Butterfly
“I only care about them”, he told her on the phone. “The rest is up to you. Oh, and of course I would like to keep them.”
They met at the agreed place. She arrived on time, bringing with her a pair of white thigh-high stockings. Made of silk. Never worn.
“I wonder whether one can ask to be buried in a pair of these” he asked her while thinking of his wife, probably at home, probably setting the table for five.
Her reply was the most indifferent, soothing look he had received in his whole life.
When she left, ten minutes later, he eagerly reached for them again. To touch them was to cupture the powdered wings of a butterfly for the first time. He knew he couldn’t take them back home.
White thigh-high stockings. Made of silk. Worn once.
He folded them in tidy white blocks on the bed. As he was closing the door, he knew he would never wear them again.
Ambiguous – allegory. I love it. It’s strange. Cross-dressing perhaps?
It can be applied for so many things.
On second reading, I really reaally like it.
hey, thanx :)
I was just wondering about you!