Butterfly Dreams

A preveiw of my book

 

            Prologue

            

 

 

The moon was high in the sky the day I was born. I don’t remember anything of that day, I couldn’t, seeing as my mind was obviously too new to do much of anything. But my brother has told me stories. He told me that the woman who carried me, she is not my mother, as she has never once showed me the warmth and compassion a child deserves, awoke screaming and spurting hell fire. The man who helped with the carrying, I call him that since he falls into the same category as the carrier, started to grab the telephone when he realized that the line was disconnected from the lightening storm they had had the day before. He yanked the woman out of bed and guided her outside, where the snow was beginning to fall in thick sheets. The flakes were so dense that the man couldn’t move the car out of the driveway.

 As the woman continued to scream bloody murder the man started to panic. He was not a doctor; he wasn’t much of anything, really, except the couch bond lump he had turned into since my brother’s birth. He looked around, afraid that his car would be stained, and stashed a blanket under the screaming woman. He quickly grabbed the hand sanitizer and rubbed his hands quickly as he saw the head of a baby. He went straight into action, helping the woman along the way. Soon the woman’s cries died out and were replaced by the ones of a baby. The baby turned out to be a boy.

That baby turned out to be me, Nicoli.

 The man panicked once more, cutting the umbilical cord with a pocket knife and leaving the panting woman and shivering baby in the car. The woman was in no shape to hold the baby she did not want, so he toppled out of the car, amazingly unhurt. A young boy, a little older then six, came barreling out of the house upon noticing the baby, who was slowly turning blue. He took the towel away from the woman and swaddled the little baby in it, running as fast as he could back to the house, he eyes watering from the frosty cold. He tried to comfort the little baby by singing the old songs he had heard in day care all those years before.

 My brother was the one who saved me from dying. He was the one who fed me and clothed me and made sure I was always healthy. He was the one who combed my short silver hair and bathed my baby soft skin in the expensive shampoos that he could in no way afford, but still bought. And he is the one who I sleep next to today, huddling close for warmth. I like the way his black hair feels on my cheek as he kisses me good night, wishing me the sweetest dreams. Sometimes he tells me of the dreams he had the night before. But he tells only the good ones. I have a feeling that he has many more bad dreams then good, especially when he shivers and is sweating in his sleep. When he does sweat, I wipe him dry to keep him from catching cold.

 Having an older brother who cares for you with all his heart is nice, it makes the world seems a little bit brighter even though the Russian climate makes it bitter cold and dark. I wish that every boy could feel this way, especially if their life is as hard as ours is. I hope that God will see them home one day and help them onto the right path.

 Sometimes my legs feel like led. Isn’t that funny? Why would my legs feel so heavy but I still keep on walking? I thought that if you have weights on your legs you can’t move, but I guess these are invisible weights that only I can feel and see.

 Sometimes the days are dark and cloudy and I feel sad. But why should I feel sad when I have my own personal sunshine who sleeps next to me every night? Why should I feel sad when my life is going okay? Why do I feel as if I have no purpose, when I am the only one who can listen to big brothers dreams? Brother would be sad if his reason for living was to suddenly go away. I would feel sad to have him sad.

 I ask these questions as the plague me everyday. But there is also one other question that makes me so confused and sad and which I can never seem to find an answer to. I wonder If I asked big brother if he would know the answer, but I think this question would make him even sadder then he already is.

 Why did God create me if I only make people sad?

Author's Note

My character Nicoli is 10 when he narrates (spelling) the prologue. I hope this shows the kind of book this will be. For my friends on yahoo who wanted a sample of my book!