"She watched, fascinated, as he hurled her
Porcelain cat against the wall. The paint
Flaked off and whirled about and fluttered to the
Ground like a thousand tiny, white butterflies."
The miniscule flying creatures entranced her. How could something that small and weak be a breathing, eating, living animal? Butterflies fascinated her like nothing else could. Since Mama died, so long ago, they were all that mattered to her. If the butterflies were ever to disappear so suddenly from her life, she wouldn't be able to carry on. She crouched behind the tall, shifting grass, intent on capturing one of the tiny pairs of wings. What was it that drove them on? Like the Monarch butterfly. They flew hundreds of miles, over oceans, over continents, to get to their breeding grounds in Mexico. But her favorite kind of butterfly was the tiny white ones. There was something about the bright, clean texture of their tiny wings fluttering about that glued her to the spot.
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
She methodically shredded the white paper in her hands. When she had fine confetti, she lifted her hands to the wind and released the shreds. They looked so familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Ever since she had run away from home, something had not been quite right. There seemed to be an extra little heartache right next to the gaping hole Mama's death had left. She sighed deeply and took a long drag on her cigarette. When had things gotten so bad? She used to be able to take it… But lately, she felt as if she would overflow. She whirled around at the sound of footsteps. Who could know she was here? This was her private place. No one could touch her. But there he was.
"Stop that," he grated. She chuckled.
"What? Oh, that's right. You're asthmatic. I had forgotten." She threw her cigarette down on the dirt and ground it beneath her foot. "Better, O perfect one?"
"Those things can kill you," he said.
"Exactly." She grinned at him. "Why do you care whether I live or die? No one else does." She stared at him.
"What makes you think I care about you one way or another?" He held his hand out into the darkening sky. "It looks as if it'll rain soon." He pointed out.
"Good, I like the rain. Maybe those roses will grow." She gestured to a hunched over bush, thorny and covered with dirt. Everything around here was covered in an ever-present layer of brown. He scowled at her.
"This place creeps me out. It's like you'll never feel good again." She glanced at the clouds above her.
"You're right, it will rain soon. Want to come inside?" She avoided his eyes and his observation and pointed to a length of tarpaulin stretched over a few boards. He cringed. She laughed at his desire to be somewhere else. "It keeps the rain out. Besides, you came here by yourself. You can leave anytime." But she knew he wouldn't. The ties that bound them together were too strong. He lifted the tarp and crawled inside. It was dark inside the boards, and she lit a black candle. The flickering flame caused their shadows to dance on the makeshift walls. The effect made her skin tingle with anticipation.
"You know why I'm here?" he inquired. She nodded smugly. "Good, because I have no idea." She looked miffed at this. When he's like this, she thought, this is why I love him… She shook her head to clear the feeling of dizziness. It was really starting to get hot inside her little home. She wiped her forehead and casually mentioned this fact.
"It's HOT in here, isn't it?" "Naw, I think it's just you…" He deflected her attempt to get through his psychological barrier. But she had caught him wiping the sweat off his hands. She smiled. She was on familiar ground, now. "Why are you so screwed up?" He asked.
"My crazy little redhead, what am I going to do with you?" She mused.
"When you smile, why doesn't it ever reach your eyes?" He was always curious.
"Because I'm too messed up to care anymore." She sighed.
"Junkie." He accused.
"No more than you," She pointed out. "You're here too, you know."
"You know what?"
"What?" She said.
"You need to piece your life back together, Liebe." At this, Liebe stepped outside into the rain. The fat drops plopped out a rhythm on her cheeks. I love you. Plop. I love you. Plop. I love you…
She knew what she had to do with her life now. Schuldig watched her from the tarpaulin flaps. She ran in the rain, trying to catch the tiny white
butterflies.
Porcelain cat against the wall. The paint
Flaked off and whirled about and fluttered to the
Ground like a thousand tiny, white butterflies."
The miniscule flying creatures entranced her. How could something that small and weak be a breathing, eating, living animal? Butterflies fascinated her like nothing else could. Since Mama died, so long ago, they were all that mattered to her. If the butterflies were ever to disappear so suddenly from her life, she wouldn't be able to carry on. She crouched behind the tall, shifting grass, intent on capturing one of the tiny pairs of wings. What was it that drove them on? Like the Monarch butterfly. They flew hundreds of miles, over oceans, over continents, to get to their breeding grounds in Mexico. But her favorite kind of butterfly was the tiny white ones. There was something about the bright, clean texture of their tiny wings fluttering about that glued her to the spot.
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
She methodically shredded the white paper in her hands. When she had fine confetti, she lifted her hands to the wind and released the shreds. They looked so familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Ever since she had run away from home, something had not been quite right. There seemed to be an extra little heartache right next to the gaping hole Mama's death had left. She sighed deeply and took a long drag on her cigarette. When had things gotten so bad? She used to be able to take it… But lately, she felt as if she would overflow. She whirled around at the sound of footsteps. Who could know she was here? This was her private place. No one could touch her. But there he was.
"Stop that," he grated. She chuckled.
"What? Oh, that's right. You're asthmatic. I had forgotten." She threw her cigarette down on the dirt and ground it beneath her foot. "Better, O perfect one?"
"Those things can kill you," he said.
"Exactly." She grinned at him. "Why do you care whether I live or die? No one else does." She stared at him.
"What makes you think I care about you one way or another?" He held his hand out into the darkening sky. "It looks as if it'll rain soon." He pointed out.
"Good, I like the rain. Maybe those roses will grow." She gestured to a hunched over bush, thorny and covered with dirt. Everything around here was covered in an ever-present layer of brown. He scowled at her.
"This place creeps me out. It's like you'll never feel good again." She glanced at the clouds above her.
"You're right, it will rain soon. Want to come inside?" She avoided his eyes and his observation and pointed to a length of tarpaulin stretched over a few boards. He cringed. She laughed at his desire to be somewhere else. "It keeps the rain out. Besides, you came here by yourself. You can leave anytime." But she knew he wouldn't. The ties that bound them together were too strong. He lifted the tarp and crawled inside. It was dark inside the boards, and she lit a black candle. The flickering flame caused their shadows to dance on the makeshift walls. The effect made her skin tingle with anticipation.
"You know why I'm here?" he inquired. She nodded smugly. "Good, because I have no idea." She looked miffed at this. When he's like this, she thought, this is why I love him… She shook her head to clear the feeling of dizziness. It was really starting to get hot inside her little home. She wiped her forehead and casually mentioned this fact.
"It's HOT in here, isn't it?" "Naw, I think it's just you…" He deflected her attempt to get through his psychological barrier. But she had caught him wiping the sweat off his hands. She smiled. She was on familiar ground, now. "Why are you so screwed up?" He asked.
"My crazy little redhead, what am I going to do with you?" She mused.
"When you smile, why doesn't it ever reach your eyes?" He was always curious.
"Because I'm too messed up to care anymore." She sighed.
"Junkie." He accused.
"No more than you," She pointed out. "You're here too, you know."
"You know what?"
"What?" She said.
"You need to piece your life back together, Liebe." At this, Liebe stepped outside into the rain. The fat drops plopped out a rhythm on her cheeks. I love you. Plop. I love you. Plop. I love you…
She knew what she had to do with her life now. Schuldig watched her from the tarpaulin flaps. She ran in the rain, trying to catch the tiny white
butterflies.