trees, whose crowns disappeared overhead, seemed to block his path with their spreading, gnarly branches. Luke felt as if he had to obey and go only where he was allowed to go. He felt small and powerless beside those giants, and even more vulnerable than the young growth that surrounded them. Ouch! A thorny vine snagged him with its sharp thorns, sinking into his skin like claws. Gritting his teeth, Luke carefully pulled the barbs off one by one, ultimately left with lacerated wounds and a ripped, blood-stained shirt. Luke no longer chased the butterfly but walked at random, trying to find a way out of the jungle. Peeking through the trees, he caught some flashes of blue sky and turned toward the light. It occurred to him that male blue emperors are drawn to anything blue; this is how they find females for mating. Soon he found himself climbing up the side of the mountain, and he hoped that the view from the top would help him figure out where to go next.

He finally reached a little stone platform on top of the mountain and looked around. Wow, he was really high up! Above him were only the sky and a soaring kite, searching for prey, like a fate ready to swoop down on some poor unsuspecting creature and take its life. The kite noticed Luke and circled above him, peering in. Don't even think about it, Luke wagged his finger at the bird, laughing and feeling rather good about the whole adventure. The crackling of cicadas was deafening and the air stirred with the heat. Luke sat down on a rocky ledge, at the very edge, where he could catch a refreshing breeze, and pulled out a bottle of water from his backpack. The warm water didn't do much to help. Setting the bottle down beside him, he began to take off his camera, freeing the strap from behind his head, and accidentally bumped the bottle with his elbow, sending it rolling away. Luke bent down to grab it and almost lost his balance, but recoiled in time and cursed. His mood soured.

Finding the trail and making the descent could take up to three hours under grueling 35-degree heat, all frightening numbers by any measure. With thirst becoming torturous, he could barely think straight. Luke neared the cliff edge and peeked over, but couldn't spot the bottle anywhere. The next moment, his mud-covered soles slipped, his head tilted back and the world disappeared from sight as his frantic gaze fixed on the blue sky where the kite was still circling. Luke threw up his hands, desperately trying to maintain balance or grab onto something, and his camera slipped out of his sweaty hands. A desperate cry burst from his mouth, quickly turning into a raging roar. Lucky for him, a little twisted tree grew right at the edge, which he managed to grab and which saved him from falling.

Luke didn't think twice. He had to go down there and find his camera, the priceless gem loaded with incredible photos on the SD card. And he awkwardly began to scramble down a steep slope, clinging to rocks and gnarly, prickly and dirt-covered roots, sticking out of the ground. The rough and coarse tree bark scratched his palms while clumps of tough grass turned out to be so sharp they cut into his hands like a razor. His palms and fingers, all covered in scratches and cuts, were bleeding, the blood mixed with dirt and sweat, he was leaving a blood-stained trace. A flowering bush, which he managed to grab when his foot slipped off a smooth rock, couldn't bear his weight and broke off. Luke slid down. Then he flipped over and rolled, unable to stop. The final blow to his head stunned him, and everything went black. His body kept rolling and sliding until it finally came to a stop on a rock ledge.

When Luke opened eyes, he saw the chocolate bar wrapper crawling with shiny black ants that made it look like it was alive; the ants had jaws like bulldogs and were quickly and aggressively moving around, as if ready to attack. Luke threw the wrapper away from him, but one little monster bit down on his finger making him shriek before crushing it. He continued his descent, but after a few meters, he felt dizzy and weak again; his vision blurred, thoughts muddled, and body feeling heavier and uncooperative. He sat down to catch his breath. Fear, loneliness, and helplessness were driving him crazy. All around him was an endless rainforest where everything, even a thin blade of grass or a tiny ant, wanted to harm him, and he, Luke, was completely alone against them all. He flinched at the sensation of movement on his arm. A black spider was crawling on him, its hairy long legs pricking his skin. Luke's heart instantly raced as he gasped in disgust and quickly brushed the spider away. It flew off and, tucking its legs, froze. Overcoming his weakness, Luke made it down another couple of meters.

The sun touched the treetops, and a warm golden light spread across the surrounding mountains, as if they were covered with a thin layer of gold. “Golden hour,” the best time for the photographer to shoot, but lasts much less than an hour, therefore, Luke watched the sun closely. Minutes later, reddening sun rays barely broke through the treetops. Shadows lengthened and thickened like velvet. A damp coolness wafted up from the river at the bottom of the gorge. The golden light was quickly fading, and so was Luke's hope that he would make it out before night fell. While he hurried desperately down, darkness was already creeping up on him from below.

Suddenly and acutely he felt he had to sit up. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, he listened with a forlorn heaviness to the sounds of the waking night life. Above, birds were in frenzy, preparing for sleep and chattering noisily—like final fanfares marking the end of the day, a long and treacherous day that betrayed him. Luke's thoughts turned to Julia. If he were to die, he would lose her. He longed unbearably to have her by his side, to feel her hands caressing his face and hair, her lips pressed against his. Where could she be now? Hanging out with Tom? A wave of longing, loneliness, and powerlessness nearly choked him. The noise in his head began to grow, as if the sea was getting closer with the waves crashing at his feet. A chill shook his body. Yet, he dared not cry or make any noise at all that might draw attention to him. If he could quietly merge with the darkness and become invisible, perhaps that would save him.

When Luke did not return, the search for him began. Rescuers combed the area, accompanied by trained dogs that prowled through the thickets, searching for any sign of him. Drones buzzed overhead, scanning hard-to-reach areas of the forest from high above. Investigators reviewed surveillance footage from nearby villages and roads, hoping to stitch together his movements from fragmented clues. Versions of his disappearance ranged from a tragic accident to a deliberate disappearance or something more unsettling that no one wanted to voice aloud. Forty-eight hours later, Luke was officially declared missing. Yet his friends, along with volunteers who refused to give up, clung to the fragile hope that he was still out there, hurt, but alive.

Seven years later, Luke was found by chance. An off-trail hiker stumbled upon a skeleton at the foot of a mountain, hidden deep in the woods. As the hiker hesitated, a single hollow socket of the skull seemed to stare at him, lifeless yet somehow aware. The other eye socket was draped with white cobwebs and, as the hiker approached, a spider crawled out slowly, its body shrouded in fine, prickling hairs, legs twitching in measured, sinister precision, shiny fangs open, protruding menacingly. The sight forced the man to step back. The undergrowth cradled a backpack, tattered and stained with mold, bearing unmistakable marks of animal bites and claw scratches. Inside, the hiker found a wallet, worn and warped, containing a Driver’s License and a few payment cards. Luke's identity was confirmed.

The coroner reported that Luke's skeletal remains were discovered leaning against a tree, eerily still in the precise position when his life had ended. Scraps of his clothing clung stubbornly to the bones, alongside weathered shoes, encrusted with moss and barely holding together. No camera or phone was found with him. There was a quick ping from his mobile that only lasted a second. It was suggested that the phone may have been accidentally activated when dropped, but its silence afterward offered no answers. No broken bones or evidence of head trauma were detected to explain his death. The cause of Luke’s final moments remained a mystery. For investigators, it was a case without a resolution. For those who knew Luke, it was an aching void. Why couldn't he return, or what forces had conspired in those shadowy, ancient woods to ensure he never would?

Living in Australia, Leonie Gregory enjoys photography and writing, capturing her experiences and delving into subjects beyond the ordinary. Her short story was published in 2024 in the Bright Flash Literary Review, and her micro-stories have appeared in 50-Word Stories, 101 Words, and Dribble Drabble Review.