I can't believeI wrote this!xD It just...came to me one day. (and the fact that I sew fueled the idea.)
WARNING: Just weird-ness in general and plushie stabbing.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Durarara or any of it's characters!
Yes, he was abnormal and just plain screwed up in the head, but he loved to sew. He loved to create things and destroy them, like some sort of sadistic God.
There was a room in his home, his favorite room. It seemed normal at a glance, but on the inside it was anything but. The floor was quilted tile, black and white in a repetitive pattern. Plush of familiar faces placed in a twisted game of life or death. The headless rider, the Slasher, the Dollars, the Yellow Scarves, they were all in their rightful places. Some would called them "cute" or endearing, but he didn't think so. They were imperfect. They could never capture the beauty of his beloved humans, with their emotionless button eyes and lifeless presence.
He walked over and sat in one of the corners, it was were he did his work, where he made his little creations. He had one left to finish. Blond hair, with brown button eyes and a little bartender uniform. He didn't know if it was his favorite or his worst. A smile slowly creeped across his face. Heiwajima Shizuo, or as the informant loved to call him, "Shizu-Chan".
"I'm sorry, Shizu-Chan, but I don't like violence."
He recited the same words the blond had said time and time again, before taking out his flick blade and stabbing the plush. Over and over again, watching as the fabric ripped and stuffing flowed out, all the while laughing cold and bitterly. Finally, he stopped, looking down at the torn and ripped miniature of his enemy. Then he stood, walked over to the center of the room and set the plush in it's spot on the fabricated game board. He started to walk out of the room, his secret sanctuary, before turning out the lights and whispering something barely audible before closing the door shut.
"Check mate, Shizu-Chan."
THE END
...Yeah, I don't know either. ._.'