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Butterfly; For those who like confusion
Topic Started: Nov 25 2008, 01:53 PM (345 Views)
BarkingPup
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"Machete" Roberta Hacke
My Unlocked character from 'Lock All Doors' on the DC forums. I luffs her there. I also used her in 'Welcome to the Asylum' but her circumstances were different and thus so was her character. I prefer the Unlocked one so:

Name: Butterfly (real name: unknown)
Age: 16
Human or Unlocked or Other: Unlocked
Powers: Accidental Teleportation, a teeny weeny bit of Future Seer.
Description: Around five four with straight, washed-out blonde hair. Her eye is wide, green, and long lashed. She doesn't sleep much so her eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with bruise-like colors. She used a spoon to stab out her right eye and it is currently badly stitched and infected. She literally has tiny butterflies growing under her skin as she changed the reality around her, currently they are focused on her forehead, left hand, and left hip and manifest as tiny bumps. She has three parallel white, raised scars on her face, starting from under her left eye and going over the bridge of her nose. She has one pink, puckered scar on her abdomen. Her left hand has the pinky and middle fingers missing as she cut and broke them, flushing them down the toilet so they couldn't be reattached. Her left and right hands have been chewed on by her and are decorated with raised white scars. her right is much worse and can barely bend because of them. She is missing half of her thumb on her right hand, cut off in mysterious circumstances.

A more in depth look at Butterfly's powers:

I suppose I'll give an example: Butterfly has a LOT of teleportation ability. Anything that is not too large and she is touching can come with her. Living creatures are easiest, inanimate objects are not (dead creatures are considered inanimate). The ability is usually not controlled by her directly and it often gets out of hand. When she is disoriented, confused, or experiencing a very potent emotion she can teleport without knowing she's doing it. Since she can do this unconsciously she believes that the world changes around her, rather than her going to different places. She can teleport to any place within a million or so miles radius.

Butterfly does not have much reality changing ability. She can change the reality directly around her (such as the baby butterflies) but is unable to direct it well and it often reacts to her insane status. The images she sees -the words as butterflies- are not reality changes and are only hallucinations. Butterfly is not aware she can change reality so it's a very unused power.

She has two of the secondary abilities in tiny amounts. She can see into the future in brief glimpses but only as odd hallucinogenic colored images and is virtually useless except to tell someone "you're going to be hurt today". She cannot see the specifics, when, how plausible, or how bad. The power comes and goes, usually merely sliding over her regular vision for a few brief seconds and giving her nothing important to say. It gets stronger, however, when she's delirious -like in the first post- and the instances may last for hours. Yet, again, she will probably have nothing important to see and besides, her powers barely extend to an hour in the future. She has telepathy but in an even smaller amount. She can sense when people are lying or if they are feeling a strong emotion. This manifests in the butterfly words she sees. So if someone was lying the butterfly would correspond or if someone was angry but says something nonsensical, the butterfly would be an angry butterfly.

Butterfly has no other abilities.

Whoops, forgot her intro post(s) It took a while for her to make it where everyone else was:

There was color. Bright flashes of white and purple melding with orange sparklers and blue bubbles. Yellow streamers flicked through the kaleidoscopic sea, flying over twitching blobs of green. And in the middle of it all was millions of pink ovals, sliding through each burst of color.

And there was sound.

"Joe! Hey, Joe!"

Purple! Streaked with green that flared and dimmed.

HONK! "Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing?! Get off the road!"

WHITE! Red tendrils reaching out, lapping at the invisible barrier around her. Purple engulfed the red and turned a muddy brown, slinking off into the alleyway.

"Hello? Hello, are you okay?"

Soft orange bubbles popping into the air with bursts of blue. Very nice, but not what she was looking for. Turn and walk. Stumble and fall. The hiss of nearby tan speckles that scurried away.

"Oh my god... does anyone have a cellphone?"
"What's wrong?"
"She's hurt! She's bleeding all over the sidewalk!"
"She just fell it's probably a skinned knee."
"No, it's not." Warm fingers gripping the skin that was not hers, pulling the neck that was covered in butterfly babies. "See? Now are you going to call 911 or not?!"
"Jesus Christ... um, sure."

The poignant flash of brown beeps, there and gone, there and gone, there and gone.

Flash.

