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 Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 9:51 am
Madame's Butterfly
By: Milo
"Oh great," I mumbled to myself as the thunder crashed loudly, causing rain to pour down upon my head. "Can't I have one day where trying to become famous doesn't have its setbacks?" I opened my umbrella, remembering it was made of lace. "Well, that's just perfect." I shut my umbrella frustratedly.
I continued down Broadway, bemused by the amounts of people shoving into me and pushing me around. "Excuse you!" I called after one man who soggily clambered into me, reeking of old cigarettes and stale alcohol. "Don't you people pay attention to playbills anymore?!" I shrieked at a cluster of people. "I am famous!" I spat the last word. Several people stared at me with a mixture of confusion and entertainment.
One woman in particular caught my eye. We looked nothing alike; she had dark, matted, auburn hair, light blue eyes, and she was short and round in stature. Somehow, her presence captivated me. She walked up to me, a tight smile played across her lips. “Honey, are you drunk? Do you need a ride home?” She put her hand affectionately on my shoulder.
“What are you, one of those redemption angels trying to get more church members? I don’t need your help, I’m not looking to join a church.” I marched, triumphantly and clumsily, away and carried on towards the opera house where I was to be performing. I looked back to see the lady cross herself. I scowled and hurried faster, bumping into more people.
It seemed like an eternity later that I reached the steps of the opera house. I hurried up the steps and into my dressing room, where I heaved into a chair. I picked up the open bottle of whiskey sitting next to me on the vanity and took a big swig. “Ah, yeah. That’s good,” I sighed contentedly.
I picked up my gilded mirror and aimed it at my face. I saw endless mountains and valleys that were my forehead wrinkles, lackluster gray eyes, and a bump on my nose. Immediately, I took out my French powder makeup and wafted it around until my face contained many specks of iridescent powder. Then, I took the powder pouf and spread the clumps out until it became a mask. Next, I took out my mascara and applied coat upon coat, causing my lashes to look like little black caterpillars. Next came my favorite item, rouge. I applied enough to make my cheeks appear apple red. My lips I plumped with lipstick. Finished with the routine, I picked up the mirror again. I was still displeased with my appearance, but something told me it wasn’t the makeup. I shrugged it off and applied more rouge. Five minutes later, I turned to my wardrobe.
Unfortunately, tonight’s costume was a hideous web of red ribbons and patches of fabric that no one had ever bothered to make sure fit. “Help?!” I hollered, hoping someone would come get me into the awful contraption. When no one came, I marched out into the hallway in my undergarments to find someone. No one noticed me until I grabbed the nearest stagehand by the ear and dragged him into my dressing room.
“What do you need, Madame?” He stammered, rubbing his ear. He was clearly nervous about the situation.
“Help me into this-this- thing over here,” I commanded and wrenched it off the ground, throwing it at him. He caught it with an audible “oof” and proceeded to undo the ribbons.
“It’s not that complicated, ma’am, really. Just untie this, this, and this and voila! Now just step into it like so, great!” He coached.
“Really, you have to talk to me like this?” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh-I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“Whatever. Just hand me that whiskey over there, will you?” I cut him off, finally. He handed me the whiskey bottle and I drank the rest, throwing the empty bottle onto the couch across the room. After the stagehand had finished lacing up the monstrosity and handed me the shoes, he hurried out wordlessly. I sat down and put on the gleaming red slippers and admired my feet. “Oh, am I going to look gorgeous in front of that crowd!” I smiled to myself. I got up and examined my attire in its entirety. The outfit didn’t look half bad on, I noticed. However, my makeup was still off. Again, I ignored the feeling that something was wrong. Abruptly, there was a knock on my door, signaling the time for curtain.
