To Drown A Butterfly

by Matthew DePointe

Razzmatazz Road

It was very early in the morning when I arrived at the shabby building, Celestia wasn't even thinking about raising the sun. Still snug warm in her bed, I bet. With a sigh at what lay before me, I paid the fare, getting a mumbled response from the cabby who had told me of his conspiracy theory about the invention of donuts. He muttered a farewell as I stepped out of the cab, my hooves clicking on the sorry excuse for a street.
While the street was littered with broken glass from discarded bottles and loose asphalt from where the road started to crumble, my attention was drawn to the the apartment complex. My jaw went slack at what I saw, disbelieving my eyes.

The building in front of me made my own home look like a palace that had angels dancing on top of it. It had the aroma of being repeatedly broken into by squatters, although I’m sure even they could've found someplace better than this. Broken windows, the top floor ceiling collapsing, smashed wallboards. And that was just the outside.

I checked the napkin with the address on it and concluded I was in the right place. 1010 Razzmatazz Road, famous for being so utterly unfamous. What a stupid name, Razzmatazz. I feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch who had to live life with that name and even sorrier that he had the indecency to become famous enough to warrant a street of his own. My heart goes out to him.

In my mouth, I held a shopping bag filled with my tools for tonight. I’ve recently spent the past several hours galloping from bars to pharmacies to porn shops and back to bars again. My only complaint I had was that the bags were pink. All of them. If I felt stupid being out on that street at 4 A.M, then multiply that experience by a hundred when you add anything pink. I contemplated walking home and forgetting about the job, but I had a hundred thousand reasons not to. I trudged my way inside.

The building's security consisted entirely of a junkie laying in the hallway, covering his face with a ducky blanket so he wouldn’t be disturbed. I quietly jumped over him and climbed up the hazardous stairs. Apartment 2010 was the only one with the door still attached. You probably have to pay extra for that privilege.

I put my ear to the door and heard mild snoring coming from the other side. It sounded like the kind of deep sleep only whiskey could afford you, so I figured he would forget to lock the door. I was right.

Quietly, I went inside and took a look at the surroundings. There wasn’t much outside of a small television that used a metal hanger to get reception, a mini-fridge that smelled like death, some questionable substance on what used to be a sink, and the fat bastard himself sleeping on beer cans and heroin needles.

Clockwork was one of the grossest ponies I’ve ever seen. He was extremely fat and his reddish beard contrasted nicely with his vomit-colored fur, which made him look like the physical embodiment of sludge. I have no idea how his special talent had anything to do with clock. The universe works in mysterious ways.

I closed the main door. I knew that my dear old friend wouldn’t wake up for awhile, so I didn’t have to be as quiet. I have never been as nervous in my life as when I picked up the needles with my teeth, as one puncture would kill me. After avoiding the deadly virus, I checked every nook and kranny to make sure there wasn’t any hidden money. Shame I didn’t find any. But what was I expecting? Ponies don’t make millions of bits and choose to live in a moldy apartment.

I spent forty minutes throwing out the mini fridge and television set and started to clean the ungodly substance off the remains of the sink. I barricaded the door to keep Razzmatazz Road outside, although I doubt I’d have needed to. Clockwork’s neighbors weren’t exactly philanthropists. After there was nothing else left to throw out, I decided it was finally time to wake our little friend. Snoring away peacefully, I smiled at him and gave him a good kick in old belly. He didn’t even stop snoring. If anything, all I did was add more gas to the buzzsaw, which as you might imagine, didn’t make me too happy. I kicked him harder and harder, all the while making myself even more frustrated and the little angel snored away, like a helpless little baby. My hooves were extremely sore, but I was finally making leeway into his whisky-filled stomach.

It must have been around noon when I finally saw his eyes flickering, his body shaking ever so slightly, and he made a loud burp. He turned over, saw me, and without moving, said “Shit. I hoped I’d be dead by the time one of you guys came. Extremely unlucky, that is the story of my life.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” I smiled at him. He shrugged, his eyes still glassy, and he probably had a killer headache. Slogging upwards, he sat on the floor and looked up at me.

“Well, can we make this quick? My head isn’t feeling so good, but maybe it will block out the gunshot. I don’t have any weapons or knives on me, so just go ahead. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, Clockwork, I’ve been hired to take you somewhere. Somewhere where the sun don’t shine and all your dreams evaporate. You see, you almost killed a very well connected mare not too long ago and it’s your turn to be punished. Today is your last day in Las Pegasus.”
Hearing that last statement, instead of crying or begging for mercy as I was expecting, he made a loud burp and a shrug. He acted like I was telling him he forgot to turn off the lights.

“Aren’t you even a little bit sorry or regretful for your actions? You could have killed her.”

“What is the difference between being sorry and regretful? Sure, I’m sorry her family wants me dead, but I don’t regret fucking her. She was one fine mare. Does that answer your question?

