The Butterfly
On April 15, 1865 John Wilkes Booth draws a pistol. He points it at the back of President Abraham Lincoln's head.
A ghostly white butterfly flaps through the theater, lands on his pistol.
He pauses... turns his head in bewilderment...
There's no telling where the butterfly came from, or the chain of events that led to this butterfly, landing on this gun, at this time...
A Secret Service agent spots him, shoots several times, twice in the head. Lincoln walks from the assassination attempt unscathed.
The universe shifts to something parallel...
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1946. Space.
The U.S.A. sends the first man to the moon with the help of their Russian comrades.
1958. The Great War begins...
Axis (China, India, Korea, Italy, Spain) take on Allies (Japan, England, Germany, France, Russia, and the U.S.A.)
1964. The Great War ends.
Quarter of the world dies off. Barely any young men left on the planet. Allies wins.
1982. Information Age.
Global prosperity. Each country(286) holds onto a nuclear missile as a token of peace.
1993. The Social Divide.
Automation stacks the majority of the world's wealth to the top 1%. People suffer. A global base income is established which alleviates unemployment strains.
2011. The League of Nations.
The L.N. is born, every major country on the planet joins. Worldwide nuclear disarmament is initiated.
2025. The Age of Oppression.
The L.N. is corrupt and abusive. Widespread surveillance and restriction of freedoms.
---
The President of the L.N. watches a holo-play in Central Park. The holographic actor's blue glow wraps around the trees, audience's attentive faces...
The play is called "Our American Brother" and the President's theater box hovers over the commoners below.
On the skyline behind him, a figure floats silently through the air with the aid of a grav pack. He pulls a large revolver, draws down on the President from above.
A ghostly white butterfly flaps through the air... the President smiles, sticks out his finger and it lands on it.
"Ever thus to tyrants." The assassin whispers to himself, pulls the trigger.
Blue light tears through the back of the Presidents head. His agents turn and fire round after round into the assassin.
The grav pack is hit, his body drifts downward in a gentle spiral...
the commoners below watch him fall slowly towards them.
Blood drips down on them as they gather round. There's a silence, a respect; he's killed their oppressor. They catch him, hold him before he touches Earth.
They watch him die in their hands... he fades away smiling.