((Me))
As
head of the local militia, Sgt. Ash Chewston had seen it all: failed
hostage negotiations, live WMD footage, protestors armed with sawed
off shotguns; but nothing could compare to the revolting display
before him.
"Fourth one this week" he sourly noted to the
police captain, nose wrinkling in disgust as the smell of the scene
assaulted his olfactory nerves like a chimpanzee wielding a lead
pipe.
The lazily expanding pool of bubbling human blood slowly
started covering what was left of the white tile floor. The charred
remains of what was once a seven year old girl lay strewn against the
wall of this once happy kitchen, arms protruding at unnatural angles.
The shadows cast by the flickering florescent light danced to and fro
revealing immolated flesh in one instant, then broiled skin the next.
The little girl's skull had been cracked open, and both bone and
neural tissue was missing from forehead to neck. What little of the
morning sunlight that got through the kitchen blinds caused the wet
portions to sparkle with an unholy radiance.
"What the hell
could have caused... this" stammered a photographer nearby, clearly
having quite a hard time keeping his breakfast in as he immortalized
the grizzly corpse.
"Charmander, or one of its derivatives.
I'd bet my badge on it!" spat the police captain.
The rest
of the crime scene could only nod dismally in agreement as they went
upon their appointed tasks. Many of them had already emptied their
digestive tract at the sight and, for some, the scene was sinking
deep into their nightmares for years to come.
Sgt. Chewston
turned away, eyes downcast. "I'll handle the press this time"
he muttered, grateful to have a reason to get the hell away. He left
the house, a nice cottage looking residence located near the
woodlands, and headed for the yellow police tape holding back the
press and general populous. The dissonant chorus of pleading
questions tripled in volume and intensity as he approached the crowd.
He raised his hands, and waited for silence before continuing.
Cameras were instantly drawn like moths to a flame.
"Good
people," Ash stammered out, eyes filling with unbidden tears, "when
will you ever learn? iYouri children are worshiping these
genetic abominations! They were bred as a weapon against our great
nation. And coupled with the ever popular craze, these things were
unleashed against our unsuspecting children to cause rampant chaos
and destruction!" The emotion choked his words and the tears
overflowed down his face, collecting at his chin. Drip... drip...
drip, went the salty liquid against his ruffled uniform. "For God's
sake, the latest victim was a... a... seven year old girl!!!"
The
sergeant collapsed, convulsing freely in his black hole of stress
induced depression.
The morning chorus of jumbled sentences
abruptly started once again, and two nearby police officers helped
move the now child-like form of Sgt. Ash Chewston behind a squad
car.
"There you have it, folks. Live from..."
"...that's
the story from GRBK, your local source for..."
"Never has
there been such an emotional outbreak among our..."
And, if
you were of sound hearing during the twelve o'clock news on cable
channel 5 as the sergeant was helped out of the public eye, you could
barely make out his last words, screamed at the top of his emotion
cracked voice.
"...hunt every last one of the goddamn
monsters down..."
