I wanted to write something with this particular pair so I looked through the past prompts and wrote for this one! Quick clarification: I renamed Matre to Lorien. Too much ‘M’s in the family XP Even if there’s only two.
Rayin was in the garden, drawing some of the flowers. He watched as the light breeze cause them to move, and admired the small white butterflies as they came to rest on the petals. He was able to capture one in his drawing and could easily replicate one flying above the flowers; the creatures were one of the things he drew best, after all.
His first clue that he had drifted off should have been the slight change in scenery; he was outside his home now, but he was still drawing. A few roses were clustered to one side, while sunflowers faced the light’s warm rays. His second clue was words—they had no true voice, but he knew that they were spoken nonetheless.
“Can I join you, Brother?”
Rayin smiled at the figure, who similarly had no definite shape nor size. “Of course, Lorien. Is Li bothering you?”
“A little,” Lorien admitted. He sat down next to his twin brother, looking at his artwork. “Everything you draw is so pretty…add some coloring and it would look lifelike.”
“Thanks,” Rayin said. He continued drawing silently, simply enjoying his brother’s presence.
Lorien didn’t seem satisfied with the silence, picking a dandelion and twirling it gently. “…Hey, Rayin? I…want to share some analogies with you, if it’s all right.”
“I don’t mind,” Rayin assured him.
Lorien nodded, then spoke. “You always like to compare certain people to butterflies—beautiful yet fragile. But have you ever thought about the flowers? They’re as much like us as the butterflies. There’s so much of them…and in so many varieties. There’s fickle roses; light-chasing sunflowers; persistent weeds like dandelions. The butterflies stop to rest on the flowers—they rely on the pretty things to strengthen them. The beautiful and fragile can rely on the colorful and resilient. As a butterfly, you’ve come to rely on me; the golden flower that houses everything you’ll ever need.”
He closed his eyes and blew away the dandelion seeds. In that moment, Rayin knew that his brother wished for: Rayin’s continued life. The thought of it made Rayin feel a painful pang in his heart. “Every person has a purpose,” Lorien continued. “And every flower has a meaning. But the greatest meaning a flower can hold”—the scenery around them became gray, and Lorien himself became more of a shapeless shadow—“is when it wilts. Devoid of life, it can’t strengthen anyone. It just goes to show…people can’t protect you nor be protected forever. Everything wilts, loses color, and dies.”
“Lorien…” Rayin said, looking at his younger brother. There was barely anything there anymore.
“No…no, I’m not done yet,” Lorien replied. He didn’t have a face, but Rayin felt him looking at him. “Rayin…Brother… You know I’m a wilted flower, right?”
“…Yeah. I know.” It hurt to admit it; he never knew his brother, but he always wished he did.
“That’s means you can’t rely on me,” Lorien insisted. “A wilted flower is no home for a butterfly like you. It would be better if you could find something—someone—else to rely on. I’d say the same to anyone, even Mother.”
Rayin didn’t want to believe it, but he knew at this point that he was dreaming. He didn’t want to let his brother slip away…although it had to be done. Unwillingly, he woke up in the garden. Feeling wistful about something that will never come to pass, he flipped the page of his sketchbook and drew something else. A boy, holding both flowers and admiring the presence of a butterfly, who Rayin believed resembled Lorien should he be alive today. A flower wilts…but, at some point, the butterfly must move on. He understood this, yet he hesitated—this particular one didn’t want to fly away to some other location. After all, butterflies die too; he would be able to truly meet with Lorien, some day.
April 2 2021 wrote:
All flowers have some meaning. Especially when they wilt.
Rayin was in the garden, drawing some of the flowers. He watched as the light breeze cause them to move, and admired the small white butterflies as they came to rest on the petals. He was able to capture one in his drawing and could easily replicate one flying above the flowers; the creatures were one of the things he drew best, after all.
His first clue that he had drifted off should have been the slight change in scenery; he was outside his home now, but he was still drawing. A few roses were clustered to one side, while sunflowers faced the light’s warm rays. His second clue was words—they had no true voice, but he knew that they were spoken nonetheless.
“Can I join you, Brother?”
Rayin smiled at the figure, who similarly had no definite shape nor size. “Of course, Lorien. Is Li bothering you?”
“A little,” Lorien admitted. He sat down next to his twin brother, looking at his artwork. “Everything you draw is so pretty…add some coloring and it would look lifelike.”
“Thanks,” Rayin said. He continued drawing silently, simply enjoying his brother’s presence.
Lorien didn’t seem satisfied with the silence, picking a dandelion and twirling it gently. “…Hey, Rayin? I…want to share some analogies with you, if it’s all right.”
“I don’t mind,” Rayin assured him.
Lorien nodded, then spoke. “You always like to compare certain people to butterflies—beautiful yet fragile. But have you ever thought about the flowers? They’re as much like us as the butterflies. There’s so much of them…and in so many varieties. There’s fickle roses; light-chasing sunflowers; persistent weeds like dandelions. The butterflies stop to rest on the flowers—they rely on the pretty things to strengthen them. The beautiful and fragile can rely on the colorful and resilient. As a butterfly, you’ve come to rely on me; the golden flower that houses everything you’ll ever need.”
He closed his eyes and blew away the dandelion seeds. In that moment, Rayin knew that his brother wished for: Rayin’s continued life. The thought of it made Rayin feel a painful pang in his heart. “Every person has a purpose,” Lorien continued. “And every flower has a meaning. But the greatest meaning a flower can hold”—the scenery around them became gray, and Lorien himself became more of a shapeless shadow—“is when it wilts. Devoid of life, it can’t strengthen anyone. It just goes to show…people can’t protect you nor be protected forever. Everything wilts, loses color, and dies.”
“Lorien…” Rayin said, looking at his younger brother. There was barely anything there anymore.
“No…no, I’m not done yet,” Lorien replied. He didn’t have a face, but Rayin felt him looking at him. “Rayin…Brother… You know I’m a wilted flower, right?”
“…Yeah. I know.” It hurt to admit it; he never knew his brother, but he always wished he did.
“That’s means you can’t rely on me,” Lorien insisted. “A wilted flower is no home for a butterfly like you. It would be better if you could find something—someone—else to rely on. I’d say the same to anyone, even Mother.”
Rayin didn’t want to believe it, but he knew at this point that he was dreaming. He didn’t want to let his brother slip away…although it had to be done. Unwillingly, he woke up in the garden. Feeling wistful about something that will never come to pass, he flipped the page of his sketchbook and drew something else. A boy, holding both flowers and admiring the presence of a butterfly, who Rayin believed resembled Lorien should he be alive today. A flower wilts…but, at some point, the butterfly must move on. He understood this, yet he hesitated—this particular one didn’t want to fly away to some other location. After all, butterflies die too; he would be able to truly meet with Lorien, some day.
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