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Excerpts All the Monochrome Butterflies
Dr Coran flipped up the next card from the table. There was a blurry flash as it caught the light and then settled upright against the others. Evan's head throbbed. He knew what it would look like. A white card, 8-by-10, too glossy to even collect the occasional thumbprint on the edge. And the darkness squashed across it. Like the good doctor had filled a bug with ink and then splattered its guts across the card. Bang! Now tell me what this looks like. "Butterfly," said Evan. The doctor, as usual, said nothing. Evan found the cards disturbing, but he wouldn't tell the doctor that. He didn't like her, and he wasn't about to help-her-help-him, or anyone. He leant into the inky onslaught, keeping his face smooth. His dad had said to him once, "Look at the hand life's dealt you, son, and start playing the cards." It was Dad's latest variation on the roll-with-the-punches theme that dominated his life. Well, this is quite a hand, Dad. Another damn card, another - "Butterfly," said Evan.
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