The Origin: Part 3: Crime and Punishment

Timothy got himself a lawyer by the name of Harvey Henlopper from Harper-Harper-and Henlopper Associates. Harvey was an honest man, perhaps the only honest lawyer in the universe. However, his honesty was the downfall of Timothy.

Harvey’s main point in the case was that Mrs. Wyn was “a mean, mean woman that tortured students” as much as Timothy had “tortured her.” Whatever the case, Timothy was sent to Siberia for his crimes.

Timothy didn’t mind Siberia. The milk was sour, but he had plenty of time to think to himself, and the only TV show available was reruns of COPS. Guards heard him late at night whistling the theme to himself and then muttering, “Wha-cha gonna do?” so intensely the newest guard wet himself. Timothy felt no one else quite understood the complexity of the show.

The television wasn’t the only reason Timothy was happy in his new home. He’d met a girl by the name of Sofya Semynovna. She had originally come to visit Raskolnikov – a dirty murderer with no personality – but she was quickly taken in by Timothy’s singing and natural charm. Call it a hazard of the world’s oldest profession, but she was quickly seduced.

For nine months, Sofya did not return. Timothy did not know what to expect, but he was preoccupied with prison life for Morgan Freeman had turned up and things had begun to feel like the Shawshank Redemption. Not saying that Timothy was with Andy’s possy, but he saw them around.

While Timothy was drinking beer on the top of the roof one evening, Sofya was busy having her baby. For three days, she had labored, trying to push the thing out without success. Finally, with the greatest effort, it came.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said as he wrapped it in blankets to shield it from the frigid Siberian air. Then he paused and frowned, adding, “I think.”

Anxiety turned Sofya’s blood to ice. “What? What is it?”

The doctor didn’t answer.

Flustered, she demanded, “Hand me my baby!”

Hesitantly, the doctor did. Out from the blankets poked two little arms, very plump. But they were bright green, hard, and shiny. There were no hands at the ends, just razor-like pincers. The baby wasn’t crying either, though Sofya could hear its raspy breath from within the blankets. Two eyes shone through the shadows, bright yellow and without pupils.

“It’s a praying mantis baby!” Sofya shrieked as the realization hit her.

In response to hearing its mother’s voice, the praying mantis baby opened its mouth, revealing a full set of razor sharp teeth, webbed with sticky, acidic saliva. “Bugs!” it cried with hungry fervor. Its eyes darted around, looking for prey. Impatiently, it wiggling out from the blankets and began parading about the room, scuffling the floor with its four legs and two arms.

Sofya watched in horror.

The doctor determined it was a result of the radiation in Siberia. One thing he knew for sure, however, was that the baby had to go. He sent in the best, but all of them failed and perished. In the end, the praying mantis baby killed the doctor, Sofya and Timothy. It ran away to hide in a cave somewhere. No one dared searched for it since.

The End – or is it?