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Killing Butterflies: a tragedy [1] --Edited--

JC · 2008-12-05T21:15:02Z

Prologue: Something deep inside me stirred, awakening a fear so close to longing, so uncontrollable. Pulling back I realized that it had already gone too far. Neither of us were ready for this, at the very least I knew I wasn't. Yet it continued, past the point of comfort and security his hands trailed, further and further still until it was too much. We could only go forward, and it was the one direction I couldn’t seem to master. With tension boiled all around, waiting to cave in and suffocate, I realized just how long ago I should have stopped. This wasn’t right, and he would understand. He had to understand that I couldn’t go through with this tonight. “Arion,” John leaned forward, putting the flicker of candlelight closer to his face. “I’m sorry, but maybe it‘s better this way.” I stared back, working to keep my emotions from getting the better of me; after all, it was I who called it quits. I felt my eyes go cold as ice, cold enough to send the last flame scurrying to the dark and quiet John in his tracks. He could say sorry as much as he wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact. The fact that it would be over soon, over a year and a half of our lives gone because I wasn’t ready. They were there; nervous flutters in the hollow of my stomach, not accustomed to this emotion. They were made for anxiety and fear. Not pain, not torture. The butterflies were trying to rip their way out with little wings, sharper than knives. They tore through flesh, drinking up the blood inside with hungry proboscises. John winced under my scrutiny and continued as best he could. “It’s just that, well, what did you expect? The candles-” I thought I knew him, but as it turned out, that was the very thought that kept me from really knowing him at all. This night, which was supposed to be about us became all about his carnal cravings. And now, because I wouldn’t just go through with it, all of it would end. He looked at me like I was going to break into tears at any moment. That was not something I was going to do, just another satisfaction I wouldn’t allow him to have. Because if he could make me cry, then he would know that I was his, that he had some power over me. I ignored him, and looked around the familiar room. We were in the shed-turned-office in his backyard that had, for the past year and a half, been our secret hideout late at night. “Babe,” he said, the same look coating his features. “Are you okay?” No, Jackass. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed the words. I knew he could tell. “You’re lying.” Just as he said it, the first butterfly made its way through. Through what- I couldn’t tell. Everything in my body tried to escape at once, tear me apart, and melt me down until I was nothing more than a passing memory in the air. The sensation was overwhelming, and I was crying. Damn it. I was crying. “Please, don’t cry. This is for the best.” “Stop it!” I cried, shoving my head in my hands and trying to make it stop. My entire body shook, tremors traveled through as the butterflies flew through with their razorblade wings. It hurt so much. Sitting in front of me was the guy I loved, staring back at me with an expression of both pity and finality. Neither of which were good. And there I sat across from him, breaking down to a sudden end because I couldn’t move forward any longer. And yet, the rest of the room seemed to dismiss us. The music still played softly from the stereo and moonlight broke in through the windows, but as much as I wanted to, I wasn’t falling for that charade. I was falling apart. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was soft, but just underneath I could hear that the decision was made. This was the end. A new wave of pain sent more tremors down. The tears weren’t falling fast enough, but couldn’t fall any faster. My entire body felt like it was breaking down. “Arion, please.” With this surge of pain came a new anger, and a new courage to say the words I needed to say. “Please what?” I asked, my voice raspy with the still-falling tears. “Please don’t cry,” John answered. Everything about him was soothing, comforting, and he was doing it on purpose. He was stringing me like a puppet, only this time I wouldn’t take it. “Why not?” I asked. “Why can’t I?” He didn’t have an answer for that, and I found myself crying harder. I hadn’t cried in so long, and the feeling was almost too much. John made a move like he was going to hug me. I pulled back and looked away. “Don’t.” “Babe-” “No,” I said, putting as much venom as I could into the word. I was hurting, and he should too. He shouldn’t have been able to sit across from me so calmly. If he’d ever really cared about me he should have felt something. “I don‘t want to hear it.” “Don’t do this,” John said with obvious annoyance. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth this feeling, this heartbreak. It had taken until now for me to realize that I’d wasted a year and a half of my life, and now, as much as it hurt, it was time to walk away. “I’m not,” I said. My voice cracked as I fought back a new wave of tears. “You are.” Without another word I gathered my things, letting the tears fall silently and shamelessly. The tremors were stuck in my hands, but the rest of me was strangely peaceful. I knew it was just another façade. The wounds weren’t healing, and there would be more to come later. Much more. I paused with my hand on the doorknob; the hardest word to say seemed stuck in my throat. John watched me from where he sat, but made no move to stop me, no motion that this hurt him in the least. I guess I’d known he wouldn’t try and stop me, but the hope had given me even more room to fall. Soon enough, I turned the knob and walked out into the night, that single word haunting me as I went. Goodbye. _____________________________________ OLD VERSION: Chapter One: It was a special night gone wrong, so wrong. My memory was etched with the image of innocent candles with flickering flames, and the feel of his body so warm and close to mine. Something deep inside me stirred, awakening a fear so close to longing, so uncontrollable. Pulling back I realized that it had already gone too far. You can only go forward, and yet, it was the one direction I couldn’t seem to master. With tension boiled all around, waiting to cave in and suffocate, I realized just how long ago I should have stopped. “Arion,” John leaned forward, putting the flicker of candlelight closer to his face. “I’m sorry.” I stared back, working to keep my emotions from getting the better of me; after all, it was I who called it quits. I felt my eyes go cold as ice, cold enough to send the last flame scurrying to the dark. Then they were there. The butterflies, trying to rip their way out with little wings, sharper than knives. They tore through flesh, drinking up the blood inside with hungry proboscises. John winced under my scrutiny and continued as best he could. “It’s just that, well, what did you expect? The candles-” I thought I knew him, but as it turned out, that was the very thought that kept me from really knowing him at all. “Arion?” He looked at me like I was going to break into tears at any moment. That was not something I was going to do, just another satisfaction I wouldn’t allow him to have. Because if he could make me cry, then he would know that I was his, that he had some power over me. I ignored him, and looked around the familiar room. We were in the shed-turned-office in his backyard that had, for the past year and a half, been our secret hideout late at night. “Arion,” he said again, the same look coating his features. I was beginning to get sick of his overuse of my name. “Are you okay?” No. Jackass. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed the words. I knew he could tell. “You’re lying.” Just as he said it, the first butterfly made its way through. Through what- I couldn’t tell. Everything in my body tried to escape at once, tear me apart, and melt me down until I was nothing more than a passing memory in the air. The sensation was overwhelming, and I was crying. Damn it. I was crying. “Arion-” “Stop it!” I cried, shoving my head in my hands and trying to make it stop. My entire body shook, tremors traveled through as the butterflies flew through with their razorblade wings. It hurt so much. Sitting in front of me was the guy I loved, staring back at me with an expression of both pity and finality. Neither of which were good. Then, there I sat before him, breaking down to a sudden end because I couldn’t move forward any longer. And yet, the rest of the room seemed to dismiss us. The music still played softly from the stereo and moonlight broke in through the windows, but as much as I wanted to, I wasn’t falling for that charade. I was falling apart. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was soft, but just underneath I could hear that the decision was made. This was the end. A new wave of pain sent more tremors down. The tears weren’t falling fast enough, but couldn’t fall any faster. My entire body felt like it was breaking down. “Arion, please.” With this surge of pain came a new anger, and a new courage to say the words I needed to say. “Please what?” I asked, my voice raspy with the still-falling tears. “Please don’t cry,” John answered. Everything about him was soothing, comforting, and he was doing it on purpose. He was stringing me like a puppet, only this time I wouldn’t take it. “Why not?” I asked. “Why can’t I?” He didn’t have an answer for that, and I found myself crying harder. I never cried. Ever. John made a move like he was going to hug me. I pulled back and looked away. “Don’t.” “Ari-” “No,” I said, putting as much venom as I could into the word. I was hurting, and he should to. “Please leave me alone.” “Don’t do this,” John pleaded, the first hint of any genuine emotion was beginning to show. “I’m not,” I said. My voice cracked as I fought back a new wave of tears. “You are.” Without another word I gathered my things, letting the tears fall silently and shamelessly. The tremors were stuck in my hands, but the rest of me was strangely peaceful. I knew it was just another façade. The wounds weren’t healing, and there would be more to come later. Much more. I paused with my hand on the doorknob; the hardest word to say seemed stuck in my throat. Soon enough, I turned the knob and walked out into the night, that single word haunting me as I went. Goodbye.

