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Another day, another horror. Another mark on the wall. She thought with a groan. She hated it, her Fear. It’s stupid she knows this, she does. They’re harmless, they can’t kill you… probably .
She sighs while running a hand through short auburn hair. Frog onesie rumpled and near neon in the morning light. Once vibrant blue eyes squint open, one at a time. There’s something on her window.
Emma’s scream could be heard throughout the apartment. Her brother and Mother come racing in half awake and terrified for her.
“Em!?” her brother shouts as he stumbles into the barren bedroom wearing nothing but his fluorescent yellow boxers and a single Coraline sock. Panic and fear plastered across his face. Both of which quickly dissolve into an incredulous stare.
Her mother, armed with her weapon of choice in hand (fully dressed) charges in and strikes to defend her daughter’s waning sanity. “GOT IT! You’re okay, it’s dead, it can’t hurt you.” she soothes.
Emma and her brother, Neil, look to the window, the remains of the beast present. “It was in my room! Mom, how’d it get in?” she cries, the creature’s death doing nothing to calm her. “Mommy, how? How?”
“Neil F. Mendeleiev. What. Did. You. DO?” their mother asks, obviously enraged by the lack of care he’d taken to keep the vermin away from his baby sister.
Flustered and annoyed he responds, “The butterfly isn’t even purple!” The green flyswatter was still leveled at him in a threat.
He can’t believe Emma’s still scared of butterflies at fifteen.