kyeugh
onion witch
- Pronoun
- she/her
Aaron examined the boy. His hair was ruffled and missing in places, revealing chunks of torn flesh where he had ripped his own hair out. Scratches from his long, yellow nails lined every inch of his body, so abundant it seemed almost impossible. Dark rings lay under his eyes, which darted from side to side. His muttering was what really unsettled Aaron, his tendency to whisper something unintelligible about colors or plants, and then clamp his jaw shut and shake.
Aaron had been in the room for hours, watching with growing curiosity and unease at the boy who sat vibrating in the corner of the room. The boy hadn’t even noticed Aaron, despite his continuous attempts to grab the lad’s attention. No matter what extents Aaron went to in the name of the boy’s attention, he only sat there, clutching his legs and shivering, and carrying with that awful muttering.
“Grass… I wasn’t ready… I was… I wasn’t…” Then he shut his mouth tightly, his jaw muscle clenching and pushing out on his tight skin.
Aaron cleared his throat loudly and approached the boy. To Aaron’s surprise, the boy reacted this time, but only subtly. As Aaron walked forward, the boy seemed to sink into the wall, as far backward as his body would allow. He stopped moving and talking for a moment and peered at Aaron with unsteady eyes, shook his head and continued muttering again.
Aaron sighed and turned around, shaking his own head at the important-looking man at the door. “It’s hopeless,” he said, exasperated. “That boy is hardly human anymore. I don’t know what to tell you.” The man nodded, and Aaron began to walk from the room resignedly. But he was interrupted by a loud shout from a boy, and Aaron stopped and turned around, staring at the boy. He was standing now, although his thin legs were almost too small to support his tiny weight.
“Wait!” he cried, and hobbled toward Aaron. “Wait…” He continued to mutter the word between heavy pants. The small, two-yard walk to Aaron had tuckered the boy. “I… I have to tell you…” Even talking seemed to wear him out to the point of sweating. Beads of condensation dripped down his ruined skin, and on to the ground in a disturbing volume.
“He speaks… he spoke to me… but he did not come to me… and then he did not come, and… he hurt me… hurt… me.” Then the boy let out a shaky breath, and collapsed on the ground, crawling toward the corner again and muttering under his breath once more.
Aaron nodded at the man and left the room, unsettled.
The trip back to his government-issued Mercedes was long and strenuous—tortured cries rang out through the halls, all words that the boy had seemed to mutter under his breath. He tried to block the sounds out and collect his thoughts, and managed to do it to some extent.
Despite his intentions, Aaron thought, I still have no idea what’s bothering the boy. As this ran through his head, a little girl with stringy blond hair and scars across her forearms grabbed Aaron by the leg. She was, obviously, in much better shape than the boy, but was still unhealthy. “Wait,” she said. Aaron was startled when she spoke, for her voice was hardly that of a child. Rather, it sounded as if an adult woman had uttered the word to him.
Aaron turned around, and she lessened her grip on him, fishing something from her pocket. She pulled it out, and held out her hand to show it to Aaron. It was a long cartridge, about two inches in length, with a strange green monster on the front and the words, “Pokémon Green,” printed across it. Then she flung it at the wall and it exploded, and she jumped back from the game’s fragments, as if she were afraid of them. She cast Aaron a pleading glance, then walked back into her room and screamed out, the very sound of the terrible shriek curdling Aaron’s blood. Hurriedly, he rushed out and got into his car.
As soon as he got in, he flipped out his phone and tapped on the screen madly, dialing his partner’s number. The dialing buzz seemed to last an eternity, but at last the man picked up his phone. “Aaron? Did you get a lead?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think so. The boy was more or less incompetent, except for at the end when he said something nonsense. Most of the time he just sat in the corner, shaking and babbling, and I sat there for five hours watching it.” The man on the other end of the line laughed. “But listen; as I was walking out, a little girl came up and grabbed my leg. She pulled a Gameboy cartridge out of her pocket and showed it to me, then flung it at a wall and ran into her room screaming.”
“What game was it?” the man asked. The excitement in his voice was obvious.
“Pokémon Green,” Aaron replied. “It was Pokémon Green.”
“Son of a bitch,” the man muttered. “That’s a lead, all right. That’s a very good lead, because there’s an epidemic supposedly caused by that very line of games in Japan. Children killing themselves, adults doing the same. Most of the deaths were humane, a shot in the head or something of the likes, but some weren’t. One such child was found grasping his own heart in his hand.”