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Thu Dec 25, 2008 6:08 am

JC says... · Thu Dec 25, 2008 6:08 am

close to an uncontrollable longing. You get the exact same thing

Actually, it isn't the same thing. The longing isn't incontrollable. The fear is, please read the sentence the way it's written. Would it be better if I switched it to: "A fear so uncontrollable, so close to longing."?

Wait - when he says her name (Arion, right?) he goes on to say 'it's better this way'
Since when does he feel the same as her? Because I thought he was eager, he was in the beginning!

He's saying it's better this way that they break up. I'll make that more clear. Thank you.

So maybe put 'i said venomously' instead to make it more to the point

Um, I'll re-word it, but a word of advice to you:
ly adjectives are rarely ever the solution, and are in fact better off avoided all together.

If you're confused, he's breaking up with her because she wont have sex with him. Which is why she isn't relieved at all.
Thank you very, very much. I do so love feedback.
-JC

Last edited by JC on Thu Dec 25, 2008 8:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.

But that is not the question. Why we are here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come. -Beckett

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PerforatedxHearts

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Thu Dec 25, 2008 8:51 pm

PerforatedxHearts says... · Thu Dec 25, 2008 8:51 pm

Pretty much everyone has said it for me. But I laughed my butt off on this one:

“Babe,” he said, the same look coating his features. “Are you okay?”

No, Jackass.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed the words. I knew he could tell.

Well said, JC. Well said.

Although the prologue is a bit cliche in terms of all that's happening, I think you put a little more emotion to it and the butterflies make it more of your own.

"Video games don't affect kids. If Pacman had affected us as kids, we'd all be running around in darkened rooms, munching magic pills, and listening to repetitive electronic music." --anonymous/banner.

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Killing Butterflies: a tragedy [1] --Edited--

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