Butterfly stumbled, suddenly upright, and staggered over to a lamppost. She leaned against the cold metal structure and sighed in pleasure as the skin that wasn't hers felt the heat subside. Her sight faded into a colorful circus before slipping back into reality. Butterfly glanced around, vaguely aware she was somewhere else. The butterfly babies under her skin twitched and shivered, causing throbbing black pain to arch through her right eye. She reached up with a scarred hand and gently touched her cheekbone, running her chewed fingers along the edge. Every touch sent agony rippling through the skin and the socket throbbed.

She pulled her hand away and looked down at her fingers. It was strange, her sight, she wondered if the butterflies had eaten her brain. There was blood on the fingers, blood that oozed through the staggered scars and slipped onto the ground. And then she remembered she had dug out her eye with a spoon because the spider had put a web on her eyelashes. Or had she? She looked around, pain slashing through coherent thought whenever she moved.

There was a butterfly on a mailbox. Bright red with dots of black along it's wings. The butterfly danced across the metal box and stopped near the slot, wings fanning slowly. Butterfly approached it and knelt down, ignoring the brush of air from the holes in her pants.

"Where am I?"

The butterfly froze at her voice then turned and faced her, it's antennae waving as if it acknowledged her presence.

"You're nowhere. You're hurt. Go see white. You're hurt. You're hurt. We hurt with you, go see white."

Butterfly blinked, narrowing her eyes, and red streaks of pure agony ripped across her right eye and through her forehead where they buried into her brain. She blacked out.

Flash.

Butterfly opened her eyes. She didn't know how much time had passed but she felt better now. First, however, she needed to do an inspection. She lifted her hands and stared at each finger. Three on the left, four and a half on the right. One of them was bleeding, the tell tale marks of teeth along the flesh, but there was no white bone so it seemed fine for now. Next she placed a hand under her tattered shirt and ran her fingers along her chest. No new marks or open wounds were felt, only the old puckered scar along her abdomen. With a deep breath she reached up to her face and touched her right cheekbone. Pain throbbed faintly in the distance but it was not her pain so she moved on. Three parallel cuts along the bridge of her nose, cheekbones prominent from hunger, eyes wide and long lashed... except for the right one.

The right eye was a ball of throbbing, tangled pain and she wondered why. But now was not the time to reflect on what the butterflies had done. She was somewhere strange again and who knew how long it would last? So Butterfly looked around.

Blue walls decorated with fish along the top, their cartooney grins creepy and unnatural. There was a dresser in the corner with a bottled boat on top and a wide window above it. She was on a bed with white sheets that felt clean and crisp. And a mirror on the white door.

Butterfly shed the sheets, feeling like a snake but not a newborn. She walked up to the small facial mirror and bit her lip. Oh.... it was bad this time.

The normal paleness was present with more recent thin features. Her hair was still washed-out blonde and tangled from weeks without a brush. But only one eye stared back, green and bloodshot, surrounded by heavy sleepless shadows and premature bags. The other was a bloody mess of old scar tissue and newer open wounds. Someone had stitched up the worst of it but the area was swollen and leaking pus. She still had her eyelids, Butterfly was relieved to note, but they were lost in the massacred flesh. And there was...

She reached up to her forehead and ran a finger down, carefully stopping before the pain could flare. Bumps. Tiny, pliable bumps underneath her skin. The butterfly babies were growing. She could feel them under her stolen skin, twitching and murmuring in their dreamless sleep.

Butterfly's contemplation was broken by footsteps behind the door and she scurried back into the bed, fear thrumming in her veins.

The door opened and a pleasant, young girl stared at Butterfly. "Oh, you're awake!" She walked all the way in and gave Butterfly a nervous glance. "I was worried considering your... your wounds and obvious past on your skin. But I suppose all of that worry was for nothing." She smiled and waved towards a connected door. "You can go wash up in there if you like, towels and everything. I couldn't believe it when I saw you passed out on the sidewalk in that area! At first I thought you were a victim of one of those gangs beatings but once I got you here... well, those fears were put to rest."

Butterfly watched as the woman moved around the room, placing bandages and tools on the dresser and dusting everything with a rag.

"I can see you've been through some hard times, though. And that's what decided me. I'm a nurse, you see, and I work at the Hospital here in town. Well, the only one with a psych ward. You just feel right at home and come and get something to eat when you fell like it, okay?"

Butterfly felt relief as something she understood was asked. Whenever someone asked you a question you nodded. She did and pain hissed across her skin, irritating the butterfly babies.