Aaron swallowed a gag. Most people could brush off a comment like that, but a man who had seen things just as revolting could not. “To Japan, then.”
“Yes,” his partner replied. “To Japan.”
Aaron had been in the room for hours, watching with growing curiosity and unease at the boy who sat vibrating in the corner of the room. The boy hadn’t even noticed Aaron, despite his continuous attempts to grab the lad’s attention. No matter what extents Aaron went to in the name of the boy’s attention, he only sat there, clutching his legs and shivering, and carrying with that awful muttering.
“Grass… I wasn’t ready… I was… I wasn’t…” Then he shut his mouth tightly, his jaw muscle clenching and pushing out on his tight skin.
Aaron cleared his throat loudly and approached the boy. To Aaron’s surprise, the boy reacted this time, but only subtly. As Aaron walked forward, the boy seemed to sink into the wall, as far backward as his body would allow. He stopped moving and talking for a moment and peered at Aaron with unsteady eyes, shook his head and continued muttering again.
Aaron sighed and turned around, shaking his own head at the important-looking man at the door. “It’s hopeless,” he said, exasperated. “That boy is hardly human anymore. I don’t know what to tell you.” The man nodded, and Aaron began to walk from the room resignedly. But he was interrupted by a loud shout from a boy, and Aaron stopped and turned around, staring at the boy. He was standing now, although his thin legs were almost too small to support his tiny weight.
“Wait!” he cried, and hobbled toward Aaron. “Wait…” He continued to mutter the word between heavy pants. The small, two-yard walk to Aaron had tuckered the boy. “I… I have to tell you…” Even talking seemed to wear him out to the point of sweating. Beads of condensation dripped down his ruined skin, and on to the ground in a disturbing volume.
“He speaks… he spoke to me… but he did not come to me… and then he did not come, and… he hurt me… hurt… me.” Then the boy let out a shaky breath, and collapsed on the ground, crawling toward the corner again and muttering under his breath once more.
Aaron nodded at the man and left the room, unsettled.
The trip back to his government-issued Mercedes was long and strenuous—tortured cries rang out through the halls, all words that the boy had seemed to mutter under his breath. He tried to block the sounds out and collect his thoughts, and managed to do it to some extent.
Despite his intentions, Aaron thought, I still have no idea what’s bothering the boy. As this ran through his head, a little girl with stringy blond hair and scars across her forearms grabbed Aaron by the leg. She was, obviously, in much better shape than the boy, but was still unhealthy. “Wait,” she said. Aaron was startled when she spoke, for her voice was hardly that of a child. Rather, it sounded as if an adult woman had uttered the word to him.
Aaron turned around, and she lessened her grip on him, fishing something from her pocket. She pulled it out, and held out her hand to show it to Aaron. It was a long cartridge, about two inches in length, with a strange green monster on the front and the words, “Pokémon Green,” printed across it. Then she flung it at the wall and it exploded, and she jumped back from the game’s fragments, as if she were afraid of them. She cast Aaron a pleading glance, then walked back into her room and screamed out, the very sound of the terrible shriek curdling Aaron’s blood. Hurriedly, he rushed out and got into his car.
As soon as he got in, he flipped out his phone and tapped on the screen madly, dialing his partner’s number. The dialing buzz seemed to last an eternity, but at last the man picked up his phone. “Aaron? Did you get a lead?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think so. The boy was more or less incompetent, except for at the end when he said something nonsense. Most of the time he just sat in the corner, shaking and babbling, and I sat there for five hours watching it.” The man on the other end of the line laughed. “But listen; as I was walking out, a little girl came up and grabbed my leg. She pulled a Gameboy cartridge out of her pocket and showed it to me, then flung it at a wall and ran into her room screaming.”
“What game was it?” the man asked. The excitement in his voice was obvious.
“Pokémon Green,” Aaron replied. “It was Pokémon Green.”
“Son of a bitch,” the man muttered. “That’s a lead, all right. That’s a very good lead, because there’s an epidemic supposedly caused by that very line of games in Japan. Children killing themselves, adults doing the same. Most of the deaths were humane, a shot in the head or something of the likes, but some weren’t. One such child was found grasping his own heart in his hand.”
Aaron swallowed a gag. Most people could brush off a comment like that, but a man who had seen things just as revolting could not. “To Japan, then.”
“Yes,” his partner replied. “To Japan.”