Hm... just wrote this, but I'm not really satisfied with the ending, I think. Oh, well.


Rating: G
Disclaimer: Got the entire flutter by-idea from an icon I have on LJ, and I have no idea how the maker of the icon came up with it.




Butterfly fluttered by


“Come,” she said to me one night, and she took me by the hand to pull me into her life.

It was easy like that, easy and breezy as she always said, but it was good. She was reality averted, and sometimes I wondered if she was nothing more than just a dream. But she wasn’t. She never was.

One time when it rained, she ran outside and caught the droplets with the tip of her tongue. It made her feel alive, she said, but I thought it just made her wet. She said she wanted to steal the raindrops from the sky, and I wondered if the only way she could be happy was to be crazy. I asked her, and she said,

“I’m not crazy. I’m just lazy.”

It wasn’t true, of course, she only said those words because they sounded pretty, just like the splashing of the fountain in the park, or so she thought. She loved the strangest of things, but she didn’t find them strange, just different, and different was good, she told me with a smile. She needed different.

She was different all right, and I needed her too. She was my autumn fairy, with her chestnut curls and her flaming eyes. She was my Siren, my secret, she was the lullaby I never dared to sing. She could butterfly through life the way the wind sweeps through trees, and when I pointed this out to her she giggled and said she liked that word, butterfly.

And so I called her butterfly from then on, a butterfly fluttered by. She would always imitate one, frisking through the knee-high grass behind the house with arms flapping through the air, and she wouldn’t stop till I gave in and laughed.

She loved the smell of fire, and the colour of water, and when I tried to explain to her that water has no colour, she smiled and said “yes, it has, it’s just that you don’t see it”, but every time I tried to see it I came to the conclusion that it probably was for her eyes only. Just like so many other things.

Sometimes I felt a stranger in her wonder world, but she could make me smile, so I stayed. Even when the tears came, I stayed. She didn’t like to cry, she said it made her face look puffy. I thought her tears made her even more beautiful than she already was, and when I told her this she tried to cry harder, just to be more beautiful for me.

Later there came moments when I feared the butterfly in her had disappeared, or had been crushed under the weight of her melancholy. She rarely tasted rain or listened to fountains anymore, and often I wistfully remembered the chaste kisses in the morning dew. But then she would smile, and spark, and all was fine again, until she would turn her head and ask me quietly to leave her alone.

The moments of joy were rare until they died completely, and there was nothing I could do to keep her from slipping away. Often I wished I would have dried and framed her, just so I could always remember how she used to be. But the past was the past. She was here now, with me, and even though she had become fragile and helpless, she was still my little butterfly, fluttering her wings without ever really flying.


~The End~

I really like this just really amazing the discription just wow

I loved it! It was really poetic and emotional, and jam-packed with metaphores I love.
Don't ask me why, but it reminded me a bit of Jude Law's relationship with Sienna Miller in Alfie. ;)

Great little story. You never miss a shot, Lady. :yes:

This is such a sweet little story.
All those emotions and metaphors
This story feels like a sweet little treasure.

Love it!

Will you ever cease to amaze me?

...I think not.

:love: