"Sir Butcher" (Short, Short Story)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Sir Butcher, lend me an ear, if you'd not take my life. Deception is normal, I am much like the rest, target me not. Sir Butcher, your cleaver, sharpen you need not. Sir Butcher, lesson I have
learn, no longer am I filth. Sir Butcher! Sir Butcher, need not nor have to, until understood! Sir Butcher... You're right, disease I am, cleanse the world of me. Sir Butcher, keep it diseased
free. I was quite young when I conjured this... Mess. So it may prove simple, my apologies. Inspired by... Experience...

Submitted: August 11, 2017

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Submitted: August 11, 2017






"Sir Butcher"


The story passed by parents to tell their children as they began to sleep, I listened inaudibly when she would tell the story, "Sir Butcher." I find that even at this young age,  the world is infested with liars while Sir Butcher supposely lies in honesty, but after being deceived he is now killing those caught within a lie. Thus it is irony that this mother of mine whom had taught me the story has been killed by him. Is it sickening not to cry for the hypocrite who has been the one telling me not to lie? Sir Butcher; Can this killer truly be as honest as his legend tells? Will I be the victim to find out before he guts me alive, then takes my soul?

I found myself finally awake, not free or in bed, but in chains that rattled; I struggled for a moment before a chilling scream came from down the dark hall. There was a sound of metal, then all was quiet. I can smell it, a strong stench of iron, then I noticed the bodies around me. Each had wounds caused by a blade, their mouths sewed with thread aligned to have "Liar" forever over their lips. Sir Butcher has heard the lie I told the two girls, how pathetic it is, to finally be caught.

  I stared at the hallway as the goliath walked towards me, letting the meat cleaver scratch the floor, then he pointed it at me. Was it worth it? What was there to gain? Now I am alone. Congratulations, mother and father, your child's a corpse. He walked to me and shook his head, he kneeled to look me in the eye, before sharpening the blade. "I am filth, I am diseased." I stated while looking back at him. "Thank you for righting my wrongs, Sir Butcher, be the savior we all need." He stared down at the blade, I am the first to not beg release, but I accept my fate. "Please do not hesistate, may I finally atone for my sins." He raised the cleaver to my neck, now I am where I belong, with my peers. Each spot of blood, their own, with lips sewed.



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