I will melt your mugs with fire if you move an inch, you police cordon shitmorons.
Your pink stinks.
Especially you. Stares at squat policewoman centre left
I’ve filed my baby teeth into pointy baby fangs, and I will bite with my baby jaw if you try to stop me. The pitball in the alley showed me how to do it. I watched its eyes too, you know.
Baby arcs flamethrower flame overhead making an infernal rainbow against a starry ink sky
My burping today is toxic gas, regurgitated from last night, from the barrels of radioactive waste I found at the back of the supermarket. Yes, I guzzled them. I’m a baby! I’m a chubby flesh house of tantrum and mayhem! I will have my barrels to feast upon, my chemical dummy to furiously suck, my substitute nipple of chaos and disaster! Bring them to me or I will burn you until it’s not funny anymore.
Police officer uses megaphone to address baby but baby cannot hear due to whooshing of flamethrower going berserk
Nom, nom, nom. Just thinking of it now gets me going. Green sludge of my dreams. Every second without it is a nightmare! I will unleash fury of the like your tiny minds cannot comprehend if I’m deprived any longer. Where is my waste? Get me my barrels, you incompetent inverted dick whistlers!
The police line retreats and huddles in a circle, deliberating
Baby goose-steps along the mountain path, the city at night displayed below
One of the officers breaks free from the circle and screams through the megaphone “Stop doing that, it constitutes a form of hate speech”
You are going to make a point? Now?
Baby’s eyes glow with red rage
I’m a freewheeling baby without a care in the world, strutting the land on which I was born. I’m brand new and that’s a fact, and this, this? is how you react? You can’t swallow the freedom, can’t stand my show. You’re a baby too, didn’t you know?
The megaphone says “Stop rhyming. I find it offensive”
Couplets, smuplets. You let me be, or I’ll fry every one of ye. See this fire, see this flame, I see the whites of eyes resplendent tonight, in my firelight.
Baby shoots a bolt of flame like a waterfall
Wanna be crispy? Wanna be a delight! Roast you up on a spit, fry your innards, cook your fingers, that barbecue aroma so sweatily lingers, onions and oil stench from your skin, endlessly turning. What a sight, what a smell, my fangs gnash in chomps of glee, in this future, that will be, surely. Now get me my barrels before hell is raised, and you, my stinky chums, are glazed.
I’m getting ready to go turbo, up to the max. I’ve been pumping iron while weeping, in preparation for this day. There’s nothing you can surprise me with.
The circle disbands and a hefty police officer steps from her parting colleagues, a bazooka on her shoulder
Holy shit! Don’t bazooka me. Overkill! I’m just a baby! Baby cries Mother!
A man in a casual suit sidles up to bazooka woman, calmly takes the megaphone from the other officer and says “My name is Mike Oldfield. Would you like us to contact your mother for you?”
Still crying No. I don’t want her to see me like this. Because I’d kill her. I’d pyre her just like the rest of you. Snot cries of disgust Get that patronising negotiator away from me. Give me a stake and I’ll burn you black on it. Yum.
The man slinks off, leaving bazooka policewoman to confirm her readiness with a wide load-bearing leg stance
You’re nearing your end, the end of you, flamed by an infant with an addiction to goo. What a travesty, a glorious way to expire, I’ll give you a way to be remembered, I know you care a lot about that, with your badges and accolades and slaps on the back. You drew the line of duty, and perished, what fun. Do you want me to disembowel you to add symbolic weight to your desisting? Hail me with bazooka! Split my entrails to bits, let’s see my flesh fly over this cretinous city, to the earth, a zit.
The officer picks up the megaphone and says “For the record, why are you doing this?”
I’m bored. And your face hurts my eyes with its disinterest. I’m chewing this gum I’ve collected since I was born. When I slapped my way out of the afterbirth I had become conscious on, across a concrete wetted with the fluids of my birth, I lifted the umbilical, which had nearly strangled me, from my blue neck and took some breaths filled with ammonia and rot. I left my mother’s carcass to the back alley predators and crawled away shaking and weak. On my way to finding my feet the path was decorated with gum of many colours, smells, and, I discovered, tastes. Soon I was using my baby energies to claw the flattened gum away from the street, until I had a precious ball made from each piece squished together, a chewy gobstopper linking me to humanity, all those mouths turning the gum against their tongues, biting down with their teeth, infusing with their saliva and cells. Now I have them, I can taste them, every one of them. So give me my barrels! That slime is the only thing I’ve eaten that takes the taste away. Cleanse my palate, you rancid harbingers of nothing!
Die, die, die! This infant malcontent will atomic bomb your soul in a booming eruption of fire vomit. I can hear your molecules praying. Squeal as you kneel, fucksters!
Bazooka whooshes from inside ball of hellfire and screaming
Not even a comeuppance!
Bazooka hits the hillside behind baby and shakes the mountain
The officers continue to die and moan
With my flamethrower ablaze I shall hit the city.
Baby waddles towards the twinkling city lights, thrusting the spewing head of flame forwards