***Squee is a monster- Songfic and oneshot***

Song: Monster- Meg and Dia
I'm shocked that I haven't seen this done yet… I used the male version as inspiration, picturing Squee all grown up…Can you really imagine him happy? As much as it pains me to say this; I can't. With his life… The male voice is honestly what I would expect Nny's voice to sound like if he were to sing…or Johnny (pfft, weird coincidence) Urine from MSI. But ultimately, Squee's voice if he were to grow up… Don't judge me. On what? Idk, but people will always find a way to judge and dislike one-another.
And I know I should be working on "Terrifying minds think similarly" or "Total Drama high", "Home, but will I stay?" or even "Remember who you are"…But this idea keeps bouncing around, so violently that I cannot stop it from exploding onto this digital page I call a document.

"His little whispers 'love me, love me… that's all I ask for, love me, love me…'"

I didn't understand. What had I done to make my parents hate me so much? I often asked Shmee what he thought…but, well, he tried to make me laugh by pretending to want me to burn the house down…yeah, silly little bear.

"He battered his tiny fists to feel something… Wondered what it's like to touch, and feel something…"

I…shouldn't have been doing this, I knew that. But I was. I moved the blade down my wrist, crying as I did so. Pain was all I felt other than fear. I always felt fear; but pain was…different.

"Monster, how should I feel? Creatures lay here, looking through the windows…"

I often wondered what to do. I was 8 years old, and self-harming. This wasn't good. What could I do? I had no idea. I often asked Shmee, but, like I said, his humor's not helpful.

"That night he caged her; bruised and broke her."

I was 17, kicked out, homeless, hungry… I guess I should have let dad know how much I appreciated him, or tried to talk to mom when she was sober. Maybe I wouldn't have been on the streets if I had.
"Excuse me," I started, nervously. The girl looked at me. She was so beautiful… "Do you know where I can find someplace to sleep, maybe get a meal?" I asked. She gave me a disgusted look. I feel terrible about what I did next…I'd rather not get into details…don't worry, she's alive. Or, if she's dead, I'm not a fault.

"He struggled closer, and then he stole her! Violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain.
Then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams…."

I often wished Nny would come back. I didn't know where he went all of those years ago, but…I missed him. I mean, he did save me from a pedophile…before he did to me, what I did to that girl. I knew that most would never want a psychopathic, wack-a-doo of a homicidal neighbor to come back, but, despite trauma I suffered as I child because of him, he was the only one who…who really cared about me. And now he was gone. I wanted to find him, like I did at the asylum, but I knew that I probably never would.

"Monster, how should I feel? Creatures lay here; I will hear their voices. I'm a glass child; I am Hannah's regrets…"

I knew that my parents regretted me. As much as I hated to admit it; I was much like them. Or so my family says. Apparently I'm much like my father used to be. Impossible, I'd always tell myself. Wouldn't you like someone with many similarities to oneself?

"Monster, how should I feel?"

I sighed. I was a monster. I destroyed my parents' lives, raped that poor, innocent girl…I couldn't blame Nny; he had to have the most minor part in all of this.

"Turn the sheets down! Murder ears with pillow lace, there's bathtubs, filled with glow flies! Bathe in kerosene, their words tattooed in his veins…"

Shmee was right. I truly did have nothing to live for. I was unloved, had done so many horrible things…the world would be so much better off without me… I was going to die sooner or later, why not get it over with? I'd lived all that I'd needed to, left my legacy everywhere…
I'd ruined enough peoples' existence's'.
I no longer deserved to live on the same planet as saints and saviors. Not now, probably not ever.
I was the monster I'd always feared.
I was Johnny. But worse. He'd never rape someone- I was shocked that he'd kill. I looked at the items I had stolen from the local mall. A bottle of gasoline and an expensive lighter. I had finally gotten enough money from my crappy, hired-just-for-my-boss'-sick-amusement job to buy a crappy little apartment. I walked straight into the bathroom. The apartment was barely furnished; I didn't care, I was rarely 'home' anyways.

I dumped the gasoline into the tub. I got in like anyone would- regretfully, trying to find a last-minute way to better the series of terrible mistakes you called your life, praying that something better awaited me on the other side of the (metaphorical) wall. I opened, lit and raised the lighter above me. I squeezed my eyes shut "Squee…" was my last word- if you'd count that as a word, and not untellable screams of terror and pain. I threw the lighter down onto my still-clothed legs, and let myself be engulphed in the flames.

[A/N]…

….

…..

WHAT? That's IT?

Yes. Sadly, that is poor little Squee's unfortunate ending. I can't believe I just spent an hour writing that. I feel disgusted with myself. I wasn't planning to kill him so…painfully…or at all, actually. I was originally gonna have him find Nny, who sort of 'saved the day', if you will…but, well, Squee's old enough to make his own decisions…no matter how grave. Wouldn't you be suicidal if you had Squee's life? I know I would be- at the moment, my family and friends are the only reason I allow myself to live any longer. That and the fact that I can't be absolutely certain that there's an afterlife awaiting me for eternity. If there isn't, I wanna stay away from eternal darkness and despair for as long as I can. I have Catholic beliefs, but I question them. I have seen proof that He does exist, and that He doesn't. Say what you want, I'm not in the mood to get into a religious debate with you right now. Go hang yourself (just don't say that I told you to) if you're planning on trying to prove me wrong, because I'm sick of everyone always walking on me and my fellow Catholics/Christians like we're some kind of doormat.

I can't believe the story I just wrote. I think I need some serious help…after my sick, twisted, dark mind is no longer needed…so basically, after I'm dead. I'm trying to help someone through a depression, I'm using my own problems as inspiration for stories, and, well, I don't want to conform to being 'normal'; the very word I spit on. It's just not me.

If you've read this entire note, I thank you. If you're feeling the need to have a legit conversation via PMing with me, you be my guest. But I can't promise a response. I'm rather antisocial…and busy. Or often just too lazy to feel like talking to someone I'll never meet in person.

~CynicalSquid~