by R.I. McGowan
Part Two: Investigation
I walked home with silent tears streaming down my face. I cared a lot about these butterflies. What could have killed these butterflies? Was the only question that stung my brain repeatedly.
When I got home my mother still hadn’t left, I’d only been gone for 40 minutes. She hadn’t even gotten up to get a shower and ready for work. She saw the sad look upon my face.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” My mother asked me as I looked up at her with tears still streaming down my puny face.
“All of the butterflies are dead,” I spoke. When I spoke the words sobs came out with them. I sounded so little, as if I was five or something.
“The butterflies? Why do you care so much about butterflies?” She looked at me with a puzzled look.
“Why does it matter? They’re dead! I loved them because they were pretty, not I’m going to find out who or what did this!” I declared then off to my room I stomped to draw out a plan
“Oh, okay-” She had said but my door was already shut. It took me 10 minutes to come up with a plan. I was going to go into town and ask EVERYONE at the Farmer’s market if they knew anything.
“Mom, can you take me to the farmer’s market. I want to look around, and then can you pick me up a couple of hours later?” I asked her and said please about a billion times. She sighed and said okay.
As she got showered and dressed my father came out walking from their bedroom wearing only his underwear and tank-top. He ate himself a bowl of Fruity Snax, too. I had myself another one.
“Dad, guess what.” I said as he continued to eat.
“What, Sugar Pie?” He asked me with a smile full of Fruity Snax.
“Somebody murdered all of the butterflies! I am going to go investigating today at the farmer’s market.” I told him all about my plan. He nodded every so often and told me it was a good plan and that he hoped I succeeded in my job.
“Thanks, Daddy.” I replied then took his and my bowl to the sink and washed them. He then left back to his bedroom when Ma was just getting out of the shower. He pecked her on the lips and got in himself.
My mother dressed into her nurse outfit. She stayed at people’s houses and nursed their sick children. We walked out to the car, the sun now was blazing up above and there wasn’t any more dew or blue haziness.
My mother drove as slow as a tractor and after what seemed like a lifetime; I was dropped off at the farmer’s market. I went around once just looking at items and vegetables and apples. I did buy myself an apple for fifty cents. I ate it while looking at stuff my second time around.
After the second time I decided to go around talking to the farmers asking where they lived. Most lived nowhere close to me, but there were three that did: Terry O’Rie, Sara Joan, and Timothy Puckett. I decided to interrogate Farmer O’Rie first.
“Do you know of any butterflies on your property?” I asked him.
“I sure do! They’re annoying, but I’ve never killed one. Well, only a few, not a lot.” He replied. I wished I could have punched him in the face, but I didn’t know if he was the fiend.
“Do you have a creek close or on your property?” I asked him next.
“Not that I know of, wait, no – none!” The old man said then told me he had to get back to selling stuff. I didn’t think it was him so I went on to Sara.
“Yes, I have many butterflies on my land. I live right beside a creek that has a ton of them.” She replied to my first question, which answered the second, also. I was about to call her a murderer when I decided to ask Timothy. There is more than once creek in the world.
“Yes, the butterflies come from a creek that me and Sara have as a property line!” He exclaimed. I asked him on what road, and it was on my road they lived on. Great, I thought, now I have narrowed it down from three to two.
I was picked up by my mother before I could ask them anymore questions. I sighed when I got inside the car. She took my home then left to finish her work. Father was still here, he didn’t go to work until Ma got off of work.
“Dad, can I get on the computer?” I asked him and he shouted back “Yeah!” I ran to the computer room where our computer was on its desk. I turned it on and it’s parts roared to life, well, that was the fan. It was an old computer, but I was never, ever on it, so it didn’t matter to me.
I typed in google.com and pressed the enter key. I searched butterfly depletion and found almost nothing, besides one article that took 10 minutes just to load. It said that the fertilized Round Up was killing off the butterflies. I felt a jolt of triumph go through my body and knew that the next day I had to ask Sara and Timothy what fertilizers they used.
I had gotten back in time for lunch. Father made me a sandwich and got me a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I ate it up like a dog would and went outside to go in the woods. After hours and hours Ma came home and Father left. I had dinner with her, which was homemade pizza. I watched about 10 minutes of television then off to bed I went, at 7:30 PM. That was super early.
The next morning I woke up and made my mother to leave early. As I arrived at the farmer’s market Timothy had just arrived, but Sara was not in sight.
Timothy swore he didn’t use Round Up and I believed him. I bought one of his apples to say I was sorry for my accusations, but then news came in. Everyone gathered up in the middle to hear what Farmer Churchill had to say.
“I found this in the paper; an obituary! One of our farmers have fallen dead,” He then started to read from the paper. “Sara Joan was found dead including hundreds of thousands of migrating monarch butterflies.
angered. I just gasped and went to cry. Why did she kill herself? “She had a Round Up bottle of pesticide by her side, and was then deemed that she ate it to commit suicide.” I dropped the apple I had just took a bite out of. Sara Joan had killed herself.
“That’s a sin! She’s gonna burn in hell!” Farmer O’Rie shouted
THE END.