Butterfly

I staggered out of the time machine, wiping blood from my nose. Like Doctor had warned, radiation attacked my brain as time lapsed.

The man I hunted was under the tree. He’d dismantled humanity and our future.

He waved. His chubby cheeks reddened from the sun.

“Look,” he said. Resting on his small palm, a butterfly.

Wrong year. I didn’t expect to see a child.

He smiled innocently. “For you.”

Smiling back, I reached out.

He closed his fingers, and squeezed. A familiar smirk appeared. “Uh-oh.”

I reeled backwards.

No. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

From Guest Contributor Umi Agawa