J.M.M. Butterfield

Fantasy Author


I should have died down there.

The thought sent a spasm of remembrance along my spine. I could see the planet below; green seas surrounding a burgundy landmass, an aqua horizon. It appeared wonderfully innocent from behind my viewport aboard the space vessel Valiant.

Only the tranquil observation masked a horrible truth.

Genocide. Confirmed by numerous data reports. An entire alien species wiped out due to a sinister virus, a virus that I harboured unwittingly upon arriving on the new world. As a cognitive species, they realised the potential danger all too late. And as a representative of the human race; a messenger intent on communication and goodwill, I had inadvertently become their nemesis.

The Admiral, upon my return to the Valiant, explained the situation in his succinct manner, called the incident an unfortunate series of circumstances. I cannot help but think a more sinister plot has been unravelled, and I am nothing more than a marionette dancing to someone else’s tune. Heavy is the weight that now rests on my shoulders. I wished I’d died down there. Perhaps I did, for the burden of guilt seeks to bury me deep, to push me into oblivion.

Now an ever-growing part of me feels more at home in the darkness. This vessel – the Valiant – can no longer keep me safe from myself, nor speak to me of compassion. It is merely a reminder of my failed mission, a dagger through my weeping heart.

So I stand at the viewport, lost and alone, searching for hope in a galaxy that displays none. And resting in my hand is an I.D card, my name scratched from its surface. With a marker I’ve scrawled my new name, one that best represents my current state of being.

I am Revenant.

And I am angry.