Edited illustration from iStockphoto
– I feel like I have lost something.
– I guess I forgot to live.
– I don’t know exactly. But I just realized it!
– This conversation is totally predictable.
– You think so?
– I know so!
– And what’s next?
– Next is the usual.
– Bullshit. The usual bullshit. But all that bullshit is your life.
– Well… spare me that bullshit, will you?! Maybe you should go home and sleep.
– I sleep every day.
– Go figure!
– Aren’t you tired of sleeping?
– It is just a physical need. We are limited, my friend.
– But I am always tired!
– See! Bullshit!
– I feel like I’m wasting my time!
– You’re just not efficient enough.
– I know! But why I don’t do what I have to. I know what I should do but I do nothing. Maybe I am still waiting for the right time?
– Right time for what?
– For doing the right thing, for taking chances, for living the good life…
– You are waiting to live?
– Fuck it! I always knew you were an asshole!
– Why does a butterfly need to be a caterpillar first?
– What?! Am I a caterpillar now?
– Did I mentioned something about you being a butterfly?
– Well… no.
– So would you like to be a butterfly?
– I would like to be at peace with my self, you know… just satisfied.
– Then you could be a nice juicy cockroach.
– Unfortunately, or who knows, fortunately I am a self-consciousness being. I can think. I have needs and hopes and dreams!
– And there is your problem!
– What do you mean?
In that moment the medium size man strongly slap the face of the medium size man next to him, with the back of his hand. Then they looked at each other.
– You had a butterfly on your cheek. I had to kill it. It was never a caterpillar. Do you feel better now?
– Much better. Thank you!
The slapped man wipes clean his face of the blood of the killed butterfly with his impeccable white shirt sleeve. The intense dark blue blood leaves marks on his white shirt sleeve and collar. Then calmly, he draws out of a pocket a small black notebook and a small black pen from another pocket. He opens the notebook on its first blank page and takes a note: < 13.12.2008 / 3:45 AM / Dead butterfly. It was blue. Sudden death by strong slap. Its blood mixed with my own. Now everything changed. Probably the butterfly never existed. Probably it’s just me who died. Further investigations needed to explore the possibility of existence without the larva stage >. He closed his black notebook. He put it back in his pocket. He put back the pen also, in the other pocket.
And then he cried without tears. And then he fell asleep.