In a simulation of a simulation, it is snowing. An endless expanse of white, blanketing them. As if to suffocate the bugs on the ground, whether spiders or the insects they eat. There are butterflies flying around them, unaffected. It is so very cold.
“It’s okay, Gonta,” an AI is telling him. He is standing over him. He is on his knees. As if to pray or beg, for mercy or forgiveness, he does not know. The AI takes his head into his arms. “Everything will be okay. We’ll make it okay.”
“Is Kokichi lying again?” His voice shook. The ghost in front of him stroked his hair, humming.
“Of course not,” the AI smiles. “Would I lie to you, Gonta?”
The Butterfly’s Revenge.
[A scene from my work A Monarch Caught In A Beautiful Spiders Web.]











