Mariposa de Muerte

I've probably taken enough jabs at members of my family. At the very least it is time for me to tell a story about someone else. Again names have been changed to protect their identity. Also some of it has been fictionalized so that it sounds way cooler than it actually was. This is the life creative fiction lives.

Tom Chadkins laid in bed with his covers kicked aside, sweating. His roomate had gone home for the weekend, it felt as though the room had doubled in size with his absense. The cracked window allowed a chill to crawl silently throughout the room. The hum from his computer echoed off the white cinder block walls.

As Tom laid there gripped with fear, he thought about those blocks and the life that they had lived. They had surrounded hundreds of residents before him and had undoubtly seen much. Too much. He imagined them getting painted over every few years and then being told that they were new. That must be how they tolerated such a life, with the hope of a new begining not being far around the corner.

The chill had climbed the bed and found its way to his brow, yet Tom still felt as though he was choking on flames. He thought about the science of such imagery. He assured himself one could never choke on a flame. For the flame to exists it must have oxygen, if there is no oxygen to sustain oneself, then there would be none for the flame. Unless of course the flame was using all of the oxygen before your body could use it, but surely even a child knows that is not choking, that is asphyxiation.

He felt the fire circulate throughout his chest. His heart fluttered in pain like a butterfly with razor blades for wings flew freely through his blood. Sensing his life may be nearing its conclusion he looked to the bricks with envy wishing for a new begining rather than an end. Tom held his breath and closed his eyes. Waiting for the butterfly of death to deliver its final blow.

The mariposa de muerte - named such by Tom for many reasons, none more important than alliteration - teased him for hours. Keeping him from a resting peace while simultaneously teasing him with hopes of fresh comencement of life. His panic would calm enough for him to dream of what he would do with such an opportunity. Such as spending more words on compasion and less on criticism.

After hours of torture Tom gave in. He released himself from the mortar that made him a part of this world. He drifted away never expecting to feel the chill dance across his brow again. He smiled as his eyes relaxed and his flame was smuthered.

For a man who had experienced many illnesses in his life, from migranes to bouts of diarreah, Tom was completely oblivious to the symptons of heart burn.

His new and terrifying experience combined with his solitude and insightfulness of a brick's life had led him down a path of hopelessness. The path was dark, but will be brightened by the laughter as we all follow him back to life.