Short story - Butterfly
Posted: March 26th, 2015, 3:21 pm
A short sketch. I can leave as it is, but I thought - maybe it makes sense to continue the story? I would be grateful for advice, criticism and impressions.
He sat down beside me in the cafe.
- Not used? - Asked, and without waiting for an answer, plopped down on a chair.
I looked down to a cup of cappuccino, before briefly examined the man. He was in a rumpled suit, unshaven, and he carried the fumes.
- Yes, you're right - he said, when he saw the conviction in my eyes. - I drink. But I'm not drunk. I drink and not get drunk. It is a nervous, I think.
This is still not enough! I looked around for space to change seats.
- No, I'm not crazy! - Immediately reacted man. - Is it because of a woman. Because of her, I do not sleep, eat, and only smoke and drink. And I think, I think about her ...
- Well, of course, strong men always blame the woman! - I quipped.
- You know, women - they like butterflies! - Did not seem to hear my words, he continued. - Flitting from flower to flower and happy in their little world.
- That is, women are limited, in your opinion? Stupid?
- Not really - he winced. - In a sense, they have ... you have a mind. You can distinguish the pollen of the flower tastier. And you know, what colors fashionable in this season. Many even become a business woman, strong and independent. But it all turns to dust when there is a catcher. He holds a butterfly in his hands, and she loses the ability to reason and make judgments.
- Do you mean love?
- Yes, I do.
- How many metaphors to describe the simple feelings!
- But on the wings of butterflies have small scales, which are responsible for color and at the same time is a weakness. In his hands they crumble catcher, and the wings become faded. Catcher same hunter bright and beautiful, starts to look for another butterfly, without any concern about what will happen to the one ruined them. After all, without scales butterfly can not fly. And what a wonderful world it was before she met catcher! ..
The man lit a cigarette. I was silent.
- Excuse me, - he said finally. - I just had someone to talk to.
- And what about the woman, because of which you drink? - I said almost inaudibly. - And why are you so upset? After catchers cynical enough, as I understand.
- No, I'm not a catcher. It's not for me. A woman ... I broke her wings. Her delicate, fragile wings. And I looked like a catcher. She can no longer fly. I'm a monster ... Do you understand? I mutilated human life, but will never be punished for it.
I looked at him and thought - who is he? Neurotic? Crazy? Romantic? For some reason I felt sorry for him.
- Here, take my phone number - I said softly. - If you want to talk ...
- Thank you! - With warmth he said. - I knew right away that you are very good and responsive girl. By the way, did anybody say that you are beautiful?
I walked down the sidewalk and smiled. The sun was shining, the wind brought the aroma of fresh baking.
"Just think of it - I thought - butterflies! It had to come up with a way? Compare certainly interesting, but too primitive. Here I am, for example, not a butterfly. And never lose my head out of love!"
Roses were red, violets - blue, honey - sweet, and life - beautiful.
He sat down beside me in the cafe.
- Not used? - Asked, and without waiting for an answer, plopped down on a chair.
I looked down to a cup of cappuccino, before briefly examined the man. He was in a rumpled suit, unshaven, and he carried the fumes.
- Yes, you're right - he said, when he saw the conviction in my eyes. - I drink. But I'm not drunk. I drink and not get drunk. It is a nervous, I think.
This is still not enough! I looked around for space to change seats.
- No, I'm not crazy! - Immediately reacted man. - Is it because of a woman. Because of her, I do not sleep, eat, and only smoke and drink. And I think, I think about her ...
- Well, of course, strong men always blame the woman! - I quipped.
- You know, women - they like butterflies! - Did not seem to hear my words, he continued. - Flitting from flower to flower and happy in their little world.
- That is, women are limited, in your opinion? Stupid?
- Not really - he winced. - In a sense, they have ... you have a mind. You can distinguish the pollen of the flower tastier. And you know, what colors fashionable in this season. Many even become a business woman, strong and independent. But it all turns to dust when there is a catcher. He holds a butterfly in his hands, and she loses the ability to reason and make judgments.
- Do you mean love?
- Yes, I do.
- How many metaphors to describe the simple feelings!
- But on the wings of butterflies have small scales, which are responsible for color and at the same time is a weakness. In his hands they crumble catcher, and the wings become faded. Catcher same hunter bright and beautiful, starts to look for another butterfly, without any concern about what will happen to the one ruined them. After all, without scales butterfly can not fly. And what a wonderful world it was before she met catcher! ..
The man lit a cigarette. I was silent.
- Excuse me, - he said finally. - I just had someone to talk to.
- And what about the woman, because of which you drink? - I said almost inaudibly. - And why are you so upset? After catchers cynical enough, as I understand.
- No, I'm not a catcher. It's not for me. A woman ... I broke her wings. Her delicate, fragile wings. And I looked like a catcher. She can no longer fly. I'm a monster ... Do you understand? I mutilated human life, but will never be punished for it.
I looked at him and thought - who is he? Neurotic? Crazy? Romantic? For some reason I felt sorry for him.
- Here, take my phone number - I said softly. - If you want to talk ...
- Thank you! - With warmth he said. - I knew right away that you are very good and responsive girl. By the way, did anybody say that you are beautiful?
I walked down the sidewalk and smiled. The sun was shining, the wind brought the aroma of fresh baking.
"Just think of it - I thought - butterflies! It had to come up with a way? Compare certainly interesting, but too primitive. Here I am, for example, not a butterfly. And never lose my head out of love!"
Roses were red, violets - blue, honey - sweet, and life - beautiful.