A modern pyscholigist once suggested that the emotion of revulsion is a built in human reaction towards dangerous things, things with germs, things that are aggressive. A cure before the dieses steps in. Maggots revolt us, because maggots are dirty, dirty things carry disease

Tom Smith would certainly be a catch all for this argument, Tom was a policeman, nothing special, no great world wonder, just a working stiff. Mr. Smith didn't suffer any problems of moral character, he had no inhuman slights, no strange fetishes, in fact for be a cop he was still fairly wet behind the ears when it came to major crimes, homicide, suicide, mutilation, all of them never witnessed by him, at least not yet anyway.

He was just cruising routinely on this bright and sunny morning, when he saw a car pulled over into the side of the road leaning haphazardly in a drainage ditch.

Tom pulled up behind it and got out of his police cruiser. He walked towards the car, black police shoes crunching in the dew-covered grass. When he arrived at the car he heard moaning sounds through the tinted window. This struck him as particularly odd, because when ever teen love makers were out on the road it was typically a little bit later in the day than this, no earlier than nine p.m.

Tom unslung his flashlight from his belt and gently tapped it on the window, he waited a few moments a slightly sheepish grin on his face. He then tapped on the window again, still no response. He tapped on the window again, "Make yerselves decent, cause I'm opening the door." He waited a few minutes ignoring the fact that passionate sounds still emitted from the car.

He opened the door, it was unlocked and opened with only a slight rasp as if hesitating to swing open before it did so.

Mr. Smith was absolutely revolted by what he saw, the fact that his revulsion was meant to keep him safe played no part in his actions as he put his head between his knees and vomited the Wheaties he had eaten for breakfast in a thick brown bile.

Inside the car sat Amelia covered in blood, blood on her skirt, blood on her hands, and most of all a thick coat of blood smeared on her mouth. She was sighing passionately as she bit deeply into the half eaten arm of her husband, blood squelching across her teeth, like if she were eating a rare steak. He husbands dead body positioned stiffly between her legs as she held him in a death grip feverishly biting into and eating his skin, flesh, and muscle. She had already consumed everything edible off of his neck, and his head lulled obscenely back and forth.

Amelia noticed Tom and tuned her attention to him, Tom had no time to react and in a inhumanly dexterous and fluid motion Amelia jumped from her seat and tackled Tom. Tom fell skidding against the black top and shredding his elbows, he winced in pain and soon Amelia was on top of him flailing wildly and smashing her fists into his face.

Tom tried to see through the enclosing black cloud around him as her vicious assault continued, he tried to reach for his service revolver, but couldn't. He struggled a little more, but he died before too much longer, his face a smashed parody of what it used to be, a disgusting ground beef face staring up at the clear morning sky.

Amelia sighed heavily, a look of utmost monstrosity splayed euphorically across her face. She bit deep into the wreckage of Mr. Smith's face.

For the first time ever, Amelia felt truly alive.