Ferocious bears, giant bugs, frog princes, and beautiful flowers that smell like pumpkins live in this land. They occupy the little cottage in the wood, the one where I live too.
I walked past gibbering madness, blank stares, hollow shells of men, and found the girl huddled in the corner. My diplomatic offer of flowers was met with a scream, a recoil, and a whisper: “They’re still alive, and I can hear their dying screams…”
For the very first time I was able to hear the subtle sound of the butterfly’s tiny feet thud softly against the paper-thin petal as it landed weightlessly on the petunia. The world was so quiet now that everyone was dead.