A Guilty Concience
"I envy your conviction."
KLIK
KKCHNK!
The blades slammed shut, slicing Edgar into strips. They flowed down through the grating below the device, where they would be drained and funneled into buckets. Johnny had enough blood to paint the wall, but he felt no relief. Only emptiness. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, waiting for that moment. That thrill of knowing he had ridden the world of another asshole. That feeling didn't come. He only felt a gaping emptiness. The floor and walls were spattered with Edgar's blood. The blood that wouldn't make it to his wall, that is.
"Well, THAT did nothing for me." Johnny muttered walking from the room. He stuck his hands in his pockets, taking the long walk up the stairs. The elevator was broken. Somewhere in the floors above he heard Mr. Fuck and Psycho Doughboy arguing. He wasn't in the mood for this. After this happened, he just felt like writing in his die-ry, and maybe watching the static on tv. He felt so hollow inside. Why did he feel like this? It never bothered him to kill someone before. They had it coming to them. Then again, Edgar did nothing to deserve this.
"Johnny C., A fine choice. He was a little skinny, but he should do for a fresh coat of paint." Mr. Eff said brightly, sitting on the counter where Johnny had left him. Psycho Doughboy was sitting next to him, wearing that same painted smile. The voice, however, was quite differant from the face. "Anal tick. He did nothing to you. Johnny, you must realize what a monster you are for what you did. Has it ever occured to you, your just like the filth you kill on a regular basis? If your going to kill all the people who make this world so miserable, you can start by killing yourself." he said coldly, smiling that eerie painted smile. Johnny glared at him, "Not now. Maybe I'll try to kill myself again later. I don't really feel like it." he said going to his room. Johnny closed the door behind him, reaching for his die-ry stuffed under the mattress.
"Your sad Johnny. Tell me what's wrong." Came a voice from behind him. Johnny turned quickly, sighing with relief. No need to be afraid, it was only the talking corpse of the bunny he nailed to a wall three years ago, "I don't really feel like talking about it, Bunny." Johnny said quietly, opening his diary to the last entry, "Yes you do. That's why you came here. Deep down, I think you expected me to help." Nail Bunny said reasonably, hanging from the wall. Johnny grit his teeth wanting to snap at him, but he didn't. Deep down, he knew he was right. Ever since Edgar died, Johnny felt something nagging at the back of his mind like a weasel that burrowed through his eye socket, making it's way to his bowels. "Yes...Yes I do. Bunny, today I killed someone. But he really didn't do anything to me." Johnny said quietly, looking at his metallic boots. Bunny was silent for a moment, "That's not very nice." he said flatly. Johnny threw his hands up, "What the Hell kind of advice is that?!" he shouted throwing the die-ry across the room. Nail Bunny stared at him quietly, with those blind, yet all-seeing eyes. "Johnny, doesn't it bother you when people make fun of you? Call you faggot for the way you dress and how skinny you are?" he said quietly. Johnny grit his teeth, "I never called him a faggot, and I apologized for having to kill him." he said defensively. "That seemed like a good start, but couldn't you just run down to the store and kill that clerk who took so long on a price check?" came Bunnie's voice. Johnny shook his head, "I didn't have the time to. The wall was getting dry. Even now, I must go to paint it. I don't want to. I hate blood. Just as much as I hate that fucking filling between a Twinkie." Johnny said standing up. He wasn't looking forward to this. "Johnny. Stop for a moment. That wall can wait. You have to realize that you chose him at random. You killed someone who didn't deserve what they got. It's sad, but sadly, that's the truth about life. It isn't fair. None of the others were fair to you. And you weren't fair to him. It's the law of existence. That's the way life works." Bunny reasoned in his head. Johnny sat on the bed, sighing quietly, "Damn. I hate this." Johnny muttered under his breath. Bunny would have nodded if his neck wasn't dried to crackling. "Everyone does." There was a moment of eerie silence between them before Nny spoke up, "It's time to paint the wall..." he said softly in a voice that sounded like he was going to Death Row. Not the good kind that would have freed him from being what he is now. Johnny cast one last look back at Bunny before making his way downstairs to the wall.