I hurried out of my dressing room and to my place on the stage. When the curtain came up, I surged into my aria, climbing over the scale and descending again, like a child on a playground. This continued on through the song until I reached the end, where I didn’t stop climbing until I hit my highest note, held for a decent portion of a minute. After I took my bow and the applause subsided, I left the stage so the opera could continue. The evening proceeded in much the same way. I was never given the chance to speak, only sing the narrative arias. However, during intermission, I got my reward for putting up with the injustice. I cracked open a fresh bottle of cognac and drank half, all in secrecy. I then hurried back to my place on stage and continued. Then, during the final aria, I started feeling dizzy. True to my teaching, I shifted my stance and kept singing. That didn’t help. It got so bad that, during the final note, I collapsed and fell offstage. The entire audience let out a collective gasp as I fell. I woke up what seemed like a few minutes later in my dressing room with a pounding headache, my boss in the corner, and ice on my ankles and neck. I groaned and looked at my boss.
“Madame. What happened tonight is what I have been expecting. It is because of this I must let you go. We need a more, erm, sober narrator in our company. Here is your severance pay.” He handed me an envelope thick with bills.
“So this is my final curtain, eh?” I slurred. I attempted a smile, which turned more into a sneer.
“Looks like it. Don’t worry about finding a replacement. We’ve got someone lined up.” My former boss replied.
“Well, isn’t that swell. If you’ll just give me a moment to change, I can be out of here,” I sighed. Despite the pounding headache, I looked around the room. My vanity, my wardrobe, and my hair kit had been with me through everything. I started to tear up thinking about what would happen to us now, but I quickly swallowed the tears.
“All right. It was… an experience having you with us, Madame. Best of luck to you in the future.” He got up and left quietly.
“Luck? I don’t need luck. I got skills. I got myself. What else does a girl need?” I asked to the empty room. When no response came, I laughed. I took off my grotesque costume which was, surprisingly, easy to take off. I then padded across the room to my red dress I had planned to change into. “I’m going to the bar, old gown, let’s see if we can turn this ol’ life around. What do ya think?” No response.
I put the gown on and dug through my valise to find my shoes. I didn’t find them in my bag, so I just grabbed my favorite pair from my wardrobe. “It’s not like the next hot lady will want them. If she does, too bad,” I laughed to myself as I put on the sleek red heels. With my makeup, hair kit, and pride in my hands, I left my dressing room and walked quietly out onto Broadway.
The rain was still pouring, which did not help my new lease on life. But somehow, the rain felt, well, different; less ominous, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. On my way to the bar, I passed the same angel lady as before. Only this time, instead of appearing as my opposite, she appeared as the true angel she was: long, shining hair, white gossamer gown, and that blindingly bright glow behind her. I stared at her, in awe. “So, what does this mean?” I asked her.
“You tell me, daughter. What do you think this means?” she whispered inside my head.
“I think this means that I was wrong. I can’t just rely on myself. Someone, somewhere, is looking after me. And I think he’s up there.” I pointed to the night sky.
“Really,” The angel smiled. “I think you might be right.” She twisted and vanished, becoming a twinkle in the heavens above.
“Well, that was likely the oddest thing I’ve ever encountered,” I mumbled to myself. I moved on towards the bar, but then I stopped. “If someone’s looking after me, they probably don’t care for me being such an alcohol enthusiast.” I laughed dryly and turned to go to my apartment.
Suddenly, a large raindrop landed on my shoulder and turned into a bright crimson butterfly. More and more followed until I was surrounded by a sea of flamingly bright butterflies of all colors. I looked up at the sky and smiled as the star in the center twinkled. This was the sign I needed. This answered my question.
What do I do now? The butterflies gave me the answer. I am Madame Rouge. Nothing can stop me now.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 11:10 am
an interesting story, but the end didn't make a lot of sense to me.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 12:07 pm
Heheh, shs's supposed to come out of her self-absorption. It's Madame's epiphany.
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Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2009 8:46 am
It was okay. A bit boring, but well-written. The part where she was fired, I would make that more detailed or longer. It was just too short. It was like "You're fired; get out." With no explanation. I'd be more like "You are always drunk and because of that, and the failure tonight, I must let you go. You have not shown good character or judgement, and I need the best staff at hand." It is my belief that longer is almost always better.
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 1:02 pm
Thanks. It seems in my quest to be good at writing I have forgotten the interest factor. BAck to the drawing board, I suppose. ^^ Thanks for the help, everyone.
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