Hello loyal reader people! How's it going? I was bored, so I started writing another fan fiction (For Jhonen Vasquez, of coarse!). The setting is at an old school building that is obviously not up to code and our main character is being interrogated by her class mates before the first bell rings to start the day.
Normal text
Genevieve thinking
The male voice in Genevieve's head
Check it out, I'm disclaiming!: I OWN NOTHING! I don't even own ME! Satan does.
Naive Genevieve
"Bow to the noodle man!" I shout to the group of confused looking students that have crowded around my desk.
"Who's the noodle man?" The kid with the worst hair cut you have ever seen asks as he scratches his head.
Staring at him, wide eyed, I tell him, "Jhonen Vasquez, you little fuck! How could you not know who your lord and master is!?" I leap onto my desk and point at his filthy head with a quivering hand.
"Lord and master?" A girl I've paid no attention to until now asks, "What are you talking about?"
"Oh my holy shit!" I gasp and turn my pointed finger to her, "You don't know either!?" I spin around, pointing to them all, "Don't tell me that none of you fuckers have any idea who Jhonen Vasquez is?"
"Is that a type of soda?"
"Can you buy one for under a dollar?"
"Is that a show on MTV?"
They all ask their own idiotic questions and I just start to tune them out, lost in my own little world of loathing. I only share this world with one person, or at least, I think he's a person. I sit down on my desk and close my eyes. I can't believe these people. They're so ignorant, why do they even bother trying to teach them?
I don't know Vivi, I just don't know… He tries to console me. Even now, after he's been with me for so long, I don't know his name.
At the sound of the door slamming shut I reluctantly open my eyes and to my surprise, there's no one in the room! Just to be sure, I spin around, still sitting on my desk --Jeans are nice for spinning on wooden desks-- and in the back of the room is a boy about my age, standing in the shadows, holding what looks to be the disembodied scalp of the ugly haired boy. We're the only ones in the room, even to teacher is gone.
"Hello Genevieve." He says in a low and creepy tone before I can ask any questions, "In case you're wondering, which I'm sure you are, your classmates are dead, as is your ignorant educator." He laughs dryly, I gasp, "Ironic really, how such a moronic man could ever dream of teaching you of all people any thing more than the time of day." He's very well spoken for some one that looks to be only twelve or so.
"Actually, he never even told me that," I inform the strange child and he steps into the light, "The only way to tell time in this school is by the bell that sounds every hour." I push my dark green hair out of my face so I can get a good look at this kid. He has a greenish tint to his skin, probably just the lighting. He has a strange mohawk-ish thing that's all spiky, cool! I wonder how he gets it to do that. But there is one small disturbing thing that almost makes me cringe, he has horns! Normal little children do not have horns! Um… No comment.
As if controlled by a spooky monkey of ease dropping-ness, the bell sounds, I shutter. The horned boy drops his new toupee and stares at the old red bell. The place where the ball hits it is dented and all the paint has chipped off over the years. With nothing better to look at, I join him in his staring. Slowly it starts to droop, then just melts off of its rusty old hook and leaves a puddle of melted medal on the floor. Eerily, the sound of the bell is still ringing off the walls, but soon fades.
At a loss of words I just stare, mouth agape, at the boy standing no more than three feet away from my desk, which I am still perched on.
"Now, then!" He says, "Since we no longer have anything to interrupt us, let us get down to the nitty, gritty, so to speak."
"Whaty what, what now?" I ask, utterly confused at this point.
"Ah yes," He strokes an imaginary beard in realization, "You were not warned of my coming, most of my 'clients' usually know I'm coming before hand…" He trails off, most likely recalling said past events. Fondly or otherwise, I can't say, he has a very 'blah' expression.
"Um, not to interrupt or anything, but who are you and why did you scalp that annoying little boy?" I ask, shifting so my legs are under me and I'm sitting on my feet.
"Good question! An intelligent person always asks about trivial things before they realize how dangerous the situation they are in could be." I can tell he's trying very hard to keep the sarcasm from entering his voice, "Regardless of this I shall remedy your confusion." He takes a seat on the desk across from me and crosses his legs, "Make sure, you're conferrable, this is a long story!"
If you enjoyed it, annoy me till I write a new chapter. If you hated it, feel free to flame me, or whatever it is you people do when you don't like something.