The woman glanced around, still smiling. "Alright then, I'll just leave you to it." She walked out and closed the door, her footsteps receding.

Butterfly slid out of the bed and walked to the bathroom door. She wondered how long this reality would last before it dissolved... just like all the others. Well, while she was here she might as well make the best of it.

((Post Two))

Butterfly stepped into the shower. She stood under the head for minutes, clutching her forearms with bleeding fingers. Her pain wracked brain finally registered the problem and she pulled off her stiff clothes, folding the sweat stained rags neatly on the counter. There was a mirror above the sink and she caught a flash of her unscarred back before she stopped looking. The floor was cold on her bare feet and several sharp pins of pain told her she didn't have any shoes... when had she lost them? A tiny blue butterfly, delicate and almost glowing, trembled across the sink. She waved her hand and it vanished in a puff of bright blue smoke, whisping away to nothing.

Butterfly turned one of the handles and leaped away from the rush of hot water. The sound almost assaulted her ears and she covered them until the pounding stopped matching the one in her head. Not bothering with the cold water, she stepped into the shower. She stood, huddling in the open tub, feeling the scalding water pour down her back. It stung her fingers and she pulled them down to her stomach. She watched the dirty water swirl down the drain, snakes of red twisting in the grey, muddy water. The water splattered the edge of the tub and dripped down onto the tiled bathroom floor. But she couldn't close the curtain. Because what you couldn't see was the most dangerous.

Once she felt clean, Butterfly shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself. The air was fogged, and the mirror thankfully covered with perspiration. Large fog butterflies flipped around her head, swirling the mistiness around the bathroom. Butterfly opened a drawer and fished around for a brush. She found a large, industrial one and pulled it through the tangles. Every tug ran hot streaks of pain down the right side of her face but she ignored it and continued. Eventually her hair was shoulder length and completely straight, hanging in watery snakes.

She walked out of the bathroom and into the chill of the room. Some clothes lay on the bed and she put them on, careful of her tattered finger. The shirt was too big, hanging down to her knees and billowing around her. The pants drooped over her feet, hiding their thin appearance in wrinkly folds. She folded the pants up, having to do it at least six times before they were comfortable enough. There were footsteps and the door opened, revealing the young lady. She started at Butterfly's appearance and smiled.

"Oh, I see you've found my sons clothes! He moved out of the house a long time ago but left all of his clothing. Ah, and you've showered too, excellent. Oh my... that eye looks even worse without the dirt. Uh.... I phoned the hospital... no one's missing from the psych ward but you are going in tomorrow for that eye."

Butterfly said nothing, watching the woman wearily. She didn't quite understand what she was talking about. But the woman's words were forming into quiet purple butterflies decorated with blue stripes so she meant well. That relaxed Butterfly a little inside, enough to feel the butterfly babies settle down into almost-stillness.

The lady smiled, looking at her expectantly. Butterfly hadn't been listening so just stared. The lady laughed nervously. "I asked if you'd like some soup, you look a little hungry."

Was it a question? There was no rising of voice but the lady expected something. Butterfly almost started to nod but she felt the familiar rising in the air and blinked before vanishing.

The lady gaped at where her stray had been standing only a second before. It was impossible. Utterly... unbelievable. She rushed out of the room and dialed the police, trying to quell the shaking in her hands.

-----------------------

Butterfly blinked as harsh light flickered off tables. A waitress jumped but her mind refused to contemplate what had just happened and she assumed the thin girl with the mutilated eye in clothes too big for her had always been there. The waitress strode off, albeit a little quickly.

Butterfly looked around at the new world that had appeared. She missed the comfort of that room but the world never stayed still long enough for her to gain attachment to it. She vaguely remembered a time when the world had always been the same, and buildings were always recognizable and faces were familiar and comforting. But those memories were thin and wet, melting through her fingers. She took a booth and stared at the shiny table. Shadows flickered across the surface and one darkened the area around her blurry reflection.

"What do you want?"

Butterfly looked up slowly, wincing as fire throbbed through her veins. The waitress flinched at her appearance but quickly adopted the classic waitress look of bored pleasantry. Butterfly opened her mouth and butterflies of dark brown and muddy red crawled from her throat. They flew from her mouth and into the waitresses ears where they dissolved into smoke.

"Fries... please."

