“I don’t know where to start.”
Mrs. Sourpatch said the words as she sat, hands folded over her lap, in the Wonkaton County Sheriff's Department interrogation room, down on Gumball and Main Street. She looked a mess; her normally pristine, strawberry gummy curls had fallen flat against her brow, and soot smeared against her candy coating from head to toe.
Equipped with a two-way mirror, giant square table with uncomfortable chairs, and a blatantly obvious surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling, the room Mrs. Sourpatch was held in looked the same as any of your typical variety, Monday evening, TV cop drama—just sugar coated.
“Start from the beginning.” the detective said as he finished fixing two ridiculous sized, over-the-top, ice cream sundae style coffees. He offered one to Mrs. Sourpatch and sat across the table from her. “I know this is hard for you,” he said, “you’re a teacher and these kids mean everything to you, but this is how you can help. How you can help the families who’ve lost so much.” The detective lowered his coffee, revealing a whip cream mustache, and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, and take your time. Just, start from the beginning.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sourpatch said timidly as she accepted the coffee and took a drink, “well, It was just a normal day. Nothing special. Like any other day.” Mrs. Sourpatch looked away as she choked and shed a gum drop tear, “Just an average Tuesday.”
---
“It was Chocotaco Tuesday.” Terrance recalled as he sat accompanied by two of his classmates at the same table, within the same interrogation room.
“Those things are damn good.” Kaleb added while leaning back in his chair. The two of them wore letterman jackets, while their friend, Jacob, wore a tattered concert shirt that read “Thirty Seconds to Mars Bars”.
“We didn’t really see it right away,” Jacob said quietly, while staring a hole through his worn sneakers, “then everyone saw it.”
---
“This was the worst thing I’ve seen in twenty years.” Michael Pakowski confessed; his police cap clenched tightly within his sweetart fingers. He was first on the scene, first response, and after what he had seen, Wonkaton County Sheriff's Department granted him medical leave. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder they called it. No one in Wonkaton had ever heard of such a thing. “This kind of thing just doesn’t happen here.” Pakowskie blubbered between watermelon flavored tissue blows. “Not on Hurshii. It doesn’t! it’s not suppose to!”
---
“I didn’t really want to be the first one to say something,” Jacob confessed, “it seemed so crazy.”
The detective arched a quizzical brow and let silence prompt an elaboration.
“On Hurshii, you always hear about the other planets,” Terrance explained, “but no one’s ever actually seen an alien.”
---
“So, tell us what happened.” the detective asked each group and each group answered.
“The library.” the students said.
“The library.” the teacher answered.
“The library.” the off-duty cop confirmed.
---
“I was in chemistry, so I saw the whole thing,” Jacob admitted, “through the big windows in the science lab. It was wild. A spaceship crashed right into the library.”
“You’re telling me this was a spaceship crash?” the detective balked.
“No, it’s much worse than that.” Jacob replied.
“I thought it was an earthquake at first,” Kaleb said as he brought his chair to all fours, “that’s what it felt like. Then I heard the screams.”
“The screams?” the detective pressed.
“People died in the crash.” Jacob continued, “there was fire, it was everywhere..”
“Fire and rescue was dispatched immediately, so you have nothing to worry about.” the detective reassured them.
“But Jacob’s right, that wasn’t even the worst part of it.” Terrence countered.
“There’s worse than people dying in fire?” the detective balked again.
“Much worse” Jacob said, finally looking the detective in the eye, “The Alien… it… it was hostile.”
Mrs. Sourpatch said the words as she sat, hands folded over her lap, in the Wonkaton County Sheriff's Department interrogation room, down on Gumball and Main Street. She looked a mess; her normally pristine, strawberry gummy curls had fallen flat against her brow, and soot smeared against her candy coating from head to toe.
Equipped with a two-way mirror, giant square table with uncomfortable chairs, and a blatantly obvious surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling, the room Mrs. Sourpatch was held in looked the same as any of your typical variety, Monday evening, TV cop drama—just sugar coated.
“Start from the beginning.” the detective said as he finished fixing two ridiculous sized, over-the-top, ice cream sundae style coffees. He offered one to Mrs. Sourpatch and sat across the table from her. “I know this is hard for you,” he said, “you’re a teacher and these kids mean everything to you, but this is how you can help. How you can help the families who’ve lost so much.” The detective lowered his coffee, revealing a whip cream mustache, and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, and take your time. Just, start from the beginning.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sourpatch said timidly as she accepted the coffee and took a drink, “well, It was just a normal day. Nothing special. Like any other day.” Mrs. Sourpatch looked away as she choked and shed a gum drop tear, “Just an average Tuesday.”
---
“It was Chocotaco Tuesday.” Terrance recalled as he sat accompanied by two of his classmates at the same table, within the same interrogation room.
“Those things are damn good.” Kaleb added while leaning back in his chair. The two of them wore letterman jackets, while their friend, Jacob, wore a tattered concert shirt that read “Thirty Seconds to Mars Bars”.
“We didn’t really see it right away,” Jacob said quietly, while staring a hole through his worn sneakers, “then everyone saw it.”
---
“This was the worst thing I’ve seen in twenty years.” Michael Pakowski confessed; his police cap clenched tightly within his sweetart fingers. He was first on the scene, first response, and after what he had seen, Wonkaton County Sheriff's Department granted him medical leave. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder they called it. No one in Wonkaton had ever heard of such a thing. “This kind of thing just doesn’t happen here.” Pakowskie blubbered between watermelon flavored tissue blows. “Not on Hurshii. It doesn’t! it’s not suppose to!”
---
“I didn’t really want to be the first one to say something,” Jacob confessed, “it seemed so crazy.”
The detective arched a quizzical brow and let silence prompt an elaboration.
“On Hurshii, you always hear about the other planets,” Terrance explained, “but no one’s ever actually seen an alien.”
---
“So, tell us what happened.” the detective asked each group and each group answered.
“The library.” the students said.
“The library.” the teacher answered.
“The library.” the off-duty cop confirmed.
---
“I was in chemistry, so I saw the whole thing,” Jacob admitted, “through the big windows in the science lab. It was wild. A spaceship crashed right into the library.”
“You’re telling me this was a spaceship crash?” the detective balked.
“No, it’s much worse than that.” Jacob replied.
“I thought it was an earthquake at first,” Kaleb said as he brought his chair to all fours, “that’s what it felt like. Then I heard the screams.”
“The screams?” the detective pressed.
“People died in the crash.” Jacob continued, “there was fire, it was everywhere..”
“Fire and rescue was dispatched immediately, so you have nothing to worry about.” the detective reassured them.
“But Jacob’s right, that wasn’t even the worst part of it.” Terrence countered.
“There’s worse than people dying in fire?” the detective balked again.
“Much worse” Jacob said, finally looking the detective in the eye, “The Alien… it… it was hostile.”