“Will you ever get a tattoo?”, she asked me, as James Blunt crooned ‘Goodbye My Lover’ through the desktop speakers. The chill night air blew through the open French windows of the 12th floor flat and..
“Will you ever get a tattoo?”, she asked me, as James Blunt crooned ‘Goodbye My Lover’ through the desktop speakers. The chill night air blew through the open French windows of the 12th floor flat and I felt it touch my soul. “Yes”, I replied, hesitating. “I had a plan once but… “
I took a sip as nostalgia came flooding back into my mind. Memories always seem to be have a habit of hiding in the corner ready to jump on you at the right moment, I thought to myself. I wondered what she was doing right now as Coldplay’s Fix You started to play.
“What was the plan?”, she asked again as we sat in the dark.
“It’s obvious”, I said, not wanting to answer. I leaned back on the mattress and drifted back into those memories.
“What’s so obvious?”, She asked again.
Sensing that I was lost in reverie, She took a sip of her drink.
“I don’t like those butterflies”, She said after a while, snapping me out from my daydreams. She was looking at the paintings leaning on the left side corner of the room against an almirah. They had been painted just a few days back and had not been put up yet.
Thankful to the change of topic, I found myself at the inquiring end. “Why don’t you?”, I asked her.
“I don’t know.. Its wing is broken. Butterflies are such delicate creatures, no?”, she replied after a pause.
Butterflies aren’t the only fragile ones, I said to myself as I poured another drink.
“Why did it have to break? Why should something so beautiful meet such a sad and pitiful end?”, she continued.
“What do we know of its life? And of its death? ”, I interjected.
She pondered over it for a moment and said, “Something so beautiful could not have lived an evil life. Why can’t we be more like it?”
“You know, it was a cocoon, once upon a time”, I said. “and only by breaking its bonds was it able to achieve this beauty. Come to think of it, isn’t most of our life lived safe within a cocoon? It’s only past 25 or so that we actually get to break it and emerge out into the world.”
“Hmm…”, she said, “I still wish we could fly though.”
I left my drink, got up and walked out into the balcony as Gilmour’s Comfortably Numb wafted into the night air.
This was written as a classroom assignment where we had to write a short story in 500 words inspired from a real life event of our life.