Short Story / Butterflies
“Admire as much as you can:
Most people do not admire enough.”
Vincent Van Gogh
Butterflies
It seemed as if everything was beginning to move in slow motion as I was reading the very real expression less than illuminating her face. This was the end. I wasn’t sure why it was over and was not sure how it would unfold but it was most assuredly the end. It was the end of a current reality and the end of a once possible eternity. Gone was all of me that had been planted in her heart, fertilized by time, and uprooted in unanticipated seconds. Never again would we share a love that had been built by two young kids, alove configured of two parallel souls intertwined within one lost romantic summer.
Just from her face alone without even any loud exchange of vocabulary I knew she had found out.
No, I thought to myself. How could she have possibly found out? No one knew. Well, almost no one knew. It meant nothing. If she knew she must know that it couldn’t possibly have meant anything.
My heart was racing out of control. Then came the tears. I was ashamed.
How could I have made such a mess?
Looking into those huge blue eyes, watching the tears, tears I silently pulled from her heart with my behavior, watching them tumble and crash on the ground at our feet like daggers shattering against a shield, my shame grew larger.
I awoke wrestling my pillow.
————————————————————-
I still get chills when I see one of those letters in the mailbox. A small circle instead of a dot over the I, the line through the T’s that is more diagonal than horizontal and the always lingering scent of Stella McCartney. Who knew an envelope could evoke such an intoxicating rush of suppressed emotion. A reservoir of real experiences. A reservoir that once ran over but now stands as a reminder of the powers of drought.
————————————————————
My stomach seems to fill with butterflies, butterflies like the ones I used to get on Christmas morning as I would try to muster just enough courage to wake my parents to open presents way before the sun had even begun to think about rising. My palms start to sweat and my heart seems to be echoing in my chest up my spine, through my ear drums and down the street to my neighbors homes. A sort of strange physical metamorphosis begins to take me over right there at the end of my driveway, and I love it.
————————————————————-
I lay motionless on my bed, alone, in the dark as unprovoked thoughts creep from the depths of my most guarded parts of the psyche. Wonderful thoughts. Thoughts of her that bring a sweat to my brow a butterfly churn to my stomach. I can smell the back of her neck, the mix of jasmine lotion and the natural odor of her skin; a wonderful aphrodisiac. She is so still, her face so soft, her eyes, blue, are so large. Beautifully large. Beautifully large like the Pacific. Overwhelming in fact, innocent, untainted.
She has been here before. Many, many times before. Here she resides, safely, within these walls of my most guarded and valuable thoughts. A vault for memories of her.
————————————————————-
I hesitate for a moment before reaching inside the hollows of this sacred mailbox to retrieve the mauve envelope with two stamps. As I pull it from its temporary squat I notice that one of the stamps is in honor of the veterans of Desert Storm, the other simply says LOVE.
How ironic I think to myself, WAR and LOVE together on a letter from an intimate friend. I wonder if this was intentional? I wonder if she is sending me a message? She was always good at being a silent messenger.
A postdate to the left of the LOVE stamp indicates she’s in Maui.
I bet she’s at her parents vacation home on the beach.
Over the years there have been so many different postdates; Paris, Liberia, Hong Kong, Spain, Japan. She especially loved Islands.
I wish those butterflies would go away.
————————————————————-
Square ice cubes, green kiwi-lime pineapple juice and sushi shared over a Chicago Cubs baseball game. French toast bagels smothered with whipped cream cheese on the dock by the pond with our feet just barely able to tickle the water below. These are just a couple of the memories of a summer that flutter across my eyelids as sleep evades me.
She introduced to me to Ernest Hemingway, well his grave site anyway, as well as the Sun Also Rises. I shared with her the underworld of my two favorites, Jack Kerouac and Henry Miller. She thought On The Road was too masculine. A Tropic of Cancer was more her style. She liked to read Anne Sexton poems aloud at night when we were alone. I preferred Anais Nin. Sometimes we would both cry.
