Adriana

From "The Faces of Unborn Butterflies"

"...............

'Serious':
"I would like to hold your hand, see your face, feel your thoughts... Tell me about yourself! Who are you? What’s your name?"


The question hit her with a scorching force, unlocking a dark, unsuspected energy without a name, without an apparent reason or explanation. She started typing feverishly on the keyboard, pouring out her thoughts and feelings continuously, without interruption. She didn’t care whether ‘Serious’ was reading what she had written. She wasn’t talking to him; she was talking to herself.

Adriana:
"Who am I? A long time ago, I thought I knew, but now I’m not sure. What’s my name? It doesn’t matter what I’m called. Besides, you don’t know me. Even those who know my name, even those whose lips whisper it with desire or swear by it... In fact, they know me the least. You ask who I am? It really makes me think. Maybe I’m the one whose reflection is in the window opposite me? No. She looks too old. She rests her forehead on her hand, contemplating herself as a female version of Ro- din’s thinker. She furrows her brows, and two deep wrinkles form between them. But she doesn’t care. Her gaze drifts into space as if she has lost some- thing precious there but doesn’t even know what. Where to look. Her eyes touch the unfamiliar win- dows, hoping to find someone’s shadow. She’s so sad and lonely. No! I’m not her! Wait! Here’s the photo album. It might help... Maybe I’m the one with the white clothes, a slim waist, bare shoul- ders, and a broad, cheerful smile wider than her broad-brimmed hat. She’s so lovely. Sort of innocent. Like a child. Warm. Sunny. No! I can’t be her, sadly. I always shiver with cold. Oh, could I be that plump witch who, if you cross her path in the morning, will eat you alive? Or that one who, ev- ery working day, from eight in the morning until five in the evening, stands behind a shiny office desk, attends press conferences, conducts inter- views, dressed in an elegant suit, high heels, hair neatly tied, and... glasses for authority? Nonsense! I’m not such a dry cracker! Well, she’s downright frigid! An ice block. Not me! Bingo! I’m probably the one in the red lace underwear and black sili- cone stockings – the one they whisper in her ear, ‘You’re incredible! You’re superb!’ Sadly, I’m not her either. In fact, I think, similar words were said before, during, or after sex..."

Her thoughts jumped back in time, and her eyes fixed on a tall, plump girl with short, fluffy, downy hair, dressed in a blue pinafore with a white collar. Surrounded by boys who told her the same words as they waved with one hand the essays, she had written, and with the other, they embraced their girl- friends’ waists. ‘You’re amazing!’ – always before, during, and after a literature test. It seemed she hadn’t had sex forever..."

* Who is 'Serious'? How does the conversation start and how it ends? What role does this interaction play in Adriana's self-discovery? This and more you can learn from the book - found on Amazon and soon on more outlets.

https://www.amazon.com/Faces-unBorn-Butterflies-Mariela-George/dp/9543503648/ref=sr_1_1?crid=15ZN8V0GOTIAO&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.Po1kF_fwmphtoSlp-unxOjPl5tdqgLQ1nHDq4yi6Zgc.g5zOozeEMxA0NUDQtwhunLh5rpheV8CDequgfjvoM_0&dib_tag=se&keywords=the+faces+of+unborn+butterflies&qid=1709369089&sprefix=%2Caps%2C176&sr=8-1