The Butterfly Chronicles

Chapter 3: Blake Ren

The psychiatrist wants me to write letters to myself, pen my thoughts down. I don't know what's worse - to listen to the crazy voices inside my head or to pen whatever they say down on paper every day. 

I decided to go ahead with it anyway. It's not like anybody else is ever going to read this, but then again I should not keep it in the open for cynthia would read them. The basement seemed like a good idea to sit and pen my thoughts. Sitting amongst the things I love the most, my butterfly collection. 

I took out a small diary I found in my study and randomly scribbled into it when I heard cynthia call out to me. I sighed as I yelled- I'm coming!

Cynthia looked fresh, dressed in a floral dress. She was going somewhere. 
Where are you headed?

'I'm going to the doctor.'

My eyes widen with shock as I look at her, she looked perfectly alright to me. Her pale skin had a radiant glow to it, I couldn't figure out what could possibly be wrong with her.

Are you alright?

'Yeah, it's just a routine checkup a lot of the kids at school are falling sick.'

Sure. I love you.

I kissed her on the lips and descended towards the basement. I cracked my knuckles and held the pen tight between my fingers. I'm no writer, that' evident but I sure can write my thoughts down. I read every word aloud as I wrote- 

'My wife just went to the doctors, she says it's a precautionary measure. It's been a long time since I've taken her out on a proper date. However I find herself dressing a bit too proper for school, I wonder if she's having a...It's probably my paranoia. 

I met a psychiatrist today, it was prescribed by my boss. I know I've been fired, he couldn't have been any more direct. She told me to write letters to myself everyday, just the thoughts I have. I really don't understand the point of it all, she said it would reduce the burden of stress. I find it hilarious. Cynthia doesn't know about this, I don't know how to break the news of it to her. She works as a teacher at a sick government school, she was anticipating my promotion. Life can be very cruel.'

I sigh and fall back on my chair. I look at the string of letters that's supposed to resemble my deepest thoughts- she was right after all. 

I look at the jars stacked side by side on the shelf beside the table, little blue and white wings floating in a liquid of formaldehyde. I imagine them once floating about open fields on their own, untouched and now they float inside closed jars in my basement- Claustrophobic. I say out loud as I realise I could write some more. 

'When I was a kid, I used to visit the biology lab in our school. I used to be fascinated by the specimens they kept. Biology, fascinated me. To know that you could cut of a human head and  it would live on for mere 10 seconds, reflecting back on all the memories it made until it was cut apart. It still makes me laugh thinking how I was the only student standing awestruck by the way the teacher cut the insides of a frog while all the others puked. I was different, always have been.' 

I placed a bookmark on the page and put the diary in one of the drawers. I wrote enough. I looked back at the basement and wondered why I didn't spent more time here. I turned the lights off and climbed upstairs. I looked at the wall clock hanging beside our wedding photo- the arms pointed towards the numbers 4 and 12. It's been 2 hours since cynthia had been gone. I resort back to my old habit of fidgeting with my fingers. I take a couple of deep breaths and turn on the TV. 

'Serial killer, who disambiguated 15 people in the past 4 years, finally caught.' 

I saw the blurred images of the bodies the news channel showed, it stuck to me like a sore thumb to think about a person so brutal.

I turned off the TV as it struck me- Certain people have certain fetishes.