The waitress scribbled something down and turned on her high heel, striding off to place the order. Butterfly returned to staring at the table, trying to ignore the ache that was quickly spreading to her right ear. She felt tired... very tired... of everything. Why did she still go on? Why didn't she just lay down somewhere and never get up?

"Why?" She asked the butterflies.

"Searching... for pink and pale colors.. for laughter that rings and a scratchy chin..."

"That doesn't help much."

((Post Three))


Butterfly looked up as the waitress came back and placed a plate of steaming fries in front of her. The waitress walked away before she could thank her so Butterfly focused her attention on the food. Her stomach growled hesitantly, as if it didn't know what to do in the presence of edible things. There was, however, one small problem.

Butterfly lifted her hands and placed them on the table, palms flat, on either side of the plate. Her bitten finger started bleeding but she ignored it as it was stolen skin and the pain wasn't hers. Butterfly remembered sometime when someone had taught her manners and the most important was to always use utensils. However, Butterfly's hands were not quite adapted to utensils. The left was missing two fingers after she had cut them and broken the bones to stop an invasion of spiders. The right was almost covered in so many scars it could barely bend and half of the thumb was missing... she didn't remember what had happened to it but being half thumbed was a definite hindrance.

Butterfly stared at the plate and the plastic utensils. Now, how was this going to work, exactly?

The butterfly babies twitched under her stolen skin and she frowned, irritated with their constant movements. It felt strange now that they were larger, more obvious and annoying. She turned her head to the right, compensating for her blind spot, and stared. That boy looked familiar. But, it was rude to stare so she quickly looked away and went back to the task of trying to eat.



Edited by BarkingPup, Nov 25 2008, 02:06 PM.
"What if tofu was made of animal souls? ~Posco
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BarkingPup
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"Machete" Roberta Hacke
And now for the loverly picture that Teslyn did fer Butterfly :D

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"What if tofu was made of animal souls? ~Posco
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Teslyn
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a fleeting presence
BUTTERFLY, FTW.

<3

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BarkingPup
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"Machete" Roberta Hacke
Teslyn, FTW!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Heh, can you tell I like the picture? XD
"What if tofu was made of animal souls? ~Posco
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BarkingPup
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"Machete" Roberta Hacke
Butterfly's new introduction. This is for the Lock All Doors version on this forum:

There was color. Bright flashes of white and purple melding with orange sparklers and blue bubbles. Yellow streamers flicked through the kaleidoscopic sea, flying over twitching blobs of green. And in the middle of it all was millions of pink ovals, sliding through each burst of color.

And there was sound.

Purple! Streaked with green that flared and dimmed.

"Joe! Hey, Joe!"

WHITE! Red tendrils reaching out, lapping at the invisible barrier around her. Purple engulfed the red and turned a muddy brown, slinking off into the alleyway.

HONK! "Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing?! Get off the road!"


Soft orange bubbles popping into the air with bursts of blue. Very nice, but not what she was looking for. Turn and walk. Stumble and fall. The hiss of nearby tan speckles that scurried away.

"Hello? Hello, are you okay?"


"Oh my god... does anyone have a cellphone?"
"What's wrong?"
"She's hurt! She's bleeding all over the sidewalk!"
"She just fell it's probably a skinned knee."
"No, it's not." Warm fingers gripping the skin that was not hers, pulling the neck that was covered in butterfly babies. "See? Now are you going to call 911 or not?!"
"Jesus Christ... um, sure."

The poignant flash of brown beeps, there and gone, there and gone, there and gone.

Flash.

Butterfly stumbled, suddenly upright, and staggered over to a lamppost. She leaned against the cold metal structure and sighed in pleasure as the skin that wasn't hers felt the heat subside. Her sight faded into a colorful circus before slipping back into reality. Butterfly glanced around, vaguely aware she was somewhere else. The butterfly babies under her skin twitched and shivered, causing throbbing black pain to arch through her right eye. She reached up with a scarred hand and gently touched her cheekbone, running her chewed fingers along the edge. Every touch sent agony rippling through the skin and the socket throbbed.

She pulled her hand away and looked down at her fingers. It was strange, her sight, she wondered if the butterflies had eaten her brain. There was blood on the fingers, blood that oozed through the staggered scars and slipped onto the ground. And then she remembered she had dug out her eye with a spoon because the spider had put a web on her eyelashes. Or had she? She looked around, pain slashing through coherent thought whenever she moved.

