Tiny Little Red Butterflies.

Notes: The name Alex means Defender of Mankind, Tom simply means Twin and the name Lilly has the meaning of, well, Lily.
This is the translation of the story I wrote for my Norwegian test a few months ago. :D I translated this tonight because I was bored. And keep in mind this was done sometime over midnight. ^^

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Alex had a twin.

A twin who looked very similar to him. So very, very similar.

Alex also had a twin sister.

A little sister whose face was so alike his and his twin.

They loved him, loved him so very, very much. He loved them too, and why shouldn't he? They were his siblings; they were a part of him.

Their parents weren't home that often. They had work, which meant that they were often alone. When they were younger, there had been other adults who'd taken care of them when their parents were away. But now, they were big enough to be alone at home when mommy and daddy had to go away on business.

Not that it bothered the siblings too much. Oh no, they enjoyed themselves immensely. Watched movies, played video-games and ran around in the way too big house, playing all sorts of childish games. For them, life was just yet another game to play.

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Alex had a twin.

A twin who looked very similar to him. So very, very similar.

A twin who stole; a twin he no longer could trust.

If Tom could steal his toys, who was to say he hadn't stolen something else as well? Alex had to look more into this.

Who knows, maybe his little sister, Lilly, had also stolen something of his.

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Alex liked blood.

He liked blood very, very much.

It had such a nice colouring. So very, very red.

He whistled a cheerful melody. It looked like many hundred thousands of tiny little red butterflies decorated the once-white wall. How beautiful it was.

Alex wished there were more tiny little red butterflies. Then, he could decorate all the walls in the entire house with them, painted them in this delightful colour.

---

Alex didn't have a twin.

He didn't have a twin who looked very, very similar to him.

Not anymore.

Alex had discovered what his brother was up to, oh yes, don't believe anything else. He wasn't stupid. But Tom had been, for thinking he wouldn't find out what he'd been doing.

Alex didn't have a heart anymore, for Tom had taken it. And his heart hadn't been enough, Tom had wanted to take his memories as well.

Yes, it was all well and good that Alex had figured out what Tom was planning.

Therefore, Alex took Toms heart. He carved it out of a screaming Tom's chest with a knife, and ate it.

No, it wasn't as good as to have one's own heart, but it was good enough.

And then, then he ate his brothers brain. Because he knew, if he didn't steal Tom's memories, Tom would steal his. So Alex had to steal Tom's memories first.

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It didn't take many days, before his sisters face – so like his brothers, haunted Alex where ever he went.

He could see his twin in that face; screaming, crying, pleading for his own life, begging him to stop- It hurts, it hurts so much…

And therefore he did what he did.

Because his sister looked so much like him, looked so much like Tom, he took a knife to his sister's face – and got rid of it.

And she screamed and he laughed- Stop! Stop! Please! What are you doing? Dear sweet big brother- it hurts…!

He laughed so hard, his whole body shook.

He laughed so hard, the tears wouldn't stop flowing and the sobs wouldn't quiet down.

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After a few days, Alex's parents came home. They didn't think too much of it when Alex told them that his brother and sister had already gone to bed.

They made it too easy to lie for them. It was almost so that it wasn't exciting for him.

The married couple slept in separated bedrooms, had done so for many years. And it made it so much easier for Alex to sneak into each bedroom with a knife in hand.

After all, the dog loved liver…

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When the men in uniforms burst into the house, Alex could do nothing else but laugh.

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He didn't swallow the pills. They thought he did, but no, he never swallowed. Sometimes, he had walked with them in the corner of his mouth for over an hour. They tasted so very, very bad. But no, he refused to swallow them.

Alex wasn't stupid. He could see what the pills did to people. Made them nice, made them normal. What normal people were like, he didn't really know.

He hadn't met one of those at least. Alex weren't too sure that they even existed.

But he tried to behave as normal as he could. Or rather, he obeyed the rules that this institution had set for its patients. Alex guessed that it was the criteria of what was considered normal by these people in white- Oh, how prettier they'd be if they were soiled in tiny little butterflies…

And because Alex was capable of following their normal people criteria, they eventually allowed him out of his white white – how beautiful it'd be if they'd only just allow him to decorate it with his beautiful tiny little butterflies –room, and out to those who were viewed as one of the more normal people in a social society.

However, when he was given a blank canvas, and was told to paint, everything came back.

Tom, hearts, memories, Lilly, faces, guilt, laughter, tears, and beautiful, so very beautiful tiny little butterflies.

And he painted. He painted a child with no heart and a hole in his temple; he painted a girl without a face and a white wall with tiny little red butterflies.

After one of the nurses saw the morbid – her words, not his – drawings, he was sent straight back to his white, white room.

Alex got a thirst for blood, but he was patient.

And therefore, he waited.

---

They started giving him pills again. And once again he pretended to swallow them. He also pretended to be under the effects of the pills, made a small game out of it.

The staff on the institution started relaxing more when they were in close proximity around him than before. They dared touching him, dared being alone with him.

And one day, when one of the nightshift nurses entered his room, he seized his chance.

It wasn't too hard, just a hard hit to the head and she passed out. It was a tad bit frustrating, for now he wouldn't be able to hear her screams. Well, well. Choosers can't be beggars.

Everything Alex needed was to press her pen hard enough against her throat.

Now, he could finally paint his room with tiny little red butterflies.

It could be a little fifteenth birthday present for himself.

---

He knew he had crossed the line.

He didn't regret it – oh no, for his room had become so very, very pretty. Red and white was a beautiful contrast.

The only thing he regretted was how it ended. Lobotomy was something he never wanted to go through. He'd rather be tiny little red butterflies on white walls, than a living zombie, trapped for the rest of his miserable existence on this god forsaken institution.

Alex screamed, screamed so that his throat tore, while that thing came closer and closer to his forehead.

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