A/N: In response to the iPod Shuffle Challenge.
Rules:
- Pick your fandom/Character
- Set your mp3 Player to Shuffle
- Write a short piece inspired by the song
- Only use the time the song plays to writ the piece
- Do this for 10 songs
It's Not A Fashion Statement, It's A Death Wish – My Chemical Romance
Jonathan glared fierce, cold eyes at the rusted red car parked in the back of the lot. It was surrounded by other cars and even a shiny black limousine, but this red vehicle was different from the others, he knew. Why? Because it belonged to him and he had her with him in there.
"They'll see just what kind of freak I am now," he growled, a tinge of whine in the undertone of his still maturing voice.
Show them, Johnny. Show them all, the voice in his head cackled, somehow soothing to Jonathan's soul in a way nothing else could be.
He picked up the shotgun he'd stolen and slipped on the burlap mask he'd created. He smirked, handsome face pulled into a grotesque smile behind the rough texture of the sack. Oh yes, he thought back to the voice. They'll pay.
Macy's Day Parade – Green Day
He watched as the funeral procession marched its way through the small Georgian town. On the surface, steel-blue eyes watched the people as they walked down the main road, half of them sobbing and the other half glaring in a vengeful sort of anger. His face betrayed no emotion as he took this all in. Oh, but how he wanted to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness. How he wanted nothing more than to dance on those graves, too. How he couldn't stop picturing the teenagers faces as the gun went off in his hands and then –
Then there were no faces left.
The heat sweltered him through his too thin jacket and his grandmother beside him smacked him on the back of the head for ruining the garment with his sweat. He bit back a retort, knowing that logic was no reason for his 'lip' with this woman.
Stuck in the Middle – Mika
Jonathan sighed, wishing he could rub his eyes.
His vision was blurry, from the lack of his prescription glasses, and his head hurt from that reason and more. He took in the white walls around him when another inmate of Arkham released a cry of terror – or rage, Jonathan wasn't sure. He hoped it was terror. Fear put such a beautiful look on people's faces, he thought. It dilated their pupils, made their breath go short, and everyone had different, more physical reactions. Some froze in horror, he knew. Others lashed out like trapped animals.
Yes, he thought, animals are a good comparative.
Another cry, this time from the opposite side of his cell. This time he knew it was terror. He smiled vaguely and closed his eyes, headache receding.
This isn't so bad.
Air Hostess – Busted
"Can I help you with anything else, sir?" the busty blond asked him, leaning across his seat to, once again, adjust his pillow. He raised a brow and it faded behind his askew bangs.
"No, thank you," he told her coolly, slightly smirking. She gave him what she figured was a flirty smile in return and walked down the aisle. She glanced back at him and winked.
He resisted the urge to roll his blue eyes at her shapely form. Women, he spat to his alter-ego, all the same.
Come now, Johnny, don't be that way.
He sighed.
Whatever.
He gave a second look to her shapely backside and threw a bag of peanuts down the row. Some people grumbled, but he smirked as she bent low to pick them up – and gave him a full view of her cleavage.
Maybe they're not so bad, he admitted.
Mister Cellophane – Chicago Soundtrack
Jonathan scowled as he was, once more, pushed to the floor. His bag hit an open bottom locker and tore, letting free his many books and binders. His papers scattered and yet still his peers didn't see him. They stepped on, ruined, and degraded his things – him.
Don't take that! The voice in his head urged.
It had showed up not too long ago, just before that dreaded Prom Incident. Two students had died and no one knew that I had been he. That had been the one and only time he'd listened to the Scarecrow, as he'd deemed him. Since then the guilty, squirming feeling in his stomach had eased some and he was tempted (oh, so tempted) to give in and seek revenge upon his class mates, but he held back. Instead, he glared at the floor and started to gather his belongings. He risked a hand darting into the crowd of feet around him and clutched his essay that was due tomorrow. But then his hand was stepped on, and the person hadn't even realized.
He sighed. Next time.
Into the Night – Santana
He grasped her back, enjoying the feel of her lush, saucy frame squished so intimately to his form. He smirked, blue eyes holding a lusty gaze.
