Author's Note

Hey guys! I have begun composing a story, a JtHM fan fiction. I hope you enjoy it, and if you have no clue what JtHM is, feel free to read anyway! I've done some explaining, and you'll learn something new! Don't forget to look it up!

JtHM stuff is courtesy of Jhonen Vasquez and SLG Publishing. I OWN NOTHING SO FAR.

(Warning: Swear words are used.)

The sky looked stunning that night. A clear black sky, dotted with the twinkling lights of the infinite number of stars. How stunning, he thought. The images of constellations, centaurs and queens and fallen heroes. All but forgotten in this present century. Johnny lowered his eyelids; not to sleep, but to dream all the same. If only he could find a way over the stars, to whatever world lay beyond the velvet blanket of nightfall. He sometimes thought of the small lights as the eyes of some Almighty deity, a God no one had fully considered. One much more powerful than the once he had dreamt about sometime ago...or had that been experienced? No, Johnny thought, a fat, lazy person in the sky could not make nights as beautiful as this...

His eyelids lowered more, and he found himself in a world of bleak darkness, no stars, no moon.

Johnny noticed a wall, only seen because of the crimson blood that stained it and defined a shape. His subconscious self traveled closer to it, and upon further examination, found it was his own blood...

The sudden light sent sharp bursts of irritation through his corneas, and Johnny was startled to find himself awakening. The moon was gone, and the stars had disappeared, replaced by golden sunshine and a blue sky.

Johnny was shaking, and couldn't seem to catch his breath. He had fallen asleep that night, for weeks he had evaded the cold killer, and uncertainty of last night's events filled his chest. He realized he was still outside.

"I must have slept out here all night," Johnny muttered to himself.

He was uneasy as he sat up, and tried to recall what woke him. He remembered his nightmare, the dark room where the wall was splattered with his blood. This detail he found had terrified him most upon waking. The strange thing was, blood didn't bother him. Fuck, he painted a wall with the same liquid every week! But something about this particular dream, the blood, the dark room...

Johnny stood up, and felt his muscles ache and joints pop. His feet felt pinched, and he looked down to see that his shoes were still on his feet, buckles in place, socks in place. He's slept in his shoes, his clothes, even his jacket.

The sensation terrified him. He felt weak, vulnerable, confused. No use wobbling here like a drunk ass, thought Johnny, and he stumbled to his doorway and went back inside his house. As he shut the door behind him, a startling notion came to him. What if people passed my house, and thought I was drunk? He leaned against the rough wooden door, and the splinters scraped and prodded his back. Johnny's house was filthy; cockroach infested, nails sticking out of loose boards, blood all over the walls.

"Nny, you fuck, where where you all night?" the voice of Psychodoughboy scolded. The painted Pillsbury Dough Boy stepped from his shadowy closet.

"Since when have you ever cared about me?!"Johnny shouted at him. "All you ever want me to do is DIE!"

"I want to watch you die!"

"So what? I still HATE YOU!"

Another voice was heard. "Nny, Nny, NNY! You were out all night! Did you kill any cheerleaders?"

Mr. Eff, the other Doughboy loved gore and murder.

Johnny was starting to get irritated. All the Doughboys cared about was death, whether it be his suicide or another murder at his hands.

"Just SHUT THE HELL UP! Johnny screamed, his throat nearly rupturing as his vocal cords were strained painfully. "I JUST FELL ASLEEP OUTSIDE, OKAY?!"

The Styrofoam figures went silent. The sweet absence of their insults was limited, however.

"You actually fell asleep?" Mr. Eff scolded. "But sleep is your enemy!"

"I know, I know," Johnny replied, "but it just happened, while I was watching the stars, and the next thing I knew-"

"It's okay, Johnny," a voice from the nearby wall said, "Everyone needs some sleep once in a while." Nailbunny. His comforting voice soothed Johnny's mood. Nailbunny. He was Johnny's pet rabbit, which he fed only once, and drove a nail through its abdomen and into the wall. That's were it remained ever since. It happened three years ago. Nailbunny was rational, Nailbunny was hope, Nailbunny was comfort

Nailbunny wanted Johnny's sanity back.

"Sleep," Johnny muttered to himself. "I fell asleep. How did I fall asleep?"

He hated the sensation. He had better things to do than close his eyes and rest. But at least he felt better. Faster, radder, more adequate. (Hee hee, Adventure Time quote!)

Psychodoughboy snickered as he shook his head in mock disbelief. "The boy fell asleep. I still don't believe it."

He turned, head still shaking, and left for his closet. Mr. Eff followed, glancing back at Johnny and raising a perplexed eyebrow.

Johnny was pissed. First sleep, now his stupid voices mocking him again. Thank god, Reverend Meat wasn't there. Good, Johnny, good. Give in to your needs. Your emotions. Eat a hamburger. You're too skinny.

Johnny sulked to the torture room under his house.

"I think I'll kill another clown," he said to himself, "They're too creepy and joyful for their own good."