The Black Butterfly

Drew Nights

A part of Richard died when they said that. There has gotta be a way to fix this!

Henry was his friend after all.

Nobody wanted to be out at night in the dying pounding night moonlight. Everyone wanted to go home. To family. Richard also was one of them who wanted to die in bed but he took breathes of guilty air into his own. He sighed and brought on the trouble of how much he wanted a cup of coffee right then and there. His flashlight had gone gray as he walked through the lengths of a forest.

He felt like gurgurling salt water! Richard stared now, almost as if in the middle of nowhere. Which was where he stood. He was staring into the bloody small looking studio of the infamous Joey Drew. A part of him was drying and there had to be a way to fix that! He didn't like it. He scoffed and turned away. Ashamed to even start staring at the sign. He hugged himself rightly. Great disliked bastard Drew.

He had managed to reach the police station. Clock in clock out another day another dollar. Old man buddy stood in the doorway through the offices.

"Hey man, I quit. Sorry, me and Gretchen are going away." He said.

Richard cringed. In fact, Micheal looked good for a an againg man. If only he could convince himself he would live that long. Could he look that good? Yes, he could look that good. And a lady would be gushing about it mentally.

"Go ahead. I won't. Henry is every bit the grudge." Richard said stubbornly.

Micheal nodded and left. His footsteps echoed into the night. Fading.

Coldness.. cold like he never knew. Richard had been a policeman for some times now and it felt like being in a pool of ink out in the Atlantic cold.hie face was took milked and shy.

"Going on strike huh? What? It's hard?"

Roxanne's was actually a good bar. But this time, Richard wasn't looking for a drink. He had been called down by Jerry and Annabeth and Robin.

"You get paid to go on strike?" Richard asked curiously.

"Let's see.." Jerry said.

"Wifey?"

"Dead."

"Children?"

"None."

"Ailing parents you're taking care of?"

"Oh my brother does that. He cares for our dad."

"Well then starts bagging groceries. Because on strike, no money rolls." Jerry said coldly.

Annabeth grinned widely and set down her drink. Jerry minded his own back to a folder. A bat next to his side in case of unwanted co-workers.

Being a teacher sounded hard? Oh but being a representative of justice wasn't? No. Richard never had to go on strike. Usually it was him trying to fan the flames of fairness.