The Dance of The Butterflies by James Goh

The Dance of the Butterflies

"What, you want my headphones? Yea, they're in my bag. Grab 'em yourself will ya?" he swooned coolly, that boyish smile settling in a little too well. This was his moment to shine.

Nonchalant tone, laidback attitude, fake foolishness, executed perfectly.

The clockwork inside his brain began to ding as each checkpoint of its progress ticked themselves off.

But alas, his moment did not last long, for the real Alpha male again came and stole his thunder like the sun after a storm. The Alpha male took the headphones and swooned even more coolly, “thanks, buddy” and retreated into the glorious throne of the back of the bus, where the females which he only in a million years would think of approaching resided. His heart held long-felt crushes for them, and after much support from other insignificant characters such as he, he would sum up all his courage to slowly inch towards those queens with long hair and a face to match the beauty of their foolishness, their fakeness, their illusion. But then, just as the moment came to pass, intervention from the toying of fate once again strikes, and the Alpha males again triumphed, obliterating with their boyish laugh, not only the opportunity of that single moment, but the confidence which collected for over an eternity, cleaving a gaping hole in his heart where loneliness and desperation roam, once more.

And there the giants walked once more, holding on to his mark of existence, which now sat channeling tunes of the day into the ears of those beloveds whom they must protect. He sits, waiting, listening, like a hunter, for any mistake in the ritualistic dance of the butterflies. Any moment for him to pounce, to offer his services and hope to strike another mark into the stones of kings and queens, the minds and memories of those he seeks to be a part of, quickly, before…, before…, before…

No, too early! Too early! Too early did the clock strike twelve, too early did Romeo take the poison, and too early did that carriage of grandeur stop moving. The royalty, now done with their dance, prepare to retreat into the reality of their lives once more.

“Hey man, thanks for the earphones, owe u one, aite?”

“Yea, sure man, no problem”. The boyish smile barely registers.

He struggles to put on that face, that laidback tone, that nonchalant attitude, because he knows, he knows, that this is the end. He failed, failed to leave a memory, failed to attract the attention of the queens, so, collecting his fallen earphones again, his part in the dance of the butterflies concludes, and he exits the stage, fading, once again, into oblivion.[/pre]