Champagne, Cocaine, Gasoline
Johnny didn't remember falling asleep. Sleep, that detestable thing. Now he didn't know if he was in a dream or not. He supposed it didn't matter. He could smell blood. A lot of it. He opened his eyes slowly, straightening his aching back. He rubbed his eyes, figuring out where he was.
Nny found that he'd been passed out at a bar. This particular bar was a mess that he recognized as his own handiwork, but had no recollection of causing. Corpses and gore decorated the dim club; streamers of organs, wine glasses of blood, and broken glass everywhere. He spun around on his bar stool, accidentally knocking over a glass of champagne. The shattering glass hit him with a flashback. Someone had been yelling at him, breaking things. That's all he remembered.
Had he been drunk? He doubted it. He didn't drink. Alcohol clouded his already skewed mind, and he knew it. He had enough confusion in his life without it.
He spotted a clock on the wall. It looked like it was another two AM awake and alone. He stood, stumbling, and kicked off the high heels he was wearing. Why was he wearing high heels?
He investigated the scene. Men and women, at least what was left of them, almost all around his age were strewn about. A few heads were lined up behind the bar, accompanied by his name, "Johnny C," in blood on the wall, a woman's ribs were poking out of people they didn't belong in, a man had a dart sticking out of his eye, and another had his mouth stuffed with camel cigarettes. He noticed the slight pain on his hand and looked down at it, remembering receiving a cigarette burn.
Where were the weapons he'd used? Johnny couldn't see so much as a blade anywhere. Where was his coat? Where were his boots? Why did he take them off? He explored, trying to find them. Looking, he found many things, none of them what he was looking for. He found lines of cocaine on a table, an eye socket full of weed, needles of unknown content pinning someone to the wall, and scattered pills among the glass.
After some considerably thorough searching, checking inside a few people just in case, he gave up on finding his boots. He supposed he ought to head home. With a sigh, he exited the establishment, taking in the cold night air.
He quickly found his boots and coat just outside the door. With a little, "huh." He put them on. His coat had been covering a canister of gasoline and a lighter. How nice. He thanked his past self and went back into the club, sprinkling the gas about. He didn't care about burning evidence, it was just a cold night and a fire sounded nice.
Johnny stood in the road grinning pleasantly to himself. The fire had indeed been a good idea. It warmed up the entire area quite nicely and was quickly spreading to neighbouring buildings.
Nny returned home quite happily just as the sun was coming up. He'd had a good time.
:p kinda just dumped this out into words... eh. Hope SOMEONE enjoys it. Thanks for reading. I don't own Johnny the Homicidal Maniac or Panic! At the Disco. How very happy I'd be were that the case...