Hi there! This is my first ever Sweeny Todd fanfiction (so please be nice!). I've (once again) been suffering from writers block, but this little one- shot popped into my head and just wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it down, and, what to you know! My writers block was cured!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeny Todd.
It rained the day that they left London. A gray, morose sky loomed above the decrepit looking buildings as they passed, the shadows of the buildings casting half- darkness over the hunched figures of the people walking. The rain was coming down in cold sheets, but all Johanna could see was the blood. Sheets upon sheets of it pouring from the necks of the people that the evil barber had murdered, the very man who probably would have killed her if not for the screams of that woman. He had told her to forget, but she knew that until the day that she died she wouldn't.
Anthony sat next to her. He looked older, the events that had come to pass at Ms. Lovett's meat shop had not occurred without having affected the young man. He felt lost, his feelings of guilt that he carried constantly with him now obscured by the faint hope that by escaping London he would be rid of the terrible thoughts that constantly whizzed through his head. Thoughts of Mr. Todd, the fact that the very man that he once called a friend had slaughtered so very many, and that Anthony had been oblivious to it all. The guilt that he carried with him was that of the fact that he had not noticed, and because of it was not able to save many innocent people.
Toby sat in the gutter, watching the rain poor down in gloom filled sheets. His young face was caked in dirt, mud, and tears. They were tears of loss, the loss of his innocence and hope, of his trust for man- kind. He could still smell it, the smell that he once accredited to meat pies, the smell that he now associated to the smell of burning human flesh. He could not help but ask himself: "how many?" how many innocent people had died right in the very house that he had been living in, how had he not noticed anything? And so he lay in the gutter, dreaming of a time when he didn't know.
The carriage left London, and the little child in the gutter went to sleep.
And the sky wept for the three of them, the ones who fell victim to the aftermath.