Tinfoil Butterfly

by Rachel Eve Moulton

My dad’s point, I think, was that evil doesn’t take people by surprise. In order for it to really get you, a tiny piece of you has to want it.

“Shut up,” I say to myself aloud. “The world is full of fucked-up shit. I just need to get to the end of it.”

But I know that I am evil, that I invited it in a long time ago. And I wanted to hurt her.

I was a cruel kid, a cruel teenager. And here I am … still selfish and still cruel.

Blood. Turns out it holds us together. Inside and out. Whether we want it to or not.