To Feed The Butterfly Who Flaps Its Wings

“I guess you could say there was a theme going through the blogs,” Kevin says as he sculls the glass of water down as if it had been days since he’d last had any fluids touch his dry, sore throat.

“What kind of theme?”

“I can’t quite explain it, if I had too I’d say It was like the room of mirrors you’d find in those old creepy fun parks. Actually that feels better than using the word theme,” he says pushing the drained glass toward an almost empty porcelain jug.

“You’re losing me again kid. What does this have to do with a fun park?” The man asks as he pours the remaining water into the glass and slides it back towards Kevin.

“Nothing Detective bozo, you’ve only completely missed the point I was trying to make,” Kevin says with a exacerbated sigh. “What I was saying was, the blogs were all lined up like the mirrors in a fun park. Each one on a slightly different angle. Each one slightly twisted in design. But throughout each one the original image was still present regardless, feeding like a leech off every reverberated image,” Kevin says as he wipes his sweaty palms on blood stained jeans. 

“Okay, let’s get back to how you first made contact with the victims.”

Kevin nervously fiddles with the glass before lifting it to his lips. “Do I have to?” He asks before taking another mouthful of the water.

“Maybe the gravity of all that’s going on around you has lost its weight somewhere in that addled mind of yours, so let me bring you back up to speed. You’re facing sixteen counts of indecent assault, fourteen counts of recklessly endangering the lives of innocent bystanders, and two, possibly three counts of murder in the first degree. Now if you FEEL like answering my questions is a waste of YOUR valuable time, then you’ve got another thing COMING! Now how the fuck did you and the victims first make contact with each other?”

Kevin swallows and slides the glass towards him once more. “C-C-Can I have another glass?”

“What the fuck are you, a fish? Just answer the god DAMN question!” The man screams as he swipes the glass off the table and sends it crashing into the wall opposite.

Kevin smiles as he nervously scratches at an infected abscess on his arm. “It was on a forum board, and before you ask I don’t remember which one, but it was online.”


”And what?” Kevin asks as a foul-smelling pus bursts from the inflamed area on his arm as he continues to dig at the now open wound.

“And what did each of the victims say when they messaged you?”

Kevin moves uncomfortably in his seat before looking at up the man with soulless black eyes, “Do you want to read a story Detective Toddard?”

Jarvier’s eyes shot open in a desperate panic as he finds himself alone in the darkness of his own home, the room illuminated only by the dull light from the TV as it hisses with static.

2 thoughts on “To Feed The Butterfly Who Flaps Its Wings

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