Under the Street Lights

Most of us have a solid grasp of reality.
We have the basic, innate idea of what is real and what isn't. We can look in front of ourselves and note that the tarmac on the road next to us is tangible. We can touch it, walk over it; we know that it's unquestionably there, plain as day. Similarly, we understand rules and regulations for the reality we live in: the concept of time, how one in the afternoon is different to one in the morning, and the idea that the laws of physics dictate that I cannot throw an apple into the air and expect it to float. Or perhaps, even consider the fact that we accept that the sun will 'rise' every morning, and 'set' in the evening.
These parameters keep us sane; they become instruments of boundary maintenance for when we feel ourselves tipping over the edge, losing touch with reality. We find that these reminders pull us back, stopping the tide of existential questions. We obtain comfort from the affirmation that everything is okay, that you can indeed differentiate between absurdity and rationality.
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I felt that way, once upon a time. 
That kind of thinking is what kept me going, too. But it's not enough; there's no denying what I see with my own two eyes anymore. There's only so much you can ignore.
I have taken to the forest, and I feel better for it. The calm serenity of my car is a lot more tolerable than amongst the stuffy, built-up rows of houses that I previously made my living space. 
And some may think I've become complacent if they were to view what I do on a day to day basis, but what else can I do? I'm afraid of everything around me. I just want some semblance of clarity, and sitting around distracting myself is the best way I can provide that semblance.
The life I've lived up until now hasn't been remotely risky or dangerous; quite the contrary, actually. Animals have always been my livelihood, and up until now, I've kept pets regularly in my house. I was a dog walker before all this happened to me; it genuinely made me happy. The bond between man and dog is another reality comfort that used to keep me going. Not anymore, though. It's just too dangerous. They see things before we do; it gets the dogs anxious, and I think the whining and barking just exacerbates things.
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I had a nice route that I liked to take the dogs that I was left with, a nice woodland trail that's just west of the street I live on. The regulars were usually larger dogs that couldn't be left alone, lest they chewed their owners out of house and home. They'd follow my lead, panting and wagging as they went, yearning for the tennis balls I would eventually throw for them to fetch for me. I'd take three or four dogs with me; being a local walker meant that fewer people asked for my services, but they paid well because I was well known in the community.
I'd walked them several hundred times by the time that it first started, both myself and the dogs knowing the route by heart. We'd grown comfortable with each other, sharing enjoyable experiences and many an impromptu toilet break for my canine friends. I'd been walking back at about 6pm. It was winter time, and so the darkness had crept in whilst we were out on our walk. It was no bother, though; I made sure that I always brought a torch for times like this.
I remember how the pitter patter of dog feet on pavement was comforting in the cold winter evening, because I miss that sound so dearly now. Spark, the golden retriever, was lagging behind me, far from his usual scouting behaviour. He seemed almost apprehensive, tugging on the lead as if to pull me backward.
The poor thing annoyed me at the time; I hadn't a single inkling of what he was afraid of. I watched him go rigid, staring straight behind me as I bent down to face him.
"What's wrong, boy? Come on, you know you're safe with me." I offered comforting words despite my growing annoyance, ruffling his golden fur affectionately. It was no help, though. The mutt just continued to stare, tongue loose as he began to pant. I let out a sigh; I was sympathetic to his situation whilst wanting to get back home in a timely fashion.
"Look, there's nothing there. Really, there isn't." I confidently assured the canine as I turned my head in the direction of the glowing street light behind us.
And my heart almost stopped.
The dead silence of the night was absolutely deafening in that moment. The street light stood tall and slender, just as it always was, illuminating the dim street, but with such a drastic difference that I could barely even begin to comprehend what I'd just seen.
There, clear and vivid, was a group of blue butterflies, fluttering around the fluorescent light of the street light. They seemed almost ethereal, utterly out of place in the cold winter night. I will never forget the awe and wonder that I initially felt wash over me as I watched those butterflies move. I could see every detail shine through their delicate wings; the soft beating of their little appendages just about audible in the stillness of the dark.
