Back to:Fantasy Writing Contest
Vincent gave an enthusiastic cry as he pounced forward onto the grass, cupping a magnificent purple and black butterfly between his small hands and the grass. The child’s tongue stuck out thoughtfully from the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed, his brilliant crimson eyes gleaming with anticipation behind his small square glasses. Cautiously, Vincent pressed his face to the ground, hands still cupping the suspected butterfly and dared to lift his hands slightly to peer underneath.
He gave a delighted ‘squee’ at seeing the butterfly beating its wings slowly and rhythmically under his palms. “Daddy, daddy!” Vincent called, sitting up onto his knees and turning expectantly towards the short, lithe man making its way gracefully towards him. “Daddy, look what I caught!”
With unnatural tenderness and delicacy for a six year old, the boy slowly un-cupped his hands and gently ushered the pretty thing into his palm. The little boy stood, turning his pridefully glowing face upwards while thrusting his prize up for his fathers’ approval.
Yamis’ carmine gaze shifted to the exquisite little catch, admiring the delicate creature before turning to study Vincents’ features that held a startling similar appearance to himself… Pale, crimson eyes, delicate features, achromatic black hair…
“That is very pretty, Vincent,” Yami said at length. With a gentle hand he swept his long black hair to one side and pulled up his robes to allow himself to kneel to the child’s level. Vincent hands lowered with his fathers’ movement, keeping the butterfly in plain view. Yami smiled softly to the boy and with loving hands he took his sons wrists gently in them and lowered them further so he could avert the child’s attention to himself. “But, Vincent, dear, we do not like to disturb the creatures of our world that the goddess’ have so generously created for us.”
Vincent quickly frowned, pulling his wrists free of his fathers grip and pressed his cupped hands to his chest. The butterfly’s wings beat furiously within the boys’ hands; panic-stricken and helpless. “But, it’s mine… I found it,” the boy protested, glaring.
Yami pursed his lips, but said nothing. He only allowed his son to play out his frustration, since, Yami knew, the boy would do nothing to displease his father. Vincent continued to glare defiantly and even did as much to take a few steps away from his imposing, though fragile looking father.
“Do you not sense its distress?” Yami chose to ask, instead of demanding the boy release the delicate butterfly. Vincent made a sour face, but didn’t reply. Sighing softly, Yami let his nimble fingers run across one particular flower-like weed that had pushed its way through the grass that seemed to break for the freedom of the clear blue skies like some desperate child seeking the warmth of a mothers embrace. Vincent watched him curiously, though kept the butterfly trapped between his hands and held against his chest. Yami let his crimson gaze meet his sons, and they stared for several long moments until the young boy made a noise of distress and looked away.
“It’s not fair,” Vincent finally said as his voice cracked. He looked back to his father. “Why can’t I keep it?” he whined miserably.
“Because, it doesn’t belong to you,” Yami replied flatly—perhaps too coldly. Vincent flinched back. Cursing himself quietly Yami rephrased his words, “Would you be upset if someone came along and locked you up?”
Vincent stared for a moment, and then glared distrustfully. “Why would they do that?”
Yami resisted the urge to glare back. /Damn children./
“Maybe… they thought you were pretty?”
“…That would be weird…” Vincent said, looking uncomfortable. “You wouldn’t let them do that, would you daddy?”
“…That’s beyond the point…” Yami said, frowning at the boy.
“Y-You wouldn’t let anyone do that would you, daddy?” the boy repeated, growing increasingly more panicked at the thought of some stranger whisking him only to lock him away into eternal darkness. His father was silent. “D-Daddy?”
Yami, though, was trying very hard to control the twitch of his eyebrow. He ran his hand across his eyes and massaged his temples. “Vincent,” he started annoyed, “No. I would not let anyone do that to you,” A sigh of relief, “—regardless,” The man continued, “You seem to be missing my point.”
“Point?” Vincent wrinkled his nose and then if sudden understanding he looked down to his hands. “…”
The boy began to tremble slightly as if the opening of his palms was somehow giving him great physical stress. Very slowly the tight seal of his palms pressing together became a slow crack, and then finally a gaping hole. The butterfly, on instinct, took flight into the air and disappeared into the bright azure above, leaving the dark-haired six year old to stare silently up at the heavens.
Yami waited for the boy to begin cry, since, it was in his youngest sons’ nature to do so… Instead, Vincent turned a steady eye to his father and a look of intense wisdom seemed to touch his childish features. “I think I understand,” the boy said simply. Taken aback by this sudden statement, Yami only blinked. “I don’t want anyone or anything to be unhappy...” The boy continued as his gaze drifted to the ground, “Freedom shouldn’t be something handled so indifferently.”
Yami tried to answer, but the sudden sapience from his six-year-old son had left him speechless. He blinked at his son. Once. Twice. Then moved his mouth as if trying to form words to…congratulate him? To agree? To disagree? Unable to think of a response, Yami simply smiled. Vincent raised his eyes, which were filled with tears and then threw his arms around his fathers’ neck and began to cry softly, clutching at him.
Yami blinked, and then his smile widened.
This was his Vincent.