Butterfly Puddle

 

The platters of grains 

The bowls of sweet tender berries

The sound of an electronic reverberation echoed through the air

stories of shattered planets and gods

 

crystals cut from the same sample (is there a mathematical equation for a vortex pull or some sort...only the cycle is perfection except the 3. 6. 9.  flip the 3 on it's side, slip into the six and out with the nine.

...

Death looked out the window to the scene placed before her, the butterfly puddle perfectly placed. She watched the birds fly the quake in her wake. 

...

It was a hot day near the equator where time moved so slow a modern human would have thought they had landed in ancient Arabian times except they had added decorations to their pawned off from the United States Civil War long guns to their Khanjar cross, that would be the only change beside the few cars and one road. 

"Come on kids!" came the shout from Mrs Batstone, "get in line. It's just a needle, noting to be scared of."

Mrs Batstone, head honcho nurse that stitched all of us up at one time or another, tall and lanky, beautiful with freckles all over and the ladies would joke as they smoked their cigarettes around the pool at the Khanjar Club while we heathen Children jumped and swam in cool waters under a burning sun and played pirate when when ever was our delight. 

This day was not that one.

Under the First Building of the compound surround by a cyclone fence and a gate guard that slept at the gate, all the children gathered and queued. 

The thin needle pierced the skin of the upper arm and she flinched, "it's just a needle" and in that needle was a magical substance, refrigerated and flown in just for us. 

it would make us impervious 

...

Have you ever met a rebel? 

Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story

All governments and companies experiment on people...mind, body and soul