*This*: A Flash Fiction Short Story

 *This*

The Butterfly Effect

A Flash Fiction Short Story

This.

Yes, *This*.

It's what I'm doing right now. Not your right now, dear reader, but my right now.

Only moments ago, *This* wasn't here.

There was no concept of what *This* would become.

Nevertheless, *This* was started.

Became *This*.

Became? Became what?

Now we are equals.

I don't know yet. And neither do you.

But as the clickity-clack of the QWERTY mimics the nervous gnashing of teeth, you and I can discover it together.

*This* could have started with 'Once upon a time', but I know that would be too cutesy for my dear reader.

This could have started with 'It was a dark and stormy night... ', but the rules of this game have a limit to how many QWERTY conjoined bits and bobs *This* can contain.

But I do know that *This* started with a spark.

A simple spark that appeared at 3:02am.

Moreover, the spark tasks me.

The challenge is accepted gracefully.

However, now... *This* has taken life, but not form.

*This* now sits as a twinkling black '|' on an image facsimile of a white sheet of paper taunting me to tap a QWERTY bit.

Well, a few hundred QWERTY bits ago, it stayed that way for what felt like an eternity.

Here's the amazing thing - *This* morphed and twisted many times.

At one point, *This* was going to be a keen huntress in a dystopian future named Lena who was also being stalked by her old therapist who had her committed before the fall of society.

Lena: Huntress of the new world order. 

I thought, no *That* would have been too big for *This*.

Then *This* was going to be Rennie while he was back in Australia running his Outback Adventure tour company before he met Foxxfyrre.  

Then *This* was going to be a dark poem about a broken heart that refuses to bleed.

The heart that refuses to bleed. 

But none of those *This*s fit the bill.  

So for *This*, the butterfly not only needs to flap its wing and cause a tornado in Tokyo, but it also has to fart simultaneously. Or would that bring on the apocalypse?

I don't think they make Beano for butterflies.

So, dear reader. We are now up to date; you know as much about *This* as I do.

One thing I do know is this, on some level, gauge, gradient, or spectrum *This* is chaos.

But I do love doing *This*, tornados and all.

Now, where did that flutterby go?

TTFN

Frank