It was at this moment that my brain then actually caught up with my emotions. This was unnatural! I shouldn't be feeling serenity; this was completely absurd. I rose to my feet in my sudden rush of fear and uncertainty, ignoring the yelps from my canine friends.
To make matters worse, as I backed away, the manifestation of whatever the hell I was viewing began to grow. It seemed as though part of the sky above that street light rippled and morphed, as it changed from pitch dark to subtle orange and pink, as if a sunset was forming from the depths of the night itself. The forms of what looked like soaring birds made their way through the sky, circling, their echoing calls reverberating around me.
Now, I've never been one to say that my eyes are unreliable, and I still trust what I'm seeing, because I'm not crazy. I know I'm not. But I absolutely mean this when I say that I could not believe my own eyes in that particular moment. Who could?
The dogs had begun to bark and pine, erratically moving in confusion; they were just as unsettled as I was.
I'd had enough.
I sped off back home, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach that had formed, dogs in tow.
It took another hour before the dogs finally calmed down. I didn't want to return them to their owners whilst they were distressed; it'd be unfair on the poor things.
The next order of business after that happened was to sit down, and confront what had just occurred. I remember the barrage of things that flashed through my mind. I had no idea what to think back then, and even now, I doubt myself sometimes. I had to rationalise what had happened, because things like that just don't happen in reality. But every reasonable explanation seemed to be met with a flaw. I couldn't have been hallucinating; I hadn't taken any drugs, and I never drank anything alcoholic while I was responsible for the dogs. I also couldn't be tired; I'd had a full night's sleep for a good few days.
The only other conclusions I could think of were far worse.
And so I put it to the back of my mind. I couldn't drive myself to insanity over this.
Life moved on, I got back into the swing of things, although I did change my route. That particular street was a no-go, not for me, but for the dogs. I was absolutely fine, nothing had changed at all. They just seemed to get anxious when we got close to where it happened. The new route involved the local park instead of the previous woodland setting, and I believe the dogs enjoyed it; Spark especially seemed a lot better. I really had hated seeing him in such distress that night.
Gosh, I miss him.
Then, just three months later, my life was once again thrown to the wolves.
I'd long since forgotten about the incident, since it hadn't manifested itself again, and I'd been able to get back to normal fairly quickly. I'm one for the easy life for the most part; I like it that way, if I can help it, that is.
I'd decided to have a go at fine-tuning my website to help with getting more business my way, and I liked the cosy atmosphere of my local coffee shop, so that was where I planned on doing it. The basics were set up; I just wanted to work on making it look more appealing to my target audience. Font-changing, layout configuration, ease of access, that kind of thing.
I'd been doing this for a fair amount of time when I suddenly was pulled out of my productive tunnel vision by the sound of a conversation. I began picking up on some things that I didn't like.
"Does he know?"
"He must know, surely he must!"
"I don't think he does."
"I think he just doesn't want to know."
The young couple speaking across the room from me in the little coffee shop must have been engaged in a conversation that involved a friend or relative of some description; I just couldn't suppress that feeling that what they were saying meant something to me.
And then, the penny dropped.
I closed my laptop and left, my mind in turmoil once again, the temporary peace shattered.
I set about trying to figure out what had caused what I'd seen. Some sort of explanation had to exist, something that would eventually make it make sense. I scoured the internet, looking at countless websites in my free time just to remove the shroud of absurdity from my goddamn mind.
It was fruitless.
I remember how my heart sank as I realised that, after a week's worth of research, all that I had concluded was that I was likely the victim of a mental illness, and that I should seek help as soon as possible. I couldn't be crazy; I knew what I'd seen with my own eyes. I've never suffered with anything before. I knew what I had seen was real, but how could it be real when things like that don't happen?! It was all so confusing, and not one person was helping me. I knew that if the professionals thought my case was a psychological one, no one else would believe me.