Its difficult to forget the little dimples at the small of her back, the little tiny blond hairs that reside there, that shine in the sun to let you know they are there, and how adorable it was the way she always chewed on her lip when she was either nervous or concerned.
————————————————————-
As the sun gently puts itself to rest on the horizon I ponder the contents of my most recent stamped anxiety. I wonder if she feels this when she sees one of my letters? I wonder if she gets butterflies like mine at the end of her driveway standing in front of her mailbox. What is her ritual for retrieving one of my random heart pourings? I wonder if she misses me? I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.
Open the damn letter!
————————————————————-
Everyone remembers the summer of love. Some remember the beginning, the sunrise, some remember the sunset. It didn’t seem like it could possibly ever end but the end was always present. Two lovers sit closely, fingers interlocked, as the sun rises in the distance and the wind seems to be almost singing. Alone the two lovers think of a life in terms of eternity. An eternity so simple only LOVE is the necessary ingredient. But the sun must always set and the summer of love must eventually come to an end even if it does end in WAR.
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Thoughts of her that bring a sweat to my brow a butterfly churn to my stomach.-This sentence is a bit unclear, just seems to be missing an “and”.
This story is very good, and the disjointed nature of it is a perfect representation of the chaos that can be unrequited love. It reminded me of a girl I used to know, and had very deep feelings for, but never went anywhere with. Funny, as I had a dream about her just last night, and its been a while since I thought about her.
You paint a beautiful picture here, and manage to let us into the lives of these people and get to know them with no dialogue at all, which results in less cheese and more authenticity. Excellent work, in my opinion.
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good use of images and feelings. great use of words in general. i loved the amount of description to a point. two things though. a little depressing at the end, it shows that there is little to no hope at all, and no one really wants to think about that. 2- the use of other writers names as far as what was being read, while intriguing, makes the story all too personal. a reader may not be able to relate. but very nice either way.
“less than illuminating her face” is a destruction of sense of ‘illumination’ here. If its not illuminated there is no reason to put the word in.
“and uprooted” maybe needs a new sentence to keep the meaning of “Gone was the….”
Loud is totally unnecessary in “without even any loud exchange”
Then came the tears. I was ashamed. Suggests he’s crying – but next para Shes crying?
I laughed at the “scent of Stella McCartney” – is it a perfume or sweat?
“My stomach seems to fill with butterflies, etc” whats this about? The whole para has no final objective, just a description.
The para with”She is so still”… is confusing as its a bunch of his thoughts that dont connect well. First hes smelling her back, but then visualising her eyes? Is she asleep?
Only japan and parts of Hong Kong are Islands…
Overall, whilst there is some good imagery, Im afraid I found it a confused and rambling piece and it needs tightening up in my opinion. Id start with the letter arriving, or have it arrive quite soon as it seemed to invoke the spirits of the past and would be a good hook to hang the piece on.
-“motion[.] [no ‘as’] I”
-“expression less than illuminating” => Not sure where you were going with this, but I can’t make heads or tails of it. Though, it’s clear for the rest of the paragraph. Great visuals.
-“alone[,] without”
-“vocabulary[,] I knew” => No need for ‘loud exchange of vocabulary.’ It seems kind of wordy to say, ‘her saying a word,’
-“knew[, then] she”
-“eyes [and] watching the tears[.] [T]ears”
-“shield[.] [M]y”
-“wrestling [with] my”
-Commas, my friend, commas. (I’ll stop pointing them out to save you credits)
-“begun to think” => A bit overused. I’m sure that with as vivid as your imagery can be, you can come up with something better than that.
-The breaks between the paragraphs can distract the reader. Why are they there? Just a couple of spaces and you’re good to go.
-So, is he out at the mailbox or is he in his bed? You kept bouncing between the two and I wasn’t really sure what was going on.
