Categories > Original > Drama > The Name of Love
There was an eerie hush in downtown Boston. People moved and went about their business, communication was exchanged, lips moved, but the quiet was a hushed, almost oppressive sort and it all existed in his own mind. He knew he was the only one who could not hear what was going on outside the dirty ground floor window. There should be the clicking of heels on the sidewalk, the rush of bodies, the clip-clop of the rare horse, and the putting of the new automobile. The window should not have cut everything off. Even muffled, the sound should have traveled.
He let his gaze travel up and he could see the feet and the wheels moving along the sidewalk. The world continued to move out there, while in here silence ruled and time stood still. Time had always stood still for him, but he was always given the illusion of time passing, moving - of him growing old. Age never really happened though. It, like the passage of time, was an illusion.
Light was a virtual unknown down here. Basement level room, grimy sunlight sneaking in through the one street level window. That was all. The floor made of concrete, bearing stains of questionable origin here and there. It was best not to ask what they were or how they got there. The small room, lined with large concrete bricks smelled of sour copper and rotting food.
There was one chair, metal, in the room and he sat on it. The other occupant of the room preferred to stand. Neither had been giving the other the pleasure of being the first to start a conversation. His companion wore a dark suit, fedora hat, shoes that shone. There was a red rose in his lapel. The effect was comedic, but the man in the chair knew better than to laugh.
Finally: "What do I call you these days?"
He did not reply. To do so would give his companion and advantage over him. He'd chosen this name, this persona, with care and did not give it away easily. A glare was exchanged and the companion stepped out of the shadows finally, his hand was held out, palm up, fingers caged over something small and wriggling.
"Do you know what this is?"
Again, there was no reply.
His companion sighed and opened the cage of his fingers, letting the brightly colored butterfly flutter away. It circled the room a few times and came to rest on the wall right below the window. His companion's mouth twisted into a bitter sort of grin. "It's a butterfly, but you knew that, didn't you? You're not stupid. The fairest and most delicate of insects, but do you know what I've noticed?" His companion's hand shot out, moving as though a blur - too fast to be seen - and caged itself around the butterfly again, catching it and bringing it back around to hold out for show. The grin twisted again into a scowl. "It's still a /bug/."
The fist closed, clenched shut. There was a horrible crunching noise that rang in his ears as the wings bent in upon the carapace. He winced and turned away as his companion threw the crushed butterfly to the ground and approached the chair. "Anteros," his companion whispered. "I'm your /brother/. I have a right to know. Where is he?"
No one had used that name in many, many years.
Anteros looked up into the face of his brother and spat. He smiled sweetly as the spittle worked its way down the nose and cheek. "Go chase yourself."
He let his gaze travel up and he could see the feet and the wheels moving along the sidewalk. The world continued to move out there, while in here silence ruled and time stood still. Time had always stood still for him, but he was always given the illusion of time passing, moving - of him growing old. Age never really happened though. It, like the passage of time, was an illusion.
Light was a virtual unknown down here. Basement level room, grimy sunlight sneaking in through the one street level window. That was all. The floor made of concrete, bearing stains of questionable origin here and there. It was best not to ask what they were or how they got there. The small room, lined with large concrete bricks smelled of sour copper and rotting food.
There was one chair, metal, in the room and he sat on it. The other occupant of the room preferred to stand. Neither had been giving the other the pleasure of being the first to start a conversation. His companion wore a dark suit, fedora hat, shoes that shone. There was a red rose in his lapel. The effect was comedic, but the man in the chair knew better than to laugh.
Finally: "What do I call you these days?"
He did not reply. To do so would give his companion and advantage over him. He'd chosen this name, this persona, with care and did not give it away easily. A glare was exchanged and the companion stepped out of the shadows finally, his hand was held out, palm up, fingers caged over something small and wriggling.
"Do you know what this is?"
Again, there was no reply.
His companion sighed and opened the cage of his fingers, letting the brightly colored butterfly flutter away. It circled the room a few times and came to rest on the wall right below the window. His companion's mouth twisted into a bitter sort of grin. "It's a butterfly, but you knew that, didn't you? You're not stupid. The fairest and most delicate of insects, but do you know what I've noticed?" His companion's hand shot out, moving as though a blur - too fast to be seen - and caged itself around the butterfly again, catching it and bringing it back around to hold out for show. The grin twisted again into a scowl. "It's still a /bug/."
The fist closed, clenched shut. There was a horrible crunching noise that rang in his ears as the wings bent in upon the carapace. He winced and turned away as his companion threw the crushed butterfly to the ground and approached the chair. "Anteros," his companion whispered. "I'm your /brother/. I have a right to know. Where is he?"
No one had used that name in many, many years.
Anteros looked up into the face of his brother and spat. He smiled sweetly as the spittle worked its way down the nose and cheek. "Go chase yourself."
Sign up to rate and review this story