I was starting to get pissed off, seeing this lowlife talking about emotionally scarring and blinding a mare as if he was ordering a pizza. “I think you don’t give a damn about life. Especially yours.”

The fat bastard started giggling, his gasping noises sounding like gunshots. “Ain’t that the truth. But what about you? Do you think it’s justifiable killing me? Are my screams of agony going to make her family any happier? What you are hoping to accomplish is just extra proof that all lives are worthless. So, now that we established what a poor, wretched soul I am, are you doing to kill me or what?”

An eternity passed as we looked at each other, daring the other to make the first move. I knew I would win the staring contest because I would stare at a glass of chardonnay for hours without blinking if I felt like it. His eyes hit upon the pink bags I carried inside. “What’s in those bags?”
“Well, one of those bags are for you. Here, let me get it.” I grabbed the bag and set it in front of it. I grinned and said, “Should you open it or shall I?”

“Just tell me, for Celestia's sake.” I could tell he was getting nervous, his breathing was getting deeper and his forelegs started shaking ever so slightly.

“Fine, if you have to be so rude. It’s a cake. Lemon cake, I believe. I apologize if you don’t care for lemon, but it was the last one they had. I had to run over there after taking care of some business and just barely made it inside the bakery before they closed. I was surprised they were open that late.

“The mare was extremely nice. She even slipped a chocolate cookie inside the bag when she thought I didn’t notice. I’m sure she would have done that even if it was you. I have to remember to go back there again, the cookie was absolutely delicious.” I nodded at the thought, then got back to the task at hoof. “Anyway, the cake is yours. There is a plastic fork and knife inside if you want it. Do you happen to have a restroom inside the building or shall I do your approach, peeing outside the window onto innocent bystanders?”

He looked confused and even more paranoid, trying to sense if I was joking or not. He opened the pink bag (I still can’t get over it. I mean, really?) and found the cake. “Uh, yeah, the bathroom is down the hall. You might want to cover your nose, the toilet doesn’t flush.”

After surviving the epic journey to the bathroom and back, the lemon cake was gone and a satisfied grin on his face appeared. “Thanks. That was probably the best meal I ever had.”

“It was my pleasure. What’s her name?”

His eyes flopped and his nose twitched. “Whose name?”

“The mare you almost bludgeoned to death. What’s her name?”

“You mean, you don’t know? Wouldn’t they tell you that?”

“They don’t tell me everything, only the essentials. I’m just curious, I have an interest in names.”

“Hell, I don’t know. I went to meet up with my dealer, you know, on the corner and she was walking around on the street. I gathered she tasted real nice and she was real marelike, only wearing a fashionista hat, you know, the one with all the ribbons and shit. I had my pocketknife, she was there for the taking, and that was that. It’s not like we went on a dinner date or anything.”

“So, it was a crime of opportunity. She was there and looked nice and why not? I don’t entirely blame you for wanting her or hell, even acting on those impulses, but why did you have to beat her with a rusty pipe?”

“I was afraid she’d ID me to someone. Screaming and shit, she was starting to be a nuisance.

I’ve hit her multiple times, trying to kill the bitch, but she just wouldn’t die. You know? I heard a voice or two down the street and I just bolted out of there. I woulda sworn she was dead because her eyes were out of there sockets and bleeding on the ground.” He paused. “I guess I do deserve to go with you. Look, it was very nice of you to get me a cake and let me ramble a bit. But I think we should both stop wasting each other’s time. Let’s go.”

I looked at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating to accept his offer. Instead, I reached inside one of the other pink bags and pulled out a pill bottle. I threw it at him, he reached for it, but it hit him on the head and fell on the floor. He rubbed his head and picked up the bottle. “What’s this?”

“Look, I don’t like the idea of you roaming around and beating up mares and being a general nuisance. I also don’t like the idea of murder and I’m not going to commit one because of you. If I’m going to go against everything I ever stood for, it will be more of a reason than just money. Do you understand?”

He looked a bit hopeful. “Yeah, I think I do. I’m not worth the price of your morality, however loose that is.”
“Exactly. What you got in your hoof are sleeping pills. They cost me quite a packet, but whatever. There are twenty pills in there, more than enough to make you fall asleep and never wake up again.”

He looked at me. “You expect me to end my own life.”

“Your life is over, Clockwork. It’s just a matter of how it ends.”

“And if I take these pills?”

“Everything works out. You’ll die without any pain. The mare’s family might not like it, but they can’t do anything to stop it.”

“You are forcing me to kill myself.” He sounded a scared, but in a way, somehow relieved. As if he didn’t have to make the decision himself.

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m allowing you to kill yourself. I think you’re an even bigger fool if you don’t, but I’m not forcing you to do anything.” I grabbed the empty cake box, put it inside the pink bags, and left. We didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t much point.