-Now. All of that being said, I like the message of the story. After reading it through again, I got where you were going with it and enjoyed it. It just needs some work. Read it out loud and put commas where you have natural pauses. That’s the easiest way to do it.
Thanks for sharing.
I really enjoyed reading this, love swarms like a 1000 bees in a jar.
I’ve never had holiday love, but could very well imagine the intensity and buzz the author has connected with the young lover. The warming excitement of romancing on far away beaches.
“She has been here before. Many, many times before. Here she resides, safely, within these walls of my most guarded and valuable thoughts. A vault for memories of her.” Who doesn’t have one of these? A special place, a place you wouldn’t normally mention. Something in his top pocket, I would have liked to have read more about her though. Pull down that mystery shield..
“How ironic I think to myself, WAR and LOVE together on a letter from an intimate friend. I wonder if this was intentional? I wonder if she is sending me a message? She was always good at being a silent messenger.” This is my favourite bit from the story. People do become like this, it’s almost like positive paranoia, but again he would probably never mention it, the fear of looking like a fool. We’ve all received a tape from a girl and thought she’s put ‘go only knows’, because she has all these special thoughts. The reality being more like that she actually really likes the song. I feel for the young lover. Everyone knows the story of the holiday romancer, the author has really made you feel like this person is real.
Enjoyable
I think you’re going to hate me, but I’m going to give you my commentary anyway.
I think your first paragraph is a bad one. You’re to busy TELLing me what you know without even once SHOWing me HOW you know it. I think if you concentrate more on the SHOW rather than the TELL I think you’ll grab the reader’s attention faster.
without even any loud exchange of vocabulary – nice… but…
Just from her face alone – not nice. Again, this is a TELL. What was it about her face that let you know she knew. Was it the dizzy distraction with which she answered questions? Was it the way she stared at you as if you were someone other than yourself? Be specific, because when you are I get the picture in my head and more than likely, I will relate it to a situation that I have had.
_ kids, alove configured_ space missing between a and love.
No, I thought to myself. I’d try just using italics on the No. The “thought to myself” sounds a bit convoluted.
If she knew she must – comma after knew.
tears. I was ashamed. you don’t need this last sentence the one after it does the job better.
blue eyes, watching the tears, tears I tears repeated? I think you might need a ; in there.
_watching them tumble and crash on the ground at our feet like daggers shattering against a shield, my shame grew larger.
_this is nice and I like the image here. however always opt for the active verb and avoid the -ing. This sentence for example is more powerful if you start “I watched them tumble down her cheeks and crash to the floor like daggers shattering against a shield.” There a few more points here. You don’t need “at our feet” this is obvious from what you’re saying. I also don’t think you need to TELL us that your shame grew larger, you already create the impression that your character is feeling worse because “she” is now crying.
I think one lot of dashes to break the past from the present would do just fine
I would cut and the always lingering scent of Stella McCartney this bit off as I think the first section is much more powerful.
physical metamorphosis begin a bit purple prose here, but I like this paragraph. It rings true.
depths of my most guarded parts of the psyche the depths of the most guarded parts of my psyche. It’s _your psyche after all.
She has been here before. this bit is lost on your reader. Where is here?
I wonder if this was intentional? perhaps a rearrangement to make it seem more like it was from you… “I wonder, was it intentional?”
loved Islands is the capital purposeful?
Sometimes we would both cry. I love the rest of this paragraph but this sentence irks me somehow. It just seems a little… clichéd and I don’t know why. I love the way you contrast the two of you without making it sound like you were irreconcilably different.
summer of love eww horrible cliché. Don’t end with something like this. It goes against all of the pretty non-clichéd stuff you have written so far. I understand the point you are trying to make and I like the parallel, but I really don’t like the phrase.
OK. Overall it’s pretty Nice. I would like to see the conflict come back at the end when you reveal what it was that you did. Other than that let me know what you think of the points above and please rate this post as helpful if it will help. Good Luck with the comp!
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