Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Normies?”
“Normal people. Cattle. Sheep. Humans. All the same thing. Underdeveloped. Undesigned. You’re produce, like lettuce. Nature made you lesser things to serve a higher purpose.”
This creature has an ego that will not quit.
“So this is like some kind of toxic cannibalism you’re into, huh?”
“Cannibalism is when you consume your own species. I am not of your species.”
“Okay, so why come to a city where you’re going to be noticed? Why not stay out in the woods of ass-fuck nowhere and pick off people without creating a federal investigation?”
“Why do your kind go to a bakery instead of foraging in a desert? The food is just better here.”
There is a disturbing logic to this human smorgasbord theory he has developed.
“You know, Justice is very angry at you, and Order, the spider.”
“They are weak. Secretly they want to consume just as I do. Order’s web is capable of catching dozens of your kind, and he would make such a pretty meal of you all, sucking the delicate juices from your flesh, veins, and bone. Dammit.”
“Dammit what?”
“I’m making myself hungry,” he complains.
“You’re a piece of work, buddy,” I say. I’ve heard worse, unfortunately. People who break the law in heinous ways tend to have pretty awful things to say to you once they’re caught. It’s like a release valve is opened, and all the foul thoughts that have been motivating them through their crimes suddenly come pouring out. It’s actually very human of him to be giving me this fucked up little speech of his.
Heavy boots are coming stamping up the stairs. In less than a minute, I am going to be the detective who collared the first actual monster on the force.
“Hear that, my guy? Once they get here, it’s over for you. You’re going to be taken to a human police station, charged with crimes against humans, and subsequently judged and sentenced, one way or another.”
“No. I won’t. I’ll be taken into custody, and then I’ll be disappeared, tortured, murdered, and my parts put on display.”
He might not be wrong. There’s no way a mothman is going to go through the standard court system unimpeded. Every government and military agency is going to want a piece of him, maybe literally. Can’t say I feel sorry for him. After what he did to his victims, he deserves what’s coming to him.
He’s been lying on his back all this time, looking up at me with those ferociously cruel eyes and oddly shaped teeth bared at me. As the door to the roof swings open, he beats his wings. They bring him up from the roof like a jack in the box. He just pops up right into my face and I realize I have underestimated him by a lot. He wasn’t subdued. He was resting.
For a brief moment I am face to face with him. He laughs at my shocked expression, winks at me, and is fucking gone. He flies fast, like an arrow shooting skyward straight up into the sky.
How the hell did I forget about the wings? I assumed he wouldn’t risk flying in front of people, but he takes off vertical, heading straight up as fast as he can, and before I know it he’s a speck in the sky.
Two officers emerge from the roof door. They’re older, heftier, and they don’t look impressed at having to run up the stairs, if they even ran. They do not look happy to see me standing there without anything vaguely resembling a suspect. I wanted so badly not to come out of this looking like a fucking idiot, but here I am, idioting as hard as anybody ever idioted.
“Where’s the perp?”
“I had him. Uh.”
“Where is he?” The other cop asks the question again, because I have failed to answer.
“He flew away. I mean.” I have to come up with a story, and fast, because they’re getting that look on their faces that tells me they think I am fucking with them. “He just fucking jumped. Just as you opened the door, he ran with the cuffs on and leaped.”
They walk to the edge of the building. I walk too, pretending the lie is true.
“It’s a long way down to not break a leg,” one officer notes.
“People on drugs make taller jumps than this and survive. At least, far enough to get away,” I say.
“We’re going to need a description for the search,” the older officer sighs. They’re from another precinct, as most cops are. They’re giving me looks that tell me I am going to be the talk of every cop shop in the vicinity. I start rattling off information.
“Male. Eight feet tall. Shirtless. Jeans.”
A brow is raised at me. “Eight feet tall?”
“Maybe seven.”
The officer is an older man, white mustache, and no time for this bullshit. He drops his pad and looks at me askance. “Alright, detective, what’s going on?”