Johnny spent the rest of the evening painting the wall, satiating that -thing-. As long as Johnny kept it fed, there was no reason for it to break through. As much as Johnny didn't want whatever it was to break through. He stared at the deep crimson red, painting the wall. Johnny felt a hot tear roll down his face. "Though you are my bestest, bestest friend in the room." The words kept repeating through Johnny's mind like a broken record. The only person he had met in a long time who never hurt him. Never made fun of him. For a brief fleeting moment, Johnny felt like he had someone who he could trust. Someone who would help drag him out of the Hell he had slipped into. Someone Johnny could go to and scream his pains. And Edgar would have listened. Even facing someone who was going to end his life, he listened to his pain. A true friend.But Johnny killed him. That was the bitch of it. Johnny slowly slumped down crying.
After a moment of crying, Johnny stood up and stood back admiring the grisly work on the wall. "Well, I guess even to death Edgar helped me. He listened to me in life, and helped me keep that fucking -thing- in the wall." Johnny looked down to the buckets holding the thick mixture of blood and flesh. There was still quite a bit in the bucket. Johnny had expected that it would all be used on the wall. He felt another tear roll down his bloodied nose as he picked up the bucket, crimson and sticky with life fluids, carrying it further down to the lower levels.
"Here Lies Edgar Vargas. A Bestest, Best Friend to the very end."
Johnny had written it on a lable, and taped it to a Mason jar. He carefully poured the thick Edgar mixture into the jar, carrying it quietly to a shelf Johnny dedicated to the rare few who he killed, that never did anything to him. The shelf had 3 jars, including Edgar. One jar contained a severed hand. He had gotten from someone who accidently bumped into him, knocking his few groceries to the ground. They were then nice enough to help him carry it all to the car. They shook Johnny's hand. Johnny enjoyed that so much, he took their hand to remember it by. The next jar had a head in it, now rotting. Johnny had been contemplating suicide in front of a College. Some guy had seen him and talked him out of it. Johnny liked the way he thought. He was smart enough to see the shit smear Johnny lived with. He listened and talked to him wisely. Johnny liked the way his head worked so much, he decided to hang onto it for a while. Once in a while it talked to him, but more often than not it was silent, and he just talked to Nail Bunny.
Johnny sat the jar down front and center. He stood back wiping a tear away. These were the few people he cared about. These were the people he cared about. Johnny smiled some at the small glass urn holding Edgar. He cleared his throat, giving Edgar the best Eulogy he could muster.
"Your my bestest, bestest friend in the room."
FIN
[And now, a word from our Author]
Well, this makes my second Fan Fic. Some of you may have read "A Tickle Me Hellmo Christmas". I like that story. I find myself giggling like a Troll baby every time I read it. It really is too bad I couldn't find an 'alternate lifestyle' horrible enough to shock parents who already hated him. Still, there are so many things I would have liked to do with that story. I like this one too. The only thing is, I'm not entirely sure if I expressed Johnny's mind accurately. But that can be a riddle at times. It's kind of hard to analyze someone who'se attempts at suicide take a lower priority to Brain Freezy's and commercials about diarrhea. Either way, I liked this. It felt like getting in touch with the victim facet of Nny's personality. I percieve him in three forms. The Hero, The Villain, and the Victim. The Hero, since he represents the black knight that handles justice a little differantly then a 'white knight'. Instead of turning the other cheek, he turns an asshole's cheek and head inside out. The Villain, since what he's doing is obviously evil, and ironically, the very thing he fights, and of course, the victim. Because, hey, it's their fault he's a homocidal maniac. Well, most of them. But then again, that's what this story is about. That rare person who got caught in the crossfire.Hmm...I should stop here. I'm analyzing my own story. I should leave that to the readers. Enjoy.
MighterthantheSword,
Joe Hanna
(Feel the pain)
"I envy your conviction."
