Mermaids and Butterflies E-Book

P.K. Gallagher

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

“Mermaids and Butterflies” is not even remotely as lighthearted as the title might lead one to believe. Called "an unsettling tale of loss and loneliness" by editor of CICADA magazine Deborah Vetter, the magic realist short story dumps readers into the life of a disturbed, unnamed protagonist as she is confronted with the question of what a person is and how a person can change.

Leseprobe

P. K. Gallagher

Mermaids and Butterflies

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Mermaids and Butterflies

I.

It was a cold day in April that I saw the mermaid. A huge storm had just made its way through our town, and in its wake, it had left a chilling cold front. As such, I was the only one down by the pond that day, which was just fine with me, thank you.

I'd been in the middle of ripping the wings off of a butterfly when she swam up, so I didn’t see her right away. It takes a lot of concentration to rip off butterfly wings. The thing is always squirming and wriggling, trying to get away, and if you’re not careful, you’ll squish it. I try not to squish the butterflies; I always cry if I do accidentally. They’re my friends. The only reason I pull off their wings in the first place is so we can be together, at least until they die.

Someone once asked me if I thought it was cruel to ground them like that, but I didn’t think so at the time. If I left on their wings, they’d forget I don’t have any and fly away. Then we’d both be alone and neither of us would be happy. If I were truly cruel, I’d have put them into a net, wings and all, the way others cage birds. When you’re in a cage, you can’t go anywhere, wings or no.

The butterfly had gotten away from me that day, one wing hanging halfway off. It gave a weak flap and then tumbled into the pond. It landed right next to the mermaid.

She was beautiful with delicate, angular features, smooth, green-tinted skin, mahogany hair that waved to her waist, and a tail whose golden scales gleamed in the light.

“Did you know that butterflies breathe through their wings?” she asked me. Her voice was pretty; doleful. It made me wonder how seashells must feel when people take them away from the ocean to use as decorations in their bathrooms.