There was a butterfly on a mailbox. Bright red with dots of black along it's wings. The butterfly danced across the metal box and stopped near the slot, wings fanning slowly. Butterfly approached it and knelt down, ignoring the brush of air from the holes in her pants.

"Where am I?"

The butterfly froze at her voice then turned and faced her, its antennae waving as if it acknowledged her presence.

"You're nowhere. You're hurt. Go see white. You're hurt. You're hurt. We hurt with you, go see white."

Butterfly blinked, narrowing her eyes, and red streaks of pure agony ripped across her right eye and through her forehead where they buried into her brain. She blacked out.

Flash.

Butterfly opened her eyes. She didn't know how much time had passed but she felt better now. First, however, she needed to do an inspection. She lifted her hands and stared at each finger. Three on the left, four and a half on the right. One of them was bleeding, the tell tale marks of teeth along the flesh, but there was no white bone so it seemed fine for now. Next she placed a hand under her tattered shirt and ran her fingers along her chest. No new marks or open wounds were felt, only the old puckered scar along her abdomen. With a deep breath she reached up to her face and touched her right cheekbone. Pain throbbed faintly in the distance but it was not her pain so she moved on. Three parallel cuts along the bridge of her nose, cheekbones prominent from hunger, eyes wide and long lashed... except for the right one.

The right eye was a ball of throbbing, tangled pain and she wondered why. But now was not the time to reflect on what the butterflies had done. She was somewhere strange again and who knew how long it would last? So Butterfly looked around.

Blue walls decorated with fish along the top, their cartooney grins creepy and unnatural. There was a dresser in the corner with a bottled boat on top and a wide window above it. She was on a bed with white sheets that felt clean and crisp. And a mirror on the white door.

Butterfly shed the sheets, feeling like a snake but not a newborn. She walked up to the small facial mirror and bit her lip. Oh.... it was bad this time.

The normal paleness was present with more recent thin features. Her hair was still washed-out blonde and tangled from weeks without a brush. But only one eye stared back, green and bloodshot, surrounded by heavy sleepless shadows and premature bags. The other was a bloody mess of old scar tissue and newer open wounds. Someone had stitched up the worst of it but the area was swollen and leaking pus. She still had her eyelids, Butterfly was relieved to note, but they were lost in the massacred flesh. And there was...

She reached up to her forehead and ran a finger down, carefully stopping before the pain could flare. Bumps. Tiny, pliable bumps underneath her skin. The butterfly babies were growing. She could feel them under her stolen skin, twitching and murmuring in their dreamless sleep.

Butterfly's contemplation was broken by footsteps behind the door and she scurried back into the bed, fear thrumming in her veins.

The door opened cautiously and a well kept head poked it’s way through the crack. The eyes followed along the wall before coming to rest on Butterfly, who felt their gaze like a heavy weight. “Oh, you’re awake!” The butterflies crawled from between her lips, thick and oozing spittle. They took off from her mouth and fluttered into the air. Confusion, hesitation and an underlying need to do good. The face was soon followed by a body which was small but muscular. The woman gave Butterfly a nervous glance but entered briskly, an armload of supplies in hand. “I was rather worried considering your wounds and... erm... obvious past history. But I suppose I shouldn’t have worried so much.”

She placed a first aid kit on the dresser, the gauze spilling over the side. She gestured with her now relatively free hands. “Over there is the bathroom and there is food downstairs if you want it. Feel free to make yourself at home.” She hesitated and Butterfly could see the tip of a saliva smeared antennae peek through her lips, twitching at the cold air. “I work at the local Hospital, Jameson.” She paused and her butterfly beat in Butterfly’s face, craving her attention, waiting for something. Butterfly stared at her, blank faced, not quite understanding.

The lady laughed then, nervously and the butterfly puffed into sparkling yellow smoke. “I phoned them and they say no one’s escaped from the psych ward but you do have an appointment there tomorrow.” Again a pause, a hesitation. When Butterfly did not move from her position on the bed the woman smiled, this time softly. Butterfly did not like that smile. It spoke of little children and condescending behaviour, reprimands and patted heads. “Well, I suppose I should leave you alone so you can recuperate.” She stepped outside and closed the door behind her with a click.