KLIK
KKCHNK!
The blades slammed shut, slicing Edgar into strips. They flowed down through the grating below the device, where they would be drained and funneled into buckets. Johnny had enough blood to paint the wall, but he felt no relief. Only emptiness. He stood with his hands folded in front of him, waiting for that moment. That thrill of knowing he had ridden the world of another asshole. That feeling didn't come. He only felt a gaping emptiness. The floor and walls were spattered with Edgar's blood. The blood that wouldn't make it to his wall, that is.
"Well, THAT did nothing for me." Johnny muttered walking from the room. He stuck his hands in his pockets, taking the long walk up the stairs. The elevator was broken. Somewhere in the floors above he heard Mr. Fuck and Psycho Doughboy arguing. He wasn't in the mood for this. After this happened, he just felt like writing in his die-ry, and maybe watching the static on tv. He felt so hollow inside. Why did he feel like this? It never bothered him to kill someone before. They had it coming to them. Then again, Edgar did nothing to deserve this.
"Johnny C., A fine choice. He was a little skinny, but he should do for a fresh coat of paint." Mr. Eff said brightly, sitting on the counter where Johnny had left him. Psycho Doughboy was sitting next to him, wearing that same painted smile. The voice, however, was quite differant from the face. "Anal tick. He did nothing to you. Johnny, you must realize what a monster you are for what you did. Has it ever occured to you, your just like the filth you kill on a regular basis? If your going to kill all the people who make this world so miserable, you can start by killing yourself." he said coldly, smiling that eerie painted smile. Johnny glared at him, "Not now. Maybe I'll try to kill myself again later. I don't really feel like it." he said going to his room. Johnny closed the door behind him, reaching for his die-ry stuffed under the mattress.
"Your sad Johnny. Tell me what's wrong." Came a voice from behind him. Johnny turned quickly, sighing with relief. No need to be afraid, it was only the talking corpse of the bunny he nailed to a wall three years ago, "I don't really feel like talking about it, Bunny." Johnny said quietly, opening his diary to the last entry, "Yes you do. That's why you came here. Deep down, I think you expected me to help." Nail Bunny said reasonably, hanging from the wall. Johnny grit his teeth wanting to snap at him, but he didn't. Deep down, he knew he was right. Ever since Edgar died, Johnny felt something nagging at the back of his mind like a weasel that burrowed through his eye socket, making it's way to his bowels. "Yes...Yes I do. Bunny, today I killed someone. But he really didn't do anything to me." Johnny said quietly, looking at his metallic boots. Bunny was silent for a moment, "That's not very nice." he said flatly. Johnny threw his hands up, "What the Hell kind of advice is that?!" he shouted throwing the die-ry across the room. Nail Bunny stared at him quietly, with those blind, yet all-seeing eyes. "Johnny, doesn't it bother you when people make fun of you? Call you faggot for the way you dress and how skinny you are?" he said quietly. Johnny grit his teeth, "I never called him a faggot, and I apologized for having to kill him." he said defensively. "That seemed like a good start, but couldn't you just run down to the store and kill that clerk who took so long on a price check?" came Bunnie's voice. Johnny shook his head, "I didn't have the time to. The wall was getting dry. Even now, I must go to paint it. I don't want to. I hate blood. Just as much as I hate that fucking filling between a Twinkie." Johnny said standing up. He wasn't looking forward to this. "Johnny. Stop for a moment. That wall can wait. You have to realize that you chose him at random. You killed someone who didn't deserve what they got. It's sad, but sadly, that's the truth about life. It isn't fair. None of the others were fair to you. And you weren't fair to him. It's the law of existence. That's the way life works." Bunny reasoned in his head. Johnny sat on the bed, sighing quietly, "Damn. I hate this." Johnny muttered under his breath. Bunny would have nodded if his neck wasn't dried to crackling. "Everyone does." There was a moment of eerie silence between them before Nny spoke up, "It's time to paint the wall..." he said softly in a voice that sounded like he was going to Death Row. Not the good kind that would have freed him from being what he is now. Johnny cast one last look back at Bunny before making his way downstairs to the wall.
