The Butterfly

This cellar has always made my flesh crawl, now so much more than ever. I shall surely perish from the cold, the damp and malnutrition. Or will death be served by that hideous creature which, at this very moment, causes the entire house to quake, decades of detritus to rain on me, and wary rats to abandon their hungry vigil by my dying self? More than hunger, the rats must be equally driven by their collective desire to avenge the murder of their own. Yes, I killed a few to stall my own starvation, the raw and warm meat tasty;...