Butterfly made certain the lady was gone. She slid out of the bed and walked to the door, ignoring the pain that wasn’t hers pound into her brain. She pressed her ear to the wooden aperture, her fingers lightly touching the cool wood. There was no sound and the butterfly babies scratched at their cocoons with displeasure. They didn’t like that there was a cleaning facility and she wasn’t using it. So she stepped away from the door, staggering as pain blacked out her vision, and opened the bathroom door. She wondered how long this reality would last before it dissolved, fading away to be replaced by another reality... just like all the others. Well, while she was here she might as well make the best of it.

She stepped into the shower. She stood under the head for minutes, clutching her forearms with bleeding fingers. Her pain wracked brain finally registered the problem and she pulled off her stiff clothes, folding the sweat stained rags neatly on the counter. There was a mirror above the sink and she caught a flash of her unscarred back before she stopped looking. The floor was cold on her bare feet and several sharp pins of pain told her she didn't have any shoes... when had she lost them? A tiny blue butterfly, delicate and almost glowing, trembled across the sink. She waved her hand and it vanished in a puff of bright blue smoke, whisping away to nothing.

Butterfly turned one of the handles and leaped away from the rush of hot water. The sound almost assaulted her ears and she covered them until the pounding stopped matching the one in her head. Not bothering with the cold water, she stepped into the shower. She stood, huddling in the open tub, feeling the scalding water pour down her back. It stung her fingers and she pulled them down to her stomach. She watched the dirty water swirl down the drain, snakes of red twisting in the grey, muddy water. The water splattered the edge of the tub and dripped down onto the tiled bathroom floor. But she couldn't close the curtain. Because what you couldn't see was the most dangerous.

Once she felt clean, Butterfly shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself. The air was fogged, and the mirror thankfully covered with perspiration. Large fog butterflies flipped around her head, swirling the mistiness around the bathroom. Butterfly opened a drawer and fished around for a brush. She found a large, industrial one and pulled it through the tangles. Every tug ran hot streaks of pain down the right side of her face but she ignored it and continued. Eventually her hair was shoulder length and completely straight, hanging in watery snakes.

She walked out of the bathroom and into the chill of the room. Some clothes lay on the bed and she put them on, careful of her tattered finger. The shirt was too big, hanging down to her knees and billowing around her. The pants drooped over her feet, hiding their thin appearance in wrinkly folds. She folded the pants up, having to do it at least six times before they were comfortable enough. Footsteps were heard and Butterfly glanced at the door just before it opened and the woman’s head appeared.

She smiled then and walked right in. “Oh my, I see you’ve found my son’s clothes. I didn’t have anything else for you to wear and since he went off to college he won’t be using them.” She stepped forward, her hands extended as if she was going to adjust the clothing. Butterfly jerked, stumbling over the pant folds in her haste to move away. Her eye socket –not hers, stolen- throbbed but the pain was minor compared to the panic of being touched, being fondled.

The woman’s face looked pained, her smile no more and her arms dropped to her sides. “I see. Well, I’ll be getting you up early for your appointment, would you like something to eat?” Her words crawled from her lips and exploded into the air, bright purple and green. They were calm, kind butterflies and Butterfly felt herself involuntarily relax.

She had been asked a question and it was proper to answer. So Butterfly smiled, feeling red hot slabs of lead crash into the right side of her face, and shook her head slowly. The woman seemed to hesitate then shook her head slightly, dispelling her thoughts.

“Very well, then. Are you certain you won’t like even some bread?”

Butterfly tried to answer, to open her mouth and let the butterflies free but they got stuck in her throat, choking on each other in their panic to escape. She felt the familiar rising in the air, the crackle of ozone before she vanished.

The lady stared, open mouthed at the spot where Butterfly had just been standing. There was nothing there and she swallowed her rising panic. The sheets were rumpled, stained with dirt and blood so there had been someone here. But... no one just vanishes like that! The lady backed out of the room and ran to her nearest phone. She dialled the police with shaky fingers and struggled to stop looking at the open bedroom door.

Flash

Butterfly gasped and clutched at the mailbox, her ineffectual right hand grasping at smooth metal limply while her left gripped the slot so hard it broke skin, leaking blood all over the cold metal. Her knees felt weak and the world spun, flashing into a kaleidoscope of colors before settling into its concrete version. She staggered against the metal box, feeling her right knee smash painfully against its side before her grasping hand found a park bench and she sat, waiting for the blackness to leave the edges of her vision.
"What if tofu was made of animal souls? ~Posco
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