Pure Massacre

[CrankyOzzie]

The world would never be the same after that day.

I still remember it, as clearly as if had just happened. It was a typical summer day at the plaza, people wandering about, looking in shop windows, parents with their kids, buying last minute Christmas gifts. I'd gone there to hang out with some friends. We sat there, talking, eating, drinking, and smoking. One of the group was quiet, withdrawn. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around the people there.

Michelle came over to us with her two young daughters, one seven, the other just three. I'd known her for a few years now. She was nice, kind. We got along well. Her daughters were quiet, but they recognised me. One of the girls squealed in delight, running to me and throwing her arms around my neck. I laughed softly, kissing her forehead. "And hello to you too, Rebecca." She was the elder of them, and she babbled excitedly about the wonderful toys Santa was bringing her. The younger one was shy, but she came forward and gave me a quick hug too. My friends looked away, embarrassed by the displays of affection. I didn't care. I loved the little girls like my own, not that I had kids.

We talked for about a half hour, and then they left, making their way to a store on the second level. That was when the world fell apart. They stood on the second level, near the railing. Seems Michelle was speaking sternly to the youngest. As I watched, I heard a sharp crack nearby, and the child's head exploded. I reeled with shock, my eyes darting about the crowd. One of my 'friends' had left the group, and was standing there, with a rifle in her hands. Her face was expressionless as she watched the small body topple to the ground and listened to the screams of the mother. Then the mother's head was blown apart. People screamed, running into nearby stores and cowering in terror. My friends did too, but I was rooted to the spot. My mind reeled. The girl walked off casually, as if nothing happened.

The police arrived within minutes, I pointed them in the general direction the girl had taken, and then I followed. We found her, huddled amongst some bushes near the pier. The policemen called to her to come out with her hands in the air. They were answered by two sharp cracks, one after the other, and then they too joined the girl and her mother in death. I ran; my sight blurred from tears. Tears of horror, of fear, and of pain. The girl returned to the scene of her crime minutes later. Her face was still cold, expressionless. The rifle still in her hands, she began shooting, seemingly at random. An elderly man was killed, while his wife was spared. A young couple, walking hand in hand, had their lives snuffed out in an instant. Three children had their mother and father taken from them by the girl's bullets.

It went on for about half an hour. People died, picked out seemingly at random. By now, the plaza was a bloody, gory mess. Finally, more police arrived. Six cars. They pulled up at the street side of the Plaza and crouched behind the open doors of their vehicles. Somehow they'd gotten the name of the girl, Emma. "Emma Richardson!" one of the called through a bullhorn, "Put down your weapons and lay face down on the ground with your hands behind your back!" She turned, almost in slow motion, and leveled the rifle at the man. Suddenly, her body seemed to leap into the air, sprays of blood leaping from it in various places. Her finger jerked on the trigger reflexively, shooting even more shots randomly into the air. Her macabre dance of death lasted just seconds, before her bullet-riddled, blood-soaked form fell to the ground, eyes staring blindly at the sky.

The police wanted to interview everyone involved, of course. I waited for an hour or more for my turn. After they'd finished with me, I noticed a familiar face nearby. A policewoman was trying, unsuccessfully, to comfort the girl. It was Emily's sister, Rebecca. I trudged over to her, crouching down before her. "Hi honey, what's wrong?" "Mummy! Where's mummy gone? I've lost her!" her voice came, small and scared. With a heavy sigh, I reached out to her. It seemed that, already, her mind was working to protect itself, burying the recent incident, transforming it into something her young brain could handle. "Uh, mummy had to go, sweetheart. She said I was to take you home" "But I want my mummy! Why did she leave me, uncle Ty?" "She was in a hurry, dear. She had to take your sister to a doctor, she got sick." I berated myself, lying to the girl. But what could I do? Tell her the truth? Tell her some cold, heartless, bitch had taken her mother and sisters life? She couldn’t cope with it.

"Come on, I'll take you home." The policewoman said. She looked at us, pity in her eyes. "Would you like to ride in a police car Rebecca? That’d be fun, wouldn't it?" The little girl nodded, gave me her hand, and we followed the policewoman to the car.
As we left the scene of the massacre, I turned and looked.

The world would never be the same after that day.




[i:3rdxt04s]This little story was inspired by a dream I had early this morning. It is not a recount of true events, just a dream. Feel free to comment.[/i:3rdxt04s]

[Ssin'urn Streea]

[color=indigo:1wesmxyi][b:1wesmxyi]First reaction:[/b:1wesmxyi] wow, that's heavy..

I have to say, it certainly held my interest. [/color:1wesmxyi]