Happy October 🎃

Day 5: Iron the Butcher

You were planning on just breaking in to take photographs, but you noticed a figure behind the glass and brick walls still inside of the small butcher shop.

Nervous, you approached the door. You could see it raising it's arm with a cleaver and coming down on whatever was on the table in front of it. You despised that... thing, whatever it was. Everyone in town was curious about it. Nobody knew who or what it was. They usually referred to it as a he or she, but you just preferred it.

You'd come in nearly every day and ask the same few questions.

"Are you human?"

I'm whatever you want me to be.

"Are you a male or female?"

I'm whatever you want me to be.

And back and forth.

Sometimes, it'd give different answers, like if you were to ask it what it's favourite colour was. But it wasn't very consistent.

"What's your favourite colour?"

I adore blue.

"Why?"

It reminds me of the beautiful sky outside.

"Two days ago, you said you liked red because it reminded you of blood."

It would simply smile at you.

Today is not two days ago.

You tried the door handle. It was unlocked, as if the butcher was always open, despite the "Closed" sign being hung.

A little bell rang above the door as you walked inside. The chopping slowed before coming to a halt. There wasn't any lights on, but tonight was a full moon, so it was somewhat bright in the meat "deli", so to speak. It was more like a mini slaughterhouse, since it would chop many things every day.

You stepped up to the front.

It looked up at you with a sweet, soothing smile. Gosh, that smile, as much as you hated it you couldn't hate it's smile.

"You came to visit me again?" It spoke first (which was unusual), raising its cleaver right under its chin. It slowly stroked the side of the blade with its finger, smearing blood in its path.

Its voice was deep yet feminine, a hard mix between the two that made it impossible to tell what it was, whether a flamboyant man or a more tomboyish woman.

You looked onto the glass which separated you from whatever it was cutting. There was a sticker there.

"Hello, My Name Is Iron the Butcher"

"Is that what your real name is? Iron?"

"No, of course not. It's what people want me to be," it closed its eyes in satisfaction before opening them again.

"Why must you always be what others want you to be? Why can't you just be what you really are?"

It lowered its cleaver and set it down, leaning forwards against the table. "That is what I am."

"What's your real name then? You said Iron wasn't it, despite other people wanting it to be. So what is it?"

"If I told you, you'd be mad," it cooed.

You sighed. "What if... What if you wanted to be something, then? Not what you were made as, just something you want to be. So give me a name."

This seemed to please the alienated thing, as it pondered a new name.