Written for Rhondak's The Writer's Block Contest
https://steemit.com/writing/@rhondak/writing-contest-submission-window-opens-today
Contest Prompt
Write a 500-word story about a character whose flaws make them a less-than-ideal protagonist, yet they go on to achieve some form of greatness despite being “written off” by everyone who knows them. This is a complex theme, and word count is minimal, so this is quite a challenge. I will be looking for someone who can bring this theme across effectively and efficiently.
BUTTERFLY DREAMS
Just concentrate on the wings. Pink wing, purple wing, breathe, breathe...Orange wing, blue wing, breathe, breathe... It'll be over soon...
I grew to know that tablecloth pattern like the back of my hand. I knew every fold in the vinyl, every tear In the fabric. I traced those same wings nightly for years.
They were drunk again. We had been summoned. We weren't allowed to speak, we were simply meant to be silent observers, called to attention like referees in a game we had no influence over. But then again addiction doesn't create rational people.
It always started the same way - that sickening feeling hearing the truck pull in the driveway. How much had he had to drink tonight? Would I get any time to do homework before my "shift" began? Would this be the night someone ended up seriously hurt or dead?
School was hard enough. I was quiet and overweight and that made me a target. I spent a good majority of my day hiding from people who reveled in making me miserable. I hid in the Art Room during lunch. I hid in the guidance counselor's office during assemblies. I didn't attend school functions or football games. School was no respite from home and home surely was not a respite from school.
Looking back now, I find it ironic that there were butterflies - the sign of transformation and rebirth - on that table cloth. At that point in my life, I did live in a cocoon and it took a long time to reach a point of not feeling like I had to hide. I still struggle to make eye contact with people because looking at him when he asked you a question could earn you a slap in the face. You could just as easily be accused of eyeballing him as you could of not listening. There was no rhyme or reason, no consistency or guidelines, you just struggled to keep your head above water and make it through the night.
So I sat there, tracing those butterfly wings, night after night. I knew that one day it wouldn't have to be like that and if I could just find the strength to make it through one more night, one more fight... I would be free.
I can still see that table cloth in crisp detail when other vestiges of my childhood have long since fallen away. Some people become the thing they endured. They become the aggressors, the drunks, the helpless. And I don't fault them. The truth is a lot of days, I don't even understand how I made it through.
But I did - I finally grew those wings and have been able to forge my own way in this world. So rise up, know it won't always be this way, there is life after the darkness. And until you are in a space that you can be free, just breathe...breathe...