Joanne loved butterflies.
As strange as it was to say, from the time she was young, she always showed such an interest in the tiny winged creatures. When she was four, she loved them because they were "pwetty." When she was eleven, she loved them because after Grandma Lucy died, she held possession of her silver brooch that looked just like one. When she was seventeen, she loved them because they reminded her of the butterfly kisses her first girlfriend would give. There was something in the delicate beat of its wings or the beauty of its colors. The butterfly held a small-scale majesty, but to Joanne, it was magnified many times over.
Maureen was certainly no butterfly. She was loud and obnoxious, gaudy and a pest. She loved the spotlight – craved it – and went through all means to get it. A butterfly enamated innocence; Maureen's voice alone dripped with every sensual intention she had ever dreamed up. A butterfly held its own silently; Maureen held her own, but liked to make quite a show of it. A butterfly could be synonymous with grace and poise; Maureen was synonymous with alcohol and sex.
Joanne could not understand how she had come to love two things so different. A peaceful animal and a very friendly lover. Perfection versus Corruption. It truly did not make sense and for her, if it didn't make sense, she wouldn't feel better about it until it did.
She turned over on her side, facing the brunette next to her. Night had settled in and for once, Maureen was not out on the town, looking for "helpers" for her next big protest. No, she was right here, inside Joanne's apartment, curled up under the bed's comforter wearing nothing but a tee shirt, shorts, and the lawyer's Harvard sweatshirt. Joanne smiled as she took in the sight, noticing the mischievous, child-like smirk Maureen held that was even present while she slept.
Joanne reached out and slowly stroked Maureen's hair. Her hand trailed down her arm before she pulled it back to her. She let her eyes close, her mind finally at peace. It all made sense. Perfection was out of Maureen's grasp, an unattainable goal. But she was loved regardless, admired despite her many obvious flaws and shortcomings. She was treated like a butterfly.
She was Joanne's tainted butterfly.
-x-x-x-x-x-
HAPPY ONE YEAR RENT ANNIVERSARY, ME! -party ensues-
Uhm...thank you, Tisha, for pissing me off and allowing me to randomly come up with the phrase necessary to create this short piece of... whatever. XD
I measure my life in reviews! :o)
Constructive criticism is good for the soul.
And flames are only accepted by Flame Rising. :o)
-Trish (formerly Unmei06)