Sunday, November 06, 2005
a chemical reaction
Wings for the Dying
There once was a girl named Butterfly... but her family called her Ashley. She was once something small, round, and loathsome of her awkwardness. Then a season came in which she ceased to be. She had descended into frailty and ascended unto purity to become the most marvelous creature.
I met her on my death bed.
I was 17 and had no family or friends. An orphan of my kin, my kind, my society, and my world.
I awoke one evening to find her sitting at the foot of my bed. When you live in a hospital bed you grow accustomed to waking up in the evenings, but not to finding a gorgeous girl sitting at the end of it.
I gathered strength to focus upon her. Looking at her was like being an infant, new to the world, and using your eyes for the first time. Her hair flowed magnificently from atop her head to far past her shoulders. It would change colors with the lighting. Her skin was fair and soft, with a warmth that seemed to emanate from every inch of it. Yet, it was her eyes that had truly dazzled my own. She looked no older than I but I could see the wisdom and ancientness in those big baby-blues.
"I am the Butterfly," she spoke with an almost hauntingly soothing voice. "I know all true wishes and I land on everything beautiful. I landed on you once."
Suddenly a vivid flash of a memory ran through my mind. I was six years old and I was at my parents' funeral. I couldn't stand being there surrounded by nobodies, strangers, and people who did not actually know (or much less love) my parents. I ran away half-way through the sermon. I kept running and running for about six miles, where I collapsed in some random park unbeknownst to me at the time. I layed there motionless watching the leaves fall underneath the blanket of stars above me. I felt a chill as the breeze came over the cool grass and onto me. A swarm of mosquitos assaulted every exposed layer of skin on my body. I didn't swat them away out of hopes that maybe they sucking me dry would make me stop feeling.
Then, as if being taken in by some great benevolent arms, I felt warmth and comfort from a small dim light shone through the trees. From this light came a tiny aerial insect, insignificant in size but compelling in beauty. Just looking at it was like hearing the most alluring lullaby ever. It landed on my hand. I suddenly felt at peace, warm, and immensely sleepy. That night I felt something I'd never felt... and never would again, I suppose. It made everything alright.
"You," I said with a raspy voice half-muffled by thin hospital blankets. "You saved me."
"Yes," she replied, "and now I've come back to set you free."
All my life I always had one wish. It was the kind of wish that you think up during infancy and never lose. I always wanted to grow wings and be able to fly like the angels. With wings, I could take myself away from anywhere. I say "away from anywhere" because in my experience I've found that it's much harder to take yourself out of a situation than to put yourself in. The feeling of weightlessness was one that I longed for yet had increasingly gained despair for ever achieving it.
During my kindergarten graduation my teacher asked every child what they wanted to be when they grew up. Most children said that they wanted to be a fireman or an astronaut. I told her that I just wanted to be. She wouldn't take this as an answer so she would repeat the question to me. Eventually, I replied to her with "I just want to be something that can set me free." They made me repeat kindergarten.
Lying there in that room of white and blue, I had a long conversation with Butterfly. Not really about anything in particular. It was just a great session of shooting-the-shit. At the end of the conversation she said, "Well, it's about time we head out. Shall we?"
"Yes."
At that moment I saw her smile and a light shone within those beautiful bubble-eyes of hers. I felt a strong burst on my back. I began lifting myself up, not with my hands, not with my legs... but with my wings. The ceiling disappeared into white light. I grasped her hand and she grasped mine. Together, we floated upwards.
Once again, the Butterfly spread her wings and brought me to peace.
Read or Post a Comment
awee thats such a sweet story i love it!!
once again...unreal buddy!
<3
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
this was very good.
and i was thinking...
i'll be your butterfly if you be mine.
in the manliest way of course.