Johnny awoke in the middle of the night. Sweat ran down his forehead; his body trembling with fear.
'It was only a dream.'
Or was it? To assure himself, Johnny pulled up his sleeve. There was no needle yet his muscles tingled underneath his skin.
'Damn you Jimmy!'
He was too awake to go back to sleep so he stayed in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Unlike the other walls in his bedroom, the ceiling was white like a canvas. Ever since his return from the city, he began to use the white wall as a way to transfer his dreams onto something. Sometimes they made sense. Sometimes they didn't. His mother had tried to paint over the mural but Johnny wouldn't even let her enter his room. No one ever entered his room and barely anyone saw him. As if on cue, the cordless phone on his bedside table emitted a dim red light as the room filled with the voices of his old friends.
"Johnny? What the fuck! Pick up the phone!"
"Will! Shut up!"
Johnny sighed as he placed his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise.
"Johnny? Johnny, we know you're hearing this. Please pick up the phone. We haven't heard from you in almost a year and we're getting worried."
"Tunny-"
"Will! Shut up! Look Johnny, we're aren't asking you to act like nothing happened. We've all been pretty fucked up since last year. All I'm asking is maybe you can take a walk outside or come visit your best friends. It's not good to stay all cooped up in your room with -"
Johnny reached for the phone and threw it full force into the blood red wall across from him. As it tore through the wall, a dark figure appeared before him. His face became etched onto the walls surrounding them. Johnny screamed and began throwing his pillows in attempt to erase the bad memory but the figure only became more intimidating as the pillows harmlessly bounced off him.
The adrenaline was too much in such a short amount of time that his vision began to blur. Just as the figure reached out his hand to control him, Johnny passed out.

Hours later, he woke.
"Fuck you Jimmy!" he whispered.
The room was normal. No etched sketches on the wall, no dark figure. Only a hole where the phone had been destroyed. Johnny lifted himself off the ground. His head immediately began to spin and he had the feeling his dinner was going to be resurfacing soon. Johnny helped himself up and walked towered the door. Before he could open the door he heard familiar voices in the hallway.
"Brad, What the hell is wrong with Johnny? He has never been this way."
Johnny removed his hand from the door knob and pressed his ear against the door.
"I think there's something mentally wrong with that kid. I think he needs some help."
"But he didn't do anything serious-"
"He threw a phone into the wall and kept screaming 'Jimmy'. Who the hell is Jimmy?"
Johnny waited for his mother to reply.
After the moment of silence, she sighed and stated "If you think getting him mental help is the best option then I'm up for it."
Johnny backed away from the door and stumbled onto his bed.
'That son of a bitch!'The fear he had of seeing that figure of memories turned into anger. In his mind Johnny saw Brad being shot down by his gun. As the blood rushed out of his body, he couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the dead bastard.
'Stop it Johnny!'
The smile that had crawled onto his face disappeared. He hadn't had visions like that since his days with the Saint. He looked at his arms. Only a year ago he had a needle shooting him to paradise. Now the whole entire fucked up world thought he was mental. Brad, his mother, Will, Tunny and... Her. He looked up at the ceiling where he had painted her from memory. Her painted face looked down upon him. He couldn't even begin to depict her beauty with a simple paintbrush but he had done a decent job. Below her portrait were the last words she had said to him. The sight of those words pained him. She had never seen him for who he was. She knew his alter ego, the one that almost killed him. He looked at the painting once more and made up his mind. He ran to the closet and pulled out a duffle bag. He dashed to the dresser dumping anything valuable into the bag on the way. In less than ten minutes, he was ready to journey off once again. Hopefully this time it would end differently for he swore he was never coming back. He lifted the notch on his window and pushed the window open. Johnny threw his bag onto the pavement and it landed with a crash.
*knock knock knock*
'Fuck!'
"Johnny?"
He saw the doorknob turn as his mother attempt to enter the room. Panicked, Johnny ran and slammed himself against the door acting as a barricade. The door knob was released.
"Johnny, Brad and I would like to talk with you."
There was no answer.
She attempted to open the door again but it was no use. She pounded her fist into the door and screamed,
"Get you lazy ass out here in the living room!"
"I'll show up when you stop acting like a fuckin' bitch!"
Johnny could hear her steaming on the other side of the door. He waited until he heard her footsteps disappear to released the door. He sighed and turned around to see his bed. But what caught his attention was the empty grey wall behind it. He walked over to the waste basket and dug around until he felt something cut his skin open. He grab the object out and inspected the small cut on his ring finger. Johnny took the small razor he had produced out of the trash and made the gash even bigger. He threw the object back into the basket and jumped onto the bed to draw on the grey, stormy wall. Once to task was completed, Johnny jumped out of the window and landed next to his bag. In one swift movement, he slung his possessions over his shoulders and began to walk.
Back at home, Brad kicked down the door to punish Johnny for being disrespectful. But all he saw was a grey wall and the words
"Fuck You! - Jesus of Suburbia"
Written in
blood.