The police yellow tape is has torn and is flapping gently in the soft cold breeze on this Thursday afternoon. The silver steel door sits half open, half closed. Little Timmy looks on in wonder. He steps from the, mini van which back doors are slightly stared on the bottom which the blood of the slaughtered. As his foot hits the pavement, his heart skips a beat. He walks through the whipping tape, which smacks him in the face playfully. He then walks into the Medical Building of the late Dr. Monroe. "Shit!!" is all that could be said as he sees the drying blood that is spilled all along the cold tile floor.
The chalk outline of the doctor is being examined by some police investigatiors. A chunk of flesh and hair still rests on the corner of the office bed. One of the men examining the outline, gets up, and walks over to the office bed. He picks a pair of tweezers from his front pocket that hangs over his right breast. The cop takes the tweezers and puts them to use, taking the chunk of scalp and placing it in a clear ziplock plastic bag. He then closes the bag, he takes a black permanet marker and labels the bag "A". He then writes up some paper work that is on a clip board. After he finishes that, he walks over to the blood stained sheets and the browning pillow, and does the same as he did with the scalp. "Yo, What happened in here??!!??" Timmy asks the cops. "Theres been a murder, I'm sorry sir but you have to leave right now." The cop, still looking at the white lines of death that the doctor has left behind, states boldly. "Shit!" Timmy turns and walks out the frozen steel door.
"Give me all yo' money Mutha Fucka!!" whispers harshly the raging bum who holds a shattered peice of glass to the womans throat. "I'll fucking slit your throat you fucking slut, thats all you is, a fucking slut..I'm gunna make you my hoe you fucking SLUT!! Right after I stick you." Not even a breath of air can leave the horror frozen face of the brown haired woman. He holds her from behind, with his arm around her waist, and his hand grasping her crouch. With the shard of a broken beer bottle to throat, hes starts to lick the side of her face. Starting at the top of her chin he brings it up, leaving a trail of warm slop on her face, he stops at around her temple. He slips with his arm slightly, causing a stream of blood to squirt from her pearly white skin. The womans brown leather purse drops, joinign the scum ridden cement in this dark alley. The woman, in a ft of terror, faints. Suddenly the bums harsh grip lightens heavily. The man has taken him by the hair. The woman drops and scuffs her brand new black velvet high heels. As she wakens, her eyes open slowly to reveal the man tearing the bums throat out. With his fingers deep within the warm mound of muscle that holds this mans head to his torso. He pulls. The bums esophogus leaves throughthe knew portal in his neck, followed by his stomach. The blood flowing like a waterfall, destroying all cleanslymess that was scarce on the clothing of the bum. The body falls and the Man drops the organs. The intestines of the man lying, crumpled and sopping with blood, and full of half digested food in a small pile. Again she passes out to a statr of complete nightmare.
Flashes of light, flowing action, almost real, although most definatley a dream. It happens over and over again. She witnesses Phil being torn from her bedroom that warm and damp friday night. The men jump through the window, they raise there arms and they start to bludgen the man called Phil. One single stroke of a bat knocks him unconscious. They drag him from their bed, through the window and dissapear from sight. The nightmare creatures have struck.
The smell is what wakens her. Her eyes open and she finds herself staring at a mildew infested green brick ceiling. She lifts her head, and the freshly laid bandage around her neck wrinkles slightly. "You were out pretty deeply..." comes a soft yet deep voice from the shadows. She turns her head towards the voice. Her eyes scan the darkness of the room which is lit by a simple kerosene lamp which only lights the area around it, which happens to be by the damp yet firm cot on which she rests. The room form what she can she is covered in a slimey green residue. The smell is almost unbearable. Her head spins with every breath. Out of the shadows walks the Man. His face is healed. He is a man once again. His hair looks to be shaven and what hair is sticking from his scalp is dark brown. It looks to be growing back in. His eyes one Green and the other completely black. He needs a shave. The hairs have made there way to the surface. It looks like he has five o'clock shadow. Some one with a peice of coal rubbed across his face could have the same look. He is a very handsome man. His shirt torn and bloody. It was once white but is far from its original color. His vest, black leather with spots of dried blood. His pants color is worn, and the knees are torn out. She can only mutter one word. One word that will spark hundreds of memories in his mind.... "Phil?!?"
The word, the ever powerful word.
Stronger than muscle, weaker than knowledge,
It is the spoken word.