Everyone in full costume and mask’s as hundred’s dance on the dance floor. He sit’s there, talking with two guy’s and two girls, feeling like a fifth wheel. But a serious of unfortunate relationships keeping him from finding someone. Still, the feeling of imposing, grows greater and greater in his mind, until it consumes it. He looks around.
There eye’s meet. A sense of mystery and allure wash over them both. Despite the protest of the other four, reluctantly, he invites her over.
“You can call me dusk,” she says flirtatiously, hiding behind a fan.
“Um…I’m wildfire,” he respond’s. oblivious to it all.
The air of the group changes. and slowly he realizes her for who she really is. The red scarf around her neck. The way her dress flows: sinking in the back, but rising in front. The seductiveness of her eyes. She’s a Venus flytrap, open wide for the innocent butterfly. Waiting to digest him.
“I’m going for a walk!” he announces. A desperate ploy to get away from HER. As pangs of regret start to sink in.
He runs to the forest. Hoping, praying she wouldn’t follow. But alas, he hoped in vain. For this flytrap, was a flying-flytrap.
Scared, he turned around, meaning to scream BUZZ OFF DIRTY W**RE! but this seemed mean, he decided to be soft, “Why are you following me?” was what came out.
They begin to engage in conversation. The flytrap opens wide and releases it’s scent. Slowly, the butterfly becomes blinded to what she really is, and draws close. Maybe it’s not a flytrap, maybe she’s honeysuckle, or an apple tree in bloom, or even a rose. When he came close enough, she gave him a kiss. it’s only a kiss, he thought, it doesn’t have to go anywhere. so he kisses her back…and the flytrap closes.
One kiss turns into a dozen. Then there mouths open, and there tongues dance. Slowly, he begins to long to kiss more than just her lips…Slowly fiery, intense, sweaty passion washes over them. They become lost in themselves, and each other. There souls knit and sew together. Have they become one? Its hard to tell.
She said she wanted to be his girlfriend. But she left from his life. Disappeared. The butterfly slowly realizes, he fell in a pool of corrosive acid. He feels used, and hurt. He feels like the dirty w**re.
Months later, he wonders: did she get pregnant? If she had, did she birth the baby or murder it in the womb? If she birthed it, did she keep it, or adopt it? If she adopted it, did she give it to good parents? If she kept it, will it be well taken care of? Will she find a decent father for it? Who was she? Why did she leave? Why didn’t she have the common decency to tell him why she was cutting him out of her life? Why didn’t more white hot passion help? What was wrong with him, that his relationships can’t end, with just a simple break up?
An empty shell, desolate of joy, cleverly masked.
He hides his pain behind a mask of happiness. His costume from the masquerade, tattered and dirty, still covering his body. How he longs to take that tattered costume off. But alas, he doesn’t have the spirit, his strength has left him.
Sadness, and resentment every time he sees’s his friend Dawn. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said SHE was dusk. But she wasn’t. So why did his heart, still lash out at her, why did it cry every time he saw her. Just because there names are inverts? No, he has no reason to feel the way he does.
Things even become more complicated for his tattered heart. He was slowly falling for Dawn.
These rampant emotions riving the heart in two directions.
He finally racks up the nerve to ask her. Though she rejects him.
But for some reason, the pain is gone. Strength returning, he begins took take off his mask. Life returning, a new spring thawing in his heart.
He decides to talk to her about it. Castrating himself by opening up. And letting his feelings out.
More importantly, she is ready to run.
The memories of that previous summer return. A dozen and one daggers pierce his heart. Wounds re-open. A bleeding heart, underneath a happy mask. Real men don’t cry; real men can handle pain.
The happy mask back on. He hides the pain, yet again. A toxic soup bubbling inside.
He cuts himself. Then screams as he writes over and over in blood: COMMITMENT BEFORE INTEMACY! COMMITMENT BEFORE INTEMACY! COMMITMENT BEFORE INTEMACY!
Only God can heal now, a heart cocooned in ice, forever wrapped in night.