Johnny spent the rest of the evening painting the wall, satiating that -thing-. As long as Johnny kept it fed, there was no reason for it to break through. As much as Johnny didn't want whatever it was to break through. He stared at the deep crimson red, painting the wall. Johnny felt a hot tear roll down his face. "Though you are my bestest, bestest friend in the room." The words kept repeating through Johnny's mind like a broken record. The only person he had met in a long time who never hurt him. Never made fun of him. For a brief fleeting moment, Johnny felt like he had someone who he could trust. Someone who would help drag him out of the Hell he had slipped into. Someone Johnny could go to and scream his pains. And Edgar would have listened. Even facing someone who was going to end his life, he listened to his pain. A true friend.But Johnny killed him. That was the bitch of it. Johnny slowly slumped down crying.
After a moment of crying, Johnny stood up and stood back admiring the grisly work on the wall. "Well, I guess even to death Edgar helped me. He listened to me in life, and helped me keep that fucking -thing- in the wall." Johnny looked down to the buckets holding the thick mixture of blood and flesh. There was still quite a bit in the bucket. Johnny had expected that it would all be used on the wall. He felt another tear roll down his bloodied nose as he picked up the bucket, crimson and sticky with life fluids, carrying it further down to the lower levels.
"Here Lies Edgar Vargas. A Bestest, Best Friend to the very end."
Johnny had written it on a lable, and taped it to a Mason jar. He carefully poured the thick Edgar mixture into the jar, carrying it quietly to a shelf Johnny dedicated to the rare few who he killed, that never did anything to him. The shelf had 3 jars, including Edgar. One jar contained a severed hand. He had gotten from someone who accidently bumped into him, knocking his few groceries to the ground. They were then nice enough to help him carry it all to the car. They shook Johnny's hand. Johnny enjoyed that so much, he took their hand to remember it by. The next jar had a head in it, now rotting. Johnny had been contemplating suicide in front of a College. Some guy had seen him and talked him out of it. Johnny liked the way he thought. He was smart enough to see the shit smear Johnny lived with. He listened and talked to him wisely. Johnny liked the way his head worked so much, he decided to hang onto it for a while. Once in a while it talked to him, but more often than not it was silent, and he just talked to Nail Bunny.
Johnny sat the jar down front and center. He stood back wiping a tear away. These were the few people he cared about. These were the people he cared about. Johnny smiled some at the small glass urn holding Edgar. He cleared his throat, giving Edgar the best Eulogy he could muster.
"Your my bestest, bestest friend in the room."
FIN
[And now, a word from our Author]
Well, this makes my second Fan Fic. Some of you may have read "A Tickle Me Hellmo Christmas". I like that story. I find myself giggling like a Troll baby every time I read it. It really is too bad I couldn't find an 'alternate lifestyle' horrible enough to shock parents who already hated him. Still, there are so many things I would have liked to do with that story. I like this one too. The only thing is, I'm not entirely sure if I expressed Johnny's mind accurately. But that can be a riddle at times. It's kind of hard to analyze someone who'se attempts at suicide take a lower priority to Brain Freezy's and commercials about diarrhea. Either way, I liked this. It felt like getting in touch with the victim facet of Nny's personality. I percieve him in three forms. The Hero, The Villain, and the Victim. The Hero, since he represents the black knight that handles justice a little differantly then a 'white knight'. Instead of turning the other cheek, he turns an asshole's cheek and head inside out. The Villain, since what he's doing is obviously evil, and ironically, the very thing he fights, and of course, the victim. Because, hey, it's their fault he's a homocidal maniac. Well, most of them. But then again, that's what this story is about. That rare person who got caught in the crossfire.Hmm...I should stop here. I'm analyzing my own story. I should leave that to the readers. Enjoy.
MighterthantheSword,
Joe Hanna
(Feel the pain)