Thoughts Discreet

Butterfly

11 Years...
That's what's taken me to come back... home. Better called the haunted villa. Where a family of three were brutally murdered by a group of killers. The police have not got any lead on the murders as yet.

But they never knew about the daughter the killers missed, we were a happy family of four, a well to do couple with two children one thirteen years of age and the other just two years old.

×××

Thirteen year old Susan skipped into the kitchen back door as always, happy to be back home only to play with her baby sister. It was lovely how young little Rosé babbled and cooed at the sight of her sister walking into the room with her favourite plushies. They played all afternoon into the evening when their father would finally be back home for the delicious supper their beautiful mom made.

"spaghetti and meatballs, mmmh" thirty-something mister Dean Roosevelt, upcoming chemist known for his recent research works, sucked in the aromatic fragrance of the boiling noodles prepared by his lovely wife, Iridessa.

"Just like you wanted honey," Iridessa placed the pot with at most care, receiving a short kiss from her husband. "Girls, suppers ready, run down," her strong British accent echoed through the walls as Susan brought her sister down both tumbling down every few stairs due to each other's weight.

"hey there little one, how was playschool,"
"papa, they showed us butterflies today and..." Susan and her mom lay down the plates preparing the cutlery for dinner as rosé's stories served as entertainment. "Hey, I've got you something, come'ere." Dean gestured to his elder daughter to his lap bringing out a tiny black box beautifully laced with satin on the edge. "Go on, open up," her mother urged as she, Susan, sank into the black beauty of the box. Clicking it open the inside revealed a thin sterling silver necklace donned with a small and charming pendant in the shape of a butterfly. A red one, jet black lining its borders and filling the inner patterns in a perfect blend.

"It's gorgeous, papa." Susan breathed, amused by the art work. Dean kissed his daughter and the rest of the family finally resumed to have their dinner.

Next day, a weekend Susan had the routine of going to the nearby playground with her few friends from town. It was a few miles away from their house that stood within the woods hidden and quite away from the busy town, and the reason being privacy and scenery, all the family members loved it.

The evening with her friends was exciting, and Susan couldn't wait to get home and narrate her adventures to her little sister. Walking into the house as usual by the back door susan scrunched her nose at the unfamiliar but strong pungence wafting in the air. The kitchen seemed disturbed, crockery of all soughts lay broken and thrashed in pieces, her mom's favourite china, tossed into the sink and cracked irregularly. The silence of the place was strained and eerie. Susan flinched at every corner hitting broken glass and furniture. Her nerves were unsettling, alerting her senses to the uncanny resemblance of a distorted breakdown of the house. It didn't seem like a feat her mother and sister could carry out. Into the living room she gasped at witnessing further damage.

Walking up to the couch, she felt weak at her knees, at the sight of her father lying, covered in red. Her hands tightened over the hem of her short skirt, as she knelt down near the corpse. Her, once father, stabbed in the shoulder the force was visibly immense as the knife imprints were marking a hole in his right shoulder. He must have put on a fight because there were uneven cuts across his abdomen deep and long, the dark folds of flesh caked with blood made susan want to throw up from her guts. There were bloody imprints smeared against Dean's pale blue shirt. He had been killed due to the slit across the length of his trachea. It was mildly fresh as liquid blood still glistened at the ends. He had clearly broken his right for it was lying in a disangulared position, all too new to the thirteen year old.

She was a weeping mess, a state of unbearable pain invading her badly, but she pushed further only to expect a life or two, maybe her mother would comfort her, pull her into her warm loving embrace, the safety that welled up everytime she hugged her daughter was overwhelming. But it only killed her all the more to see her mother hanging, by the neck tied to a rope that was attached to a dangling fan. Her baby pink sundress soaked with blood. The cuts on her wrists were fresh and bleeding, drops that travelled down her sleek pale fingers and down to the floor with a silent plop, that could be only heard if silently listened to, unlike susan's loud wails that broke as she struggled to hold in her vexation.

It had taken everything in her to distract herself from the continuous dripping of the blood to her surroundings to envision the mess, bedsheets smeared with blood, torn and ragged. The cradle stood unbalanced with one of its wooden legs splintered.

The cradle....with rushed moments her body lifted up her eyes searching frantically for her last drop of hope. But being thoughtful enough to put the pieces together she recognised the red liquid splattered in a sickly oriented manner on one of the walls, its circular pattern resembling something that had been harshly smashed to the wall. Rosé...

The little human's body perhaps, lay in a heap muddled with the sheets and the pool of blood that surrounded it, now soaking up the sheets. She couldn't find it in the breathing, mortal form to walk up to her brutally murdered baby sister. For all that mattered, they had taken away her only world of happiness, her only pair of eyes to see the world through. But she didn't crave the vision anymore, for she had seen firsthand how cruel and psychotic the world could be. She had seen the worst; there was nothing more to come. All she could do was retreat to a darkness that swallowed her whole. Wholly stripped of humanity, reaching a level of psychotic addiction to revenge. All that was left was for her to take the predator's role...

The last victims on the list are infamous robert williams and jake ross, part of the 3th largest drug dealing syndicate. The serial killer seems keen on proceeding a mass wipe out as the death rate increases with every week. Message to the citizens to stay in at nights and use safety measures while out on the roads. The police report the serial killer leaves traces, a significant one being a painted black butterfly on the walls of the victims residence. For further updates on weather...

WRITTEN : 20 - FEBRUARY - 2022

POSTED ON IG : 20 - FEBRUARY - 2022

I had a lot of writing inspo without writer's block in February :skull:
Thoughts ppl~

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