The term “butterfly effect” refers to the phenomenon that small events in the past will have large consequences in the future. The classic story goes that the small current of air displaced by the flapping of a monarch butterfly’s wings in Mexico can change the flow of air just enough that it causes a tsunami to hit Indonesia, all the way on the other side of the world. However, this requires a very special set of circumstances to bring the whole system together; one single current out of place, and then another butterfly effect could be triggered that nullifies the first—after which, the beautiful monarch simply flaps its wings, blissfully unaware of the tsunami that never happened.

Perhaps, then, the situation that Jules found himself in was the result of these unfortunate chains of events, set in motion by just a single sentence uttered from his mouth. As the water rose, he couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

He couldn’t now remember much of anything at all; an oddity for him, considering his usually sharp memory. Ever since he had been young, Jules had been praised by family, friend, and teacher alike on his ability to retain and regurgitate information, however old, as though it had just been presented to him. One of his family’s favorite party tricks, much to Jules’ annoyance, was to ask him what he had eaten for lunch about a week prior. They, and he, knew that he would always produce an answer—and only he knew, of course, that the answer was always correct. Not that it mattered, anyway; if he had made something up, at least something believable, the family friends would always offer a scattering of light applause.

There were a few things that Jules could remember, however, even in this state of mental fog that seemed to hang over him like a dark thundercloud. His features crunched as he tried his hardest to recall the series of events that had brought him here.

The setting of the evening was a local bar just around the corner from Jules’ apartment. Jules tried to visualize the place so he could have some backdrop to ground the rest of his sparse memories. He remembered a bartender passing back and forth behind the counter, though even whether the bartender was a woman or a man was too difficult for Jules.

At some point in the night, he remembered being with some companions. Who were they? Friends, colleagues, strangers? He remembered bidding them farewell as the night wore on, knowing that although he had nothing in particular planned for the following day, he still wanted to get up at a reasonable time to perhaps run some errands.

“Are you gonna be alright?” he remembered a man’s voice, though it was distorted, ran through a thousand filters like some off-brand horror movie.

“I’ll be fine,” Jules lied. He didn’t want to inconvenience his companions, though perhaps in hindsight he should have.

“Well call us when you get home so we know you’re safe,” a demure female voice said. Jules remembered taking of at a brisk pace off into the darkness.

Oftentimes, when he was feeling in need of some clarity, Jules liked to walk along the well-kept paths of his local park. The feeling of solitude there always helped to clear his mind, something that was so sorely needed when he was caught up too much in his studies. It was his own fortress of solitude, his safe space. And so tonight, when there developed a sort of itch in the back of his head, he headed to the park.

It was empty at this time of night; during the day, the shouts of joy could be heard as children darted in and out of the trees and around the playground. Now, there was just a somber silence.

Yet, as Jules strolled through the forested pathways, he couldn’t seem to shake the itch. As if there were something weighing down on his mind, but he wasn’t sure what. As he went deeper in to the forest, the rustle of the wind became more and more silent, until at last the whole park was still, the whole world was still.

And out of that silence, came the snap of a single branch.