S. J. Byrne stops by the Blogger Book Fair to give us an excerpt from her novel, My Butterfly.
Emily’s Loss
A slight change in Emily’s posture alerted Katherine to the fact that something had shifted, and warning bells exploded throughout her instinctual body. She watched patiently as Emily looked around the kitchen, her chest heaving as she wrestled for control of a demon only she could fight; her eyes swung the length of the counter top, snapping in place when she found the item she was looking for.
Following Emily’s gaze, Katherine sucked in a breath of shock as a fierce growl erupted from the petite woman’s throat, and she shoved up out of her chair in time to grab a distraught Emily as she made a dash for the block of cutting knives resting innocently in the middle of the counter.
“Emily, no!” Katherine shouted, hoping the distraction would be enough to keep her away from the deadly weapons.
“Eht’s nae guid. Am nae guid, Katherine.”
“That’s not true, Emily. You ARE good. There can be other children if you try again.”
A deeper, more aggressive growl filled the room as Emily lunged for the knives.
“Canna . . . cannae…Cannae!! Will nae, EVER!” She screamed, ripping the longest blade from the block.
Katherine didn’t think Emily would purposely do herself harm, but she knew better than anyone, that a woman eaten up from grief and emotional pain was capable of most anything. Before she could guess at Emily’s intent, a loud thunk echoed around them and she looked to the closed kitchen door where a blade wobbled back and forth, ensconced in the thick wood; Emily had chosen to throw the knife instead of use it on herself.
One after another, knives were plucked from their resting place and flung with dead accuracy at the heavy oak door. After the thirteenth blade had been thrown, Katherine thought the door resembled a circus trick gone dreadfully wrong. The block held fifteen different types of kitchen knives, and with only two left, Emily didn’t appear to be losing steam.
One by one Katherine opened cabinet doors, hunting for objects to sacrifice. The cupboard to her left was stocked to capacity with the most hideously mismatched cache of dishes, and suddenly the need for destruction welled up from within her own hidden place of pain. Plucking a tea cup from the array, she threw it at the knife encrusted door and giggled like a mad scientist as the little cup shattered into tiny pieces.
The commotion attracted Emily’s attention, and her look of astonishment turned maniacal as she began to understand the offering Katherine made with the dinner plate she held out to her. Piece by piece, the women unleashed a poisonous anger and hatred that had been held back for far too long. Katherine was shocked to find she still held so much animosity within herself; it had been deeply buried, and she might never have known it was there, reaching its dark tentacles into those parts of her that were most fragile. Her need to destroy abated quickly, and she stepped back, allowing Emily free reign on the unsuspecting cabinet.
A perfunctory search behind the remaining doors revealed Millie’s posh tableware, which Katherine decided to offer up if the need arose, but as the stack of breakables dwindled, so did Emily’s rage; her throws packing less punch and from among the noise of breaking ceramics, came the sound of uncontrollable weeping. Katherine waited patiently, knowing the rage had given way to a soul destroying grief that had been buried, protecting its existence behind a wall of anger large enough to scare its host from ever exploring it too deeply.
Katherine picked up the last of the tiny ceramic tea cups, one with tiny black ants painted over its entire surface and wondered who in seven hells would want to drink from a cup covered in ants? As she handed the grotesque item into Emily’s outstretched hand, the meaning for the dishes became perfectly clear; Millie had arranged them on purpose, in case she needed to do a little venting of her own.
She was a very wise woman, the black sheep of the family.
Holding onto the hideous cup, Emily examined it closely as her body vibrated from the emotion pouring out of it. Lifting her arm to throw the last piece, she hesitated too long and Katherine stepped forward to catch her in the moment that she lost all strength to remain standing; the rage had finally exhausted itself.
About S. J. Byrne
Living in the mountains of Western North Carolina she is just trying to make her way through the insanity that comes with creativity. Writing is her passion – life is her muse. Keep an eye out for new books due later this year.
Connect with SJ via:
Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Blogger
Read more about her books on: