[Akayume]: 202.Sarah's Favorite Outfit

It started with a dream about butterflies.

This was extremely odd, since Sarah really didn't care for butterflies in the first place. She woke up perplexed, and was about to shrug it off (metaphorically, of course) when something odd caught her eye. Being blind as a bat and too lazy to put her glasses on, Sarah simply rolled over to face the wall of her bedroom and tried to go back to sleep. However, the image of a blob standing in the center of her room stayed before her eyes, watching her until she fell asleep.

The next morning started just as it always did. Sarah yawned, stretched, rose from her bed, got dressed, brushed her hair, and went into the tiny room that could barely pass as a kitchen to make morning tea. Sarah was jut about to put the kettle on the stove when she felt as if… As if she was being watched. Turning quickly to catch the culprit in the act, kettle clutched tightly, Sarah was surprised to see her favorite outfit standing in the doorway. The striped-blue top, the white skirt… Standing perfectly still between Sarah's kitchen and living room. It wasn't flat, but filled out as if there were a person occupying the outfit. But that was impossible! Sarah stood with her mouth hanging open, the kettle quivering in her hand. She shut her eyes, slowly opened them…

And it was still there.

The only logical conclusion that Sarah could reach was that she was mad. That she had gone to bed perfectly sane and had woken crazy.

It had to have been the butterflies.

So Sarah abandoned tea that morning, walked out the back door so she could avoid her favorite outfit, and went to work.

When she returned home that evening she was sure the clothes would be gone. That she must have imagined them that morning, and that everything would be back to normal, and her kitchen would be empty. This, however, was sadly not the case for poor Sarah. Now the clothes had taken up a position on her staircase. The sleeves of the shirt were poised in such a way that if Sarah herself had been wearing it, her arms would have been crossed over her chest.

Sarah was about to demand several nasty questions of her favorite outfit when a thought crossed her mind. 'No Sarah, if you say anything out loud or address the matter you are making it real. This is not real.' and with that thought Sarah closed the front door, locked it as she always did, and sat in the living room. She picked up a magazine from her little coffee table, and began to flip through the pages. After a while she felt as if something was sitting at the far end of the couch. It took her some time, but she finally worked up the courage to glance over.

Now her favorite outfit was sitting on the couch. Sarah took this opportunity to bustle upstairs as quickly as she could to her bedroom. Once she got inside she shut the door behind her, and took a deep breath. Everything would be all right tomorrow. She was sure of it.

This routine of waking up in denial, falling asleep in denial, and functioning under the guise of normality became regular to Sarah. Her favorite outfit at first seemed to stay a good distance away, but after a while took to following Sarah around the house. It was always right behind her, as if it was watching her every step. At first Sarah could handle it, and was doing fairly well. But after a while… Sarah began to loose sleep. The outfit seemed unable to open doors, so Sarah was left alone in her bedroom, but she couldn't sleep knowing it was right outside her door, waiting, watching, perhaps even listening to her breathe.

This left Sarah only one option in her mind: she had to kill that damn outfit.

It couldn't be that difficult after all.

It was, after all, only a shirt and a skirt.

Not even that great of a shirt and skirt for that matter. It wasn't even her favorite outfit anymore really. Not since she had moved here, away from her parents' home and her friends.

It was all so clear to Sarah.

But first, she needed to get some sleep. So Sarah went to her bedroom, got into her pajamas, and laid in bed for the longest time, staring at the wall. She rolled over, and there was that damn outfit, standing there in the center of the room. But that didn't even bother Sarah now. "Tomorrow, you'll see…" she murmured, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep with a smile on her face.

Sarah woke earlier than she had expected that morning, giddy with thoughts of finally stepping up and taking care of her wardrobe problem. She yawned, stretched, rose from her bed, got dressed, brushed her hair, and went into the tiny room that could barely pass as a kitchen once again to make morning tea. The outfit was already waiting for her, having taken up a position in front of the back door.

Sarah took her position in front of the stove, kettle quivering in one hand, her other hand turning the front burner on high. "Go away." The words were quiet, soft, and barely audible. Sarah looked up, and the outfit was a pace closer to her. "Go. Away." One pace closer. "GO. AWAY." Another pace closer still! Sarah swung the kettle at the outfit, over and over and over again, closing her eyes tightly as she swung. It was going to regret bothering her! It was going to go back to being just an outfit instead of a damn nuisance.

Sarah was sure of it.

---

"Whoa, what the hell happened in here?" The local sheriff scratched his head, his burly eyebrows coming in close together, giving him a befuddled look.

"Not sure sheriff. It doesn't make any damn sense." His deputy sighed, standing up from the body he had been kneeling beside. "Neighbors say she's called Sarah. Quiet girl. Doesn't have many friends. Which is why it don't make any sense that she's wearin' this here fine outfit." Deputy sighed. "And why the hell's she clutchin' that kettle so damn hard? No sign of forced entry, though the back door there was left wide open…"

Sheriff shook his head. He stepped over the body, making his way to the stove. "Stove's on high… Explains the burn mark on her face." He scratched his head again. "Damn shame. Such a pretty girl. If'n you take away the glasses, that is."

Deputy patted Sheriff on the shoulder. "And what a nice outfit. I mean, look at that nice striped-blue shirt and clean white skirt!"

Neither men noticed as a butterfly fluttered in the door, and landed precariously on Sarah's hand, still clutching that kettle.