Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ A Word He'll Never Know ❯ Swallow the Knife ( Chapter 4 )

Again, I do not own Pokèmon, but I do own character designs.

Chapter Four: Swallow The Knife

Della looked around her, searching for the knife.

"Damnit! Where the hell is it!" she growled under her breath. Suddenly, she heard a creaking noise behind her. Spinning around, her face collided with a knife handle. She fell backwards and could feel blood rushing from her neck. Peering through her already clouding eyes, she saw her little boy looming over her; the knife firmly in his grip, her blood oozing off the blade. It took her a moment, but she came to realize he had slit her throat when he knocked her down. A faint smile appeared on her face, terribly confusing the child. The mother's hand slowly reached out and laced around the boy's.

"You're…Just…Like your father..." was all she could squeeze out.

Her grip broke, and her hand and head hit the floor. The smile faded off her grim face and her stomach stopped moving and her eyes floated closed.

"No…" the boy cried. "I…don't want to be like...Dad…NO!" he cried out louder. The knife made a sharp clang noise as it dropped, and he made muffled sob noises as he fell to a sitting position. He reeled his knees tightly against his body and rocked gently. After some time, he stood up and slowly made for the knife.

"Sorry mum..." he whispered as he clutched the knife. He stared at the figure of his mother one more time, and then detached her head from her spine using the knife. He regretfully began to carve the flesh from the helmet. He made himself his own helmet out of his mothers. He can't fit into it, but in time he would.

"Della? Are you there?"

The boy was drenched in his mother's blood and his spine tingled at the voice. He spun around and made a small gasping noise as he realized the figure was the bartender.

"I saw the door op-…" He stopped talking and stared at the boy in the middle of the room.

"It-it's not what it looks like!"

The Alakazam was shocked at the scene and didn't know quite what to say. The boy pleaded innocent.

"Please…Please understand!"

The bartender stepped forward, intending to keep going, but decided against it. "I'm sorry kid; I have to call the cops."

"Please…n-no…" The little child snagged the knife and his helmet. "You can't!" he then fled out the door and down the stairs. The Alakazam was about to stop him, but figured he'd tell the police he found the scene like it was. "Good luck kid…" he muttered to himself as he went to the phone down the hall.