Chapter two:

Puppeteer

Walking up to the house, a sense of dread washes over me.

I have come this far…

I can't help but tremble at the sight of this old house. I used to live here.

This was my house, but I let her have it. I couldn't just kick her out. She broke my heart but jeez. I love her way too much to do something like that.

Seconds turn into hours, and I'm walking miles across my yard to my front door.

The mat says welcome and I feel just the opposite. I ring the doorbell and….

nothing.

"Lola?"

I knock on the door, and the door slowly creaks open. I guess she didn't shut it all the way, but…

"Lola?"

….

Silence.

Impulse takes hold, and my feet move forward. I'm walking in, and I feel like a stranger to familiar territory. I feel like an intruder in my own home.

What the hell am I doing? I start to turn to get out of there but then I notice the big red stain on the floor. My eyes pop open. My breathing quickens.

"L…..ola?"

I don't know what to do. So many things running through my mind. If I go in there, and Lola is okay, my chances with her could be fucked, but if I leave and she's badly injured, I just couldn't live with myself even if it would mean her hating me.

To hell with it all; I'm going in.

"Lola?"

My voice is a higher pitch than I've ever heard it unwillingly go. The stain is worse than I thought. Little particles of… oh god. No.

No.

The trail leads down my hallway, and I don't believe what I'm seeing. Streaks of red staining my carpet.

Suddenly I just know what's in my bathroom. I don't even need to look to know what happened.

And whoever did it is fucking dead

I had to go somewhere. I had to do something. I needed to tell somebody. You wake up in a house with a fucking dead body in it, you can't just go home, and take a shower. You can't just…

I don't know what the fuck to do. I'm at a loss, so I'm standing at the doorstep of Mr. Porky Pig.

I'm not just knocking on his door. I'm pounding with both hands. I need something, some kind of answer, and I think it's possible to find it here.

I hope.

The door finally opens, and there he is; ready to explode. He looks like he's about ready to verbally rip me a new asshole, but he takes a good look at me, and freezes entirely. Almost as if he had just recognized me, or something, but not quite.

More like; he just read my expression. I think I just told him everything he needed to know by the look on my face.

"C-c-c-come on in D-daffy."

The image I had in my head wasn't too far off. I knew she was dead. I knew that.

I just didn't know she would be covered in vomit and black feathers.

Of course I don't want to believe it. It's horrible to even think about, but what has to be done has top be done. As the man of the house, it is my obligation to track down, and kill Daffy Duck for the murder of my fiancé.

"Want something to d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-drink?"

"Sure. You got a White Russian?"

"It's n-n-nine in the morning. I muh-meant c-coffee, or s-s-something"

"Oh, right. Yeah, coffee, or whatever."

After disappearing into the kitchen, he returns with two brown mugs, steam rising over the ceramic cups.

"It's d-de-calf"

Ugh.

"Forget it, then. Look, we have some important shit to talk abo-"

And suddenly the phone is ringing.

"Hold on a

and ringing

sec this'll jus

and ringing

t be a minute.

and ringing.

And that's when I lose it. Something about the anxiety of it all, some sort of stress factor taking its toll on me, I splash the hot coffee on the back of the unsuspecting pig's head. While he's screaming, and falling forwards, I manage to leap to his left side, and hurl the mug right at his temple.

I've never had aim this good. This takes him out.

And I'm still screaming.

And the phone's still ringing.

And Porky's laying on his stomach, bleeding from the side of his head.

And the phone's still ringing.

And I'm trying my best not to rip the phone cord in half.

I have no control over myself as I pick the glass statue off the stand next to the phone, and I bring it down on his head. Again I bring it down, and notice his head denting inwards with a satisfying crunch. Again and again I bring the statue drown, and in exchange more and more red stains the beautiful swan in my hands. More and more red stains my hands. More and more red stains the floor.

And in exchange his head just keeps getting softer. Flatter.

And I'm screaming.

And I drop the statue on the floor.

And the phone in the other room is still fucking ringing.

I can't take this anymore.

Kicking the door open, and running out into the street screaming.

And the white light shines down upon me. It engulfs me, and forces my body weight up, like I'm being pulled by some ominous force anditstakingmeaway, Idontknowwhat the fuck to DO, the world is just spinningandspinningandspinningandspinning and

What is