The Butterfly Man
Copyright © T. Masters-Heinrichs 2007
Electronic edition © T. Masters-Heinrichs 2012
First Appeared in Print 2007
Voices, Journal of the Lake Winnipeg Writers' Group, Volume 7, Number 1, ISSN: 1710123-9
Cover Photo by Mike Adam Photography
Cover Design & Layout by BKPublishing
Published at Smashwords
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission of the copyright holder.
All events and characters are completely fictional.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, companies, etc., is entirely coincidental.
Although locations used in this work of fiction do exist, they may be not exactly as portrayed. This is a work of fiction.
Let it be known that the publisher of this work assumes no control nor liability or any responsibility for author and/or third-party websites & their content.
ISBN: 978-0-98108-548-7
The author & publisher have attempted to provide accurate contact information, including internet and email addresses. Neither the author nor publisher assumes any responsibility for changes, errors or omissions that occur after publishing.
Please! Do not aid, contribute or promote piracy in violation of author’s rights. If you like this work or any other, please support the author so they can afford to keep writing.
Thank you.
The Butterfly Man
By T. Masters-Heinrichs
Outside, the Manitoba morning sky was an acrylic palette of blended hues, reds, oranges, and yellows, all highlighted by golden light. The morning sun lit a world filled with buds and shoots hungering for the caress of the fiery orb rising higher.
Steven sipped his coffee, his kitchen forgotten as he stared out of the picture window. It was best to start long days early, but to forget to stop and see the world was a sin he would no longer commit. Had not Julia accused him of such? The coffee was bitter without sugar. Only the kitchen clock broke the morning silence.
With a sigh he checked his watch. It was time to start. He threw back the last of the bitter aromatic liquid. The garbage bag waiting by the kitchen door brought another sigh. It was the little things you miss, he realized. Not the arguing or the yelling, not the long conversations, but the constant sense of another in the house. He missed the lingering scent in the washroom, flowers on the table, and the gentle touch of her hand as she passed him in the hall. Gone was the smell of bread, the sound of her breathing at night, her scent on the pillows…
Opening the door he swung the bag up and walked into his yard. It took his mind a moment to register the dark thing that appeared in front of him as a gun. Yes, it’s a gun, he told himself. He turned to the man holding it. Steven’s mouth opened but no words came out.
“Inside! Now!” The Man with the Gun hissed.
Steven stepped back, the bag falling from his hand. He tried to speak but no sounds came from his open mouth. Behind the Man with the Gun, two more shapes appeared huddled together. As Steven backed through the open door, they followed the Man into the house.
“Back up, Doc! Back!” The Gun rose higher, the barrel, a black hole.
“Ento, ent—bugs, bugs!” Steven tried to see around the event horizon, but the gun muzzle wouldn’t let go.
“What?” The voice behind the gun was louder as Steven fell into a dining room chair.