It only got worse after that.
My walks with the dogs became harder and harder to regularly do; I now couldn't shake off the sense of dread and paranoia that something would appear again. I stopped going out at night entirely, and my livelihood gradually became more and more of a chore to get through. It wasn't fair on the dogs, and it wasn't fair on me.
I began to lose sleep, visualising those things over and over again as I desperately tried to make sense of what had happened. I was not crazy, and I'm still not crazy. My relationships just got worse and worse as time went on. I began calling my family less and less; I just couldn't think of what to say on the phone anymore. I couldn't eject that vision from my head.
And then, they really started happening all over the place.
I had a momentary point of solace when I was on the way back from the park. The safety of broad daylight gave me the tiniest comfort as I walked down the street, my timid and worried expression visible to a passing jogger. He had seen how my eyes were darting every which way as the dogs sniffed at his shoes.
"You alright there, mate?"
I opened my mouth to answer, stammering a little.
"I-I'm fine, it's just the dogs are a little disobedient toda-" I cut myself off abruptly.
There it was, once again.
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Light dimming to night this time, the gurgling and gushing sounds of a river assaulting my eardrums as the snaking body of water seemed to form along the road. Strange light began to circle around it, almost otherworldly in colour and appearance. I began to shake and clutch the dog leads tightly, knuckles turning white. I turned to the jogger with an ashen face; eyes wild. God, I can barely recount it without feeling horrible.
"You see? You see it, don't you?" I cried out in hopeful desperation.
I was finally going to show myself, and everyone else, that I wasn't crazy. It was here, right in front of this man; he couldn't deny it!
"Mate, what the fuck are you talking about?" The jogger had backed away, face full of concern.
No.
I was not crazy.
I couldn't be. This was a fucking trick.
"You're an arsehole, you know that?! Making fun of me when you see it clear as day!"
I remember the scornful look he'd given me before he shook his head and went on with his jog. I also remember because it was the last time that I've ever walked those dogs.
They kept ramping up in severity; I'd see them outside of my house several times a day. A cactus growing tall in the middle of the road, sharks swimming in rain puddles on my driveway. I couldn't stand being here for a moment longer.
So I moved. I took my savings with me, and loaded up my car with all the essential belongings I could fit in. I drove far out of town, convinced that this would finally end this hell. I didn't care about formally announcing my departure anymore; I just wanted to escape.
This brings me to my current situation.
I've been out here for two weeks. I've grown a large beard and I don't smell the best, but my mind is finally clear. Up until now, I've not been sure about what has been happening to me, my mind flitting between multiple conclusions. But I've had time to really think about things now that the manifestations are gone, and today, I think I finally realise what they are.
They're leaks.
The fragility of our own, built-up industrial based reality has cracked, allowing alternative ones to bleed in, warping and distorting our view of things. Nature is taking back its land from us, and they don't want to admit it because it's insane to admit that. But I know what I see, and so do they. The difference is, I can admit it.
It sounds absurd, but I know it's true because they only occurred when I was watching the streets; I've not seen any here in the woods. All of that grief, all that anxiety, is finally gone. I understand now. As outlandish as my conclusion is, at least I recognise what's going on now.
I'll show everyone, they'll see that I'm right. They'll be covering it on the news soon when they finally admit it to themselves. I'll get a job that I can do from the forest; nature will spare me the grief because I know what it wants. I'm living in mother nature's grasp now. I've rejected my town life. I can piece my life back together around this new epiphany, knowing that I'm absolutely rational. No more paranoia, no more watching my back. I know the reality of the situation, and I'm going to be alright.
I sigh, finally content in my mind. I lie back on my makeshift bed on the back seat of my car, closing my eyes with a smile. Yes, everything is going to be fine for me.
My eyes snap open.
There's a familiar sound, echoing deep within my mind.
I sit up, peering through the back window of the car.
A blue butterfly is fluttering its delicate wings, just outside of the glass.
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