A White Butterfly in a Starry Sky

Retrieved from Silver Letters. Written last November 9, 2013.

Through the vast labyrinth of her thoughts, a realm exists in the midst of nothingness, a fleeting shadow, a feeble wind, a passing thought but nonetheless regularly present, interfering with an air of arrogance. This realm, though it produces thoughts her practical brain would reject, significantly influences the course her life was going to take.

It was an arid, vast region. Her hands felt rough from drawing lines in the sand. She saw him at a good distance from her. But she doubted his existence. Did he really exist? Or was she just an idiotic lexicographer who added every little thing to her dictionary of buffoonery? She has asked these questions to herself a million times more. The though alone wounded her. So she sat down and her hands began to trace imaginary lines in the sand. She thought it would be good to set the boundaries for the mean time. Getting her thoughts straight was the only task at hand. Protecting herself was the goal.

The task seemed arduous. She hated the lines she drew, but she hated herself more for drawing those lines. In less than a year, she was able to draw a thousand lines in the hopes of protecting herself. It was reasonable, then. But time decreed such act to lose its reason, sense or humanity. Yes, she was hurt. Bruised on every side. But what seemed like giving space for her wounds to heal turned into licking those wounds green. After a couple of years, the movement of her fingers have become incessant. It was as if it was already used to draw lines. And she hated that. She wanted to stop but to no avail. She felt lost, cold and alone. She wished to reach out, to start over. But the man went farther and farther away and her hopes went away with his steps.

Now, the lines seemed to form dunes in the sand. It was impregnable. Glass sprang from the hot sand, vitrifying the boundaries she has set between herself and the person she intended to avoid. She can not cross over. She was finally trapped – trapped in a labyrinth she has created in the desert where she fled to nurse her wounds. The walls of the labyrinth, the unforgiving glass seemed to mock her idiotic bravado. She was condemned for what she thought was right but then a little voice inside seemed to tell her that it was the right thing to do. Confusion plagued her days. What should she believe in? Was she right about drawing those lines? Or has she committed the greatest mistake in her life? She looked up and saw the starry night sky for answers but she only found herself condemned. She sat down and wept.

It was then that a figure, a person, passed by. His frame seemed like a passing shadow. She squinted, wiped the tears that were blinding her eyes and saw him. She was tired then. She looked at his eyes. She looked around the uncertainty where her feet was rooted. She could not think anymore. She did not know what to do. She looked so helpless. Her heart was bared, her thoughts were unjustifiably transparent to him. What she felt was something between anger and frustration; the anger she felt towards her stupid self and the frustration she felt towards this whole vicious vacillation.

Then the wind blew. A white butterfly landed on one side of the glass on her right. A thousand memories flooded back to her. She could still recall the ecstasy she felt upon seeing that same butterfly in a glass somewhere beyond this barren land. She was happy then. Then she found the answer.

She went on her knees, her hands were groping for something in the sand and she felt it. She stood up. Raised the revolver towards him. Her hands trembled but she was determined to put an end to this and finally obtain a passage to a place brighter than this desolate land.

She tried to search for an emotion in the man she was about to shoot. But what she found was not what she wanted to see. His lips curved into a mocking smile for he knew full well that she can not hurt him. Those years told him so. Upon seeing such arrogance, tears rolled down her cheeks. It was that of joy and sorrow. She was probably insane.

She looked at the sky. It was then that she saw the white butterfly in its flight towards the unknown. She wiped the tears from her eyes.

She looked at him in the eye and pulled the trigger.

A mirror which does not reflect that which is put before it, is useless.
Au revoir.



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