There was something else I didn’t tell him. I’d just say I found him dead, comatose in La La Land and I’ll collect some money. Not all of it, surely, but I expect at least something. They always give me something.

It didn’t matter to me if he died by his own hoof or through his excessive use of alcohol and drugs, or, as far as that goes, the poor mare’s family found him instead of me and killed him. But I didn’t want to be a part of it. What I did want to be a part of was the act of drinking. Now that sounded real nice.

Comments

[PresentPerfect]

Huh, that doesn't really feel like an ending. I mean, I like how his moral arc resolved, but then the story just stops.

[Muggonny]

6708112 I agree. It all feels cut short. I think if more details were to be put in, it wouldn't be as rushed or unclimatic.

[Muggonny]

I have reviewed your story in The Pleasent Commentator Review Group! You can find you story here.

[Sinclare]

This review was brought to you by The Syndicate Reviews

*I slap my cheeks with my hands.* Oh my, look at the time! It’s 2016, my first review of the new year, and many more to come. I hope to be expanding my review empire. But first I need to instill my potentially iron grip on the community by fucking some shit up! Oh and fuck the year of 2016 cause its gonna suck while we all wait with bated breath and hope to god the next president of the United States ISN'T Donald–Fucking–Trump. Cause fuck him and his stupid ideas.

Anyway, potentially I hope this will be a more lucrative year for my small little review circle and may even expand to a group of my own. You know I was never much into the whole old L.A. Noir type film because I didn’t find black and white flickering screens to be much of a turn on cause I was too busy staring at the porn on my phone. The real problem was this is the 21st century and nobody has any appreciation for the classics anymore, and in some ways this story does remind me of a rather old film quite similar to this. Albiet I cannot, for the life of me, remember the name. Though the possibility of any of you recognizing it would be slim to none.

To Drown a Butterfly caught my interest rather late in the game someplace around 4 chapter where it ends. And quite frankly that's the only part worth reading. To Drown a Butterfly is cliche as the cliches come, and if you want all the cliches you could always watch a harem genre anime. It tries to be something that it’s not and that is unique and only 25% of it actually possesses any sort of uniqueness other than that it’s like every other wrinkle on an old man's scrotum.

Mr. Grumbly Mcbumber Snazzles (the so called anti-hero) deals with an old problem that involves a middle-aged aristocrat and a gold choker. And no, not the bondage kind. While they discuss the business at hand the internal hemorrhaging of his heartstrings induce as he gives her a fake choker, leaves and tosses the real one into a river whilst his pseudo deep and mysterious persona unfolds as he tasked with killing a person which he has never done before.

Oh the humanity! Sure you must be joking? That’s the big plot conflict?! A moral dilemma? Honestly I could find some more entertaining out of the pure clop section and at least get a nice wank in while I’m at it. Spare me the dramatics and let’s just head straight point.

If ANYTHING this will most likely give the lowest rating I’ve ever given except for chapter 4 because that is the only part worth reading. In fact most of what happens is irrelevant and filler much like the moldy folds of a dead women that acts as a new slimy hymen.

#spoileralert- He doesn’t kill him at the end! He just leaves him with a bottle full of sleeping pills and leaves it up to him to decide. What the fuck?! If I was suppose to be entertained and surprised by that then I’m the furthest thing from it. If anything I’m more pissed off and even more angrily taking it out on the keys of my computer.

Inevitably this had to be done and said maybe by a professional someone more cynical and alluring than I but since nobody else had the balls I’ll fucking do it. Let’s just toss it into the bin and I’ll move onto the next thing that hits my submission thread or catches my interest.

2 out of 10.

[Matthew DePointe]

6819340 While there are some things that you stated I disagree about, I sincerely hope the story wasn't the absolute worst thing you've ever read. It's refreshing to hear different criticisms and hearing radically different opinions. It's so boring to keep hearing compliments all the time! (jk).

Other people have a very boring "did they do this or not" checklist and then rate the story they're reviewing based on a very specific criteria. You are one of the noble ones. You didn't like it, goddammit, so no need for specific examples or clever observations as to why you didn't like it, no sense wasting time. 2/10 there! No, no, that's too nice. 1/10! Wait, this story was just horrible enough to deserve the first ever .467/10, even though the grammar is fine, there is an actual plot, and you can actually understand the motivation of the characters! Hahaha!

Oh well. You liking only about 25% of it is better than no one liking 100% of it. Thank you for taking the time to read the story. I hope you have a great success this year in terms of reviews

[BatwingCandlewaxxe]

Hello,

Your story has been reviewed by Story Standards. Unfortunately, it has been rejected. You can find the entire review here: https://www.fimfiction.net/group/204912/story-standards/thread/318172/firmly-rejected-to-drown-a-butterfly-by-matthew-depointe