It was five long years ago. Five tormented, horrific, blood filled years in the past. The long years drenched in painful memories. Memories of how a small quiet town became a disaster scene of terror and cold blooded murder. Cold blooded murder, which was later overseen as nothing more than another cluster suicide.

Oh but Ralph McAllister knew otherwise. Ralph, you see, was what started or caused the whole murderous scene. He was in fact, the murderer.

The crazy and outlandish thing was that Ralph McAllister had yet to feel one pang of quilt for all the blood shed he caused and lives he had taken. He didn’t even feel any emotion close to quilt as the local police thought he was the innocent victim who happened to wake up to his family slaughtered in the most brutal fashion. Didn’t feel one pang of anything as he smiled at the limp bodies that still sat dead in the kitchen table’s chairs, not even as he dreamt up the devious plot, nor when he cleaned the evidence off him, or when he set up the perfect alibi. Not one hint of any emotion. Not one. He felt nothing but a rush of adrenaline from getting away with murder. Literally.

Oh no, it was all quite the opposite. Ralph remembered the first time he picked up a butchers knife with the tendency to kill. Yes, the intent to kill from the young age of twelve.

Ralph McAllister was a different sort of boy. He was pale with milky white skin. His hair was black and sleek covering over one eye. His eyes were a dark chocolate brown borderline on black with no emotion swimming in their deep depths. Ralph was a silent boy who had yet to maintain one human friend. He only considered books to be his friends. He would often be found with his nose in a dark book. His dark books had often contained stories of unsolved murders and cold blooded killers. Ralph was an unnoticed criminal genius.

Everyone claims there must be a reason for a person to suddenly snap and go on a killing spree. And maybe this was no different in Ralph’s case. For it seemed his everyday isolation and family neglection led to the triggering of his acts and loss of sanity.

But all the same Ralph was off the hook for several years. He was free in a society. And though a local orphanage became his new home for the seven years he stayed it could not fully subdue his psychopathic personality. One small thing and he would return to committing violent and unforgivable crimes. At only the age of seventeen.

-- In the Local Orphanage’s Library--

Butterflies, they are symbols of innocence and gentle noticed beauty. But one little butterfly made the vital mistake of fluttering into the library through an open window and right into the same room where the psychopath sat.

A grim smirk fluttered across the pale face of Ralph McAllister. Ralph’s cold icy unemotional eyes flickered quickly and locked onto the sight of the innocent butterfly. He raised a pale left hand and watched as the butterfly landed on his open palm. His smirk developed into an evil sinister smile. “Why you are so very elegant and innocent Mr. Butterfly. I must admit I’m jealous of you.” He gave a chilling laugh and watched as the butterfly began to flutter from his hands. But Ralph quickly squashed the poor butterfly with his hands and watched it fall limply to the ground. He looked at its lifeless form. “I, however, despise innocence. That’s too bad for you now isn’t it Mr. Dead Butterfly?”

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R&R if you can