Stan Builds a House

I am a fuzzy wuzzy little caterpillar. My name is Stan. I have a beautiful cocoon at Billy's house, on the tree in his backyard. My cocoon is small. I don't like it much. So I decided to expand it. First, I went to a field full of flowers and picked 100 daisies. They smelled sweet, fresh and wonderful. Once I got all of them, I put them in my cocoon. The vibrant colors were beautiful. I wasn't satisfied with my cocoon just yet. I took a peek out of my cocoon to see what I add when I saw the children playing ball in the streets. It was a bright and sunny day so all the kids were outside. My cocoon is in the suburbs. Most of the houses were white and all about the same size. Billy walked outside to get a wiffle ball and spotted me. Maybe this is what I could use to expand my cocoon, I thought. Billy was rudely poking my cocoon when I popped out and bit his finger. I started to drain the blood from his body until he fell unconscious. Then I burrowed my way into his brain. It was nice here. The way Billy's organs wrapped around me. The walls were the crimson color of children's blood. He wrapped around me like a woolly sweater. Although Billy was a rather large boy, I wanted more. More bodies and more blood. I like the blood. The consistency and texture felt good against my skin. The blood tasted good. It was sweet, quenching, and addictive. Billy's little sister came over and screamed when she had seen what I had done to Billy. I couldn't have people know about me so I jumped out and flew into her mouth. I got the adrenaline of being in a new body. To drown out the hollers I played soft jazz. Swimming down her throat, I scraped her vocal chords. She was silent now. Her blood was better, younger, fresher... I need more. The delicious sweet taste of the blood, the feel of soft, squishy organs, the scent of my daisies, the red walls, the shrill screams of children. I loved it. I killed more and more and more. My cocoon was built for a king. I thought all of this until karma got to me. Whenever I went around in my cocoon, all I could think about was how the children were scared of me. And that I took their lives for my unnecessary gain. The crimson blood was a reminder of how insane I was. I couldn't eat any more. All of my food/organs to eat tasted queer and made me gag. I was eating children. My smooth jazz brought back the memories of how I showed no remorse for my victims. The organs weren't warm and cozy anymore, they were cold, lifeless, and constricting. The daisies wilted and the bodies smelt of rot. Being in the bodies became a never ending maze of red. Red and blood was all I saw for hours on end. I couldn't take it anymore. It was all so disturbing. I didn't deserve to be a butterfly. I wasn't a caterpillar. I was a monster. An evil twisted monster. Monsters like me don't deserve to live, so there will be one more dead body on my pile, only a lot smaller.