Get this over with, please, Jonathan begged to his alter ego. The Scarecrow had been given temporary control – just to get these damn urges out of the way. Jonathan didn't want anything to do with them, but it seemed his other personality enjoyed carnal activities almost too much. His hand wandered down her back, resting on a soft cheek under the slip of a dress she called clothing.
"Senor Jonathan," she said huskily, playing. "You should not touch a woman there."
"Oh?" replied Scarecrow. "And how about… here?" He clutched at her wide hips. Her mocha eyes widened in lust and she bit on her rose petal lips.
"No, no, there is just right," she whispered.
He took her to the back room in five minutes and had her screaming his name – Scarecrow.
Love Me Dead – Ludo
"Love me cancerously," one of his students sang during her break, back hunched over a sketchbook. "Like a salt soar soaked in the sea. High maintainence means you're a glutenous queen narcisstic and mean," she sang. "Bitter and dumb you're my sugar plum."
He chuckled vaguely, masking it with a cough, as he sat behind his professor desk at the head of the class. Some students listened to rap, some hiphop, and most 'pop.' The drivel was pointless and repetitive. But, he thought, this one might have merit.
"You suck so passionately," she hummed out.
Oh, yes, merit indeeeeeed, Scarecrow cawed in his mind.
"Her body is my coffin."
You simply must find out.
"Must be the side of my head that says, 'Love me dead,'" the girl sang.
He chuckled again.
Indeed, he agreed.
"Oh, Miss Spalding?" the girl looked up. "What is that fascinating song you're listening to?"
She grinned, blushing slightly. "Love Me Dead by Ludo."
"Hmm," he nodded, going back to his paperwork. "Intruiging."
"Isn't it though?" she smirked, quirking a brow.
Carry Out – Timbaland
He sat on the far back seat of the bus, watching out the window as the dirty streets of the Narrows strolled by at a gruesome pace, alternating between too fast and sluggish. His face distorted into disgust as he listened to some wannabe gangsters at the front of the bus, singing about women and sex and – ugh, he groaned.
Oh, it's not so bad, Johnny boy, Scarecrow argued.
"Already a day in town and I've been thrown in with such disgusting people," he muttered.
The men in front looked back at him, glaring.
You've done it now, Johnny, Scarecrow giggled.
Come out here, NOW, the man said, forcing his alter ego to the front.
"Hello boys," Scarecrow jeered as the men approached him.
Later, the bodies of three men and a bus driver were found abandoned on the back alleys of the Narrows. No one knew who'd done it or why, and Jonathan Crane planned to keep it that way.
Who I Am Hates Who I've Been – Relient K
"I hate you!" the teenager yelled to the empty walls of the greenhouse, not really seeing them and not really caring. Two days, it had been two days since Prom, since – since. Stop right there. I should have never done that – can't I take it back?
Sorry, Jon-Boy, no can do, the voice in his head crowed.
"Look what you made me do!" the recluse boy accused, his mind feeling like it was exploding.
I didn't make you do anything you didn't want, the voice growled back.
"I – I," he half-sobbed. "I can't do this. I can't be this strong. I can't," he fell to the ground, mind and stomach churning.
And you'll never have to, the voice said. That's what you've got me for. Your Scarecrow to protect you. I'm your second chance, boy-o.
Jonathan leaned into nonexistent arms, comforted and cradled by his own imagination. Better than reality, he thought.
Unwanted – Avril Lavigne
"Stupid, foolish boy!" the old woman yelled, throwing a heavy stick at the skinny child's back.
The boy ran, black hair in his eyes and obscuring his bespectacled vision. He hadn't meant to break her favority pan – he didn't mean to shatter it to a thousand pieces. And now she was going to shatter him to a thousand pieces. He darted through the tangled field and to an old greenhouse on his grandmother's property. Unwanted, disheveled, and filled with the pain of years of abuse and neglect of a young boy. Jonathan always went to the glass-plated house when he wanted to get away. She'd never come out here, and it was his sanctuary. He felt nothing but peace. There were no birds to attack him, no children to ridicule him, and especially no horrible old women to smash him with canes and belts and the back side of her ringed hand.
He sat in the dirt and imagined that the house was alive.
Hello there, his new friend said.