The Hell Butterfly

‘Victory is Drenched’ – A Short Story

I have another one for you. This one was written around the same time as ‘The Beast’. I quite like this one, though if I could rewrite it, I can see some places that can be improved. But here, as I said I would, is the unedited version.

As the rusty tap squeaked on, Steven knew the battle had begun. He had been preparing for this moment for some time now, and he was confident that he would succeed. He wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way, and especially not Him. Not Danny. Not this time. They had been rivals ever since birth and the upcoming battle would prove that Steven was Danny’s superior. Steven turned off the tap and motioned for the door, with a sly grin upon his face, and the confidence to realise, he could do this. The finish line to victory was approaching.

Meanwhile, not too far away, Danny’s mind was running the same mental circles. All trough his school years he had been made a mockery of by Steven, and now he was going to get his revenge. The sound of running water emanated from the sink that stood innocently in front of Danny. He stood hunched over it in desperation his hands gripping the sides as if it would give him the willpower to do what he knew he must. He water stopped, and the silence that followed was too unbearable for Danny, so he dived headfirst into the sink to clear his thoughts. He emerged shaking and cold, but refreshed, and he stared intently into the eyes that looked straight back at him in the mirror. For a few precious seconds, he thought he saw … no, it couldn’t be. He leant closer to the mirror until his nose was almost touching the ice-cold glass, and misty patches of condensation were forming from his breath. ‘I can do this!’ he said aloud, as if hoping to convince only himself. He gathered up his gun, caressing the trigger and whispering something so inaudible it could have been a prayer. Then, with renewed strength, he left the room without looking back.

Out in the street, crowds were forming, each cheering for their favourite contender. Steven strolled out and faced his opponent. Anyone could have felt the tension in the air, an overhanging fog blanketing the sounds of racing hearts. He readied the gun. Danny copied.

Steven aimed. Danny aimed.

Steven fired. Danny fired.


As the force of the blow pounded heavily into Danny’s chest, his mirror image opposite him stumbled and struggled to regain his balance, having received the same attack. The boys staggered forward, panting and sucking in the air around them to help them get their breathing once again normal, and with increasing ferocity, they glared into one another’s eyes. As the water soaked steadily through their clothes and dripped in torrents from their hair, the boys broke out into silly, almost idiotic grins. The crowd of ten year olds pulled out their own water guns and water bombs, took aim, and encouraged their teammates. The twin rivalry was settled.

But now the real battle had begun.


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