Sorrow Butterfly
Title: Sorrow Butterfly (Sorgfjäril)
Author: Eremir
Fandom: None/Original
Characters: Unknown
Rating: PG
Word count: 684
Warnings: Angst
A/N: This is a direct translation of a paper written for a Swedish class some years ago. It’s nothing much, just a little insight to my state of mind at the time. My desire to write angst was obvious even back then, I think. If the language seems fucked up, remember it’s a pretty direct translation, and I don’t know how well it works in English. I impressed my teacher, anyway. The title is a random expression my friends and I had for symbols of sadness.
---
Sorrow Butterfly
The sky was not entirely covered with gray clouds. The air wasn’t heavy like before a rainstorm, but he had a feeling the droplets would soon begin to fall. A powerful wind that neither felt warm nor cold blew on his face and ruffled his hair. The surroundings felt vacant and insignificant somehow, as if they were somewhere in between. The weather wasn’t bad or good, not warm or cold. The trees mumbled their submissive song while bending in obedience to the wind. Waves moved in the grass, down the ridge and across the field. A tiny ladybug desperately clung to a blade of grass.
Was he an adult? Or was he only a child? Was he even a he? He suddenly felt so empty inside. Was he also in between? Not young, not old. Completely fearless, yet terrified of everything. Every new step could reveal previously hidden dangers. The ladybug who wouldn’t let go of the grass, even though there were so many flowers in the field. There were also many spider webs to be caught in.
His skin broke out in goosebumps as the increasing wind found its way inside his shirt. The worn cotton relented, and let the chilly enemy in. The wind shifted, changed direction and blew the hair around his face. A deep sorrow grew stronger in his breast.
A low rumbling, and another thunderstorm signaled its arrival. He turned his face to the sky and closed his cobalt eyes. The first cool droplets fell on his warm skin. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. All the tears had gone. So the heavens cried in his stead. His arms felt suddenly weak and he sank to his back on the ground. He opened his eyes and watched the raindrops grow bigger. And they fell on him. Inside his head he heard noises. Voices. He fought not to listen to what they said. He turned his head to the side and watched his right hand where it lay in the grass. Naked. He slowly moved his fingers through the soft blades, feeling their texture with his fingertips. A tiny black ant crawled across his bare arm and disappeared.
His eyes were red and shiny, but no tears would come. His fair hair was now matted and wet, his cold shirt sticking to his body. He wanted to stand, but could not get his limbs to obey. His back was still dry and warm, and it wanted to stay were it lay. For a fraction of a second the sky was lit with the whitest of light, and all his surroundings were too bright to see. His eyes fluttered involuntarily from this shock of light, and moments later the woods and the field quaked from the deep, rolling rumble the thunder released.
A smile found his lips when the vibrations through earth and air massaged his body. He liked thunder. Thunder was his friend. The smile faded. He swallowed and returned his gaze to the sky that was now significantly darker than before. The voices again. The noises. The rain that fell seemed to have voices of its own. Some voices were calm and spoke of beautiful things. Other voices were angry and said awful things. Some of the voices sounded lonely and upset. Screamed with pain. But there was one voice that stood out from the rest. A voice that said nothing. A silent voice. He didn’t understand how he could hear it, but the did hear it.
An electric pulse seemed to travel through his muscles and he was thrown forward in spasms of pain. No rumbling was heard. No blinding white light. Lightning had not stricken him. He pressed his hand to his chest and gasped for air. Freezing raindrops fell on his warm back. Dripping wet tresses of hair covered his eyes. The voice that said nothing spoke wordlessly behind him. He looked back, but could not discover the source of the empty voice.
In an instant everything was silent. No rain fell, no wind blew. No voices spoke. His eyes were shut.
Author: Eremir
Fandom: None/Original
Characters: Unknown
Rating: PG
Word count: 684
Warnings: Angst
A/N: This is a direct translation of a paper written for a Swedish class some years ago. It’s nothing much, just a little insight to my state of mind at the time. My desire to write angst was obvious even back then, I think. If the language seems fucked up, remember it’s a pretty direct translation, and I don’t know how well it works in English. I impressed my teacher, anyway. The title is a random expression my friends and I had for symbols of sadness.
---
Sorrow Butterfly
The sky was not entirely covered with gray clouds. The air wasn’t heavy like before a rainstorm, but he had a feeling the droplets would soon begin to fall. A powerful wind that neither felt warm nor cold blew on his face and ruffled his hair. The surroundings felt vacant and insignificant somehow, as if they were somewhere in between. The weather wasn’t bad or good, not warm or cold. The trees mumbled their submissive song while bending in obedience to the wind. Waves moved in the grass, down the ridge and across the field. A tiny ladybug desperately clung to a blade of grass.
Was he an adult? Or was he only a child? Was he even a he? He suddenly felt so empty inside. Was he also in between? Not young, not old. Completely fearless, yet terrified of everything. Every new step could reveal previously hidden dangers. The ladybug who wouldn’t let go of the grass, even though there were so many flowers in the field. There were also many spider webs to be caught in.
His skin broke out in goosebumps as the increasing wind found its way inside his shirt. The worn cotton relented, and let the chilly enemy in. The wind shifted, changed direction and blew the hair around his face. A deep sorrow grew stronger in his breast.
A low rumbling, and another thunderstorm signaled its arrival. He turned his face to the sky and closed his cobalt eyes. The first cool droplets fell on his warm skin. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. All the tears had gone. So the heavens cried in his stead. His arms felt suddenly weak and he sank to his back on the ground. He opened his eyes and watched the raindrops grow bigger. And they fell on him. Inside his head he heard noises. Voices. He fought not to listen to what they said. He turned his head to the side and watched his right hand where it lay in the grass. Naked. He slowly moved his fingers through the soft blades, feeling their texture with his fingertips. A tiny black ant crawled across his bare arm and disappeared.
His eyes were red and shiny, but no tears would come. His fair hair was now matted and wet, his cold shirt sticking to his body. He wanted to stand, but could not get his limbs to obey. His back was still dry and warm, and it wanted to stay were it lay. For a fraction of a second the sky was lit with the whitest of light, and all his surroundings were too bright to see. His eyes fluttered involuntarily from this shock of light, and moments later the woods and the field quaked from the deep, rolling rumble the thunder released.
A smile found his lips when the vibrations through earth and air massaged his body. He liked thunder. Thunder was his friend. The smile faded. He swallowed and returned his gaze to the sky that was now significantly darker than before. The voices again. The noises. The rain that fell seemed to have voices of its own. Some voices were calm and spoke of beautiful things. Other voices were angry and said awful things. Some of the voices sounded lonely and upset. Screamed with pain. But there was one voice that stood out from the rest. A voice that said nothing. A silent voice. He didn’t understand how he could hear it, but the did hear it.
An electric pulse seemed to travel through his muscles and he was thrown forward in spasms of pain. No rumbling was heard. No blinding white light. Lightning had not stricken him. He pressed his hand to his chest and gasped for air. Freezing raindrops fell on his warm back. Dripping wet tresses of hair covered his eyes. The voice that said nothing spoke wordlessly behind him. He looked back, but could not discover the source of the empty voice.
In an instant everything was silent. No rain fell, no wind blew. No voices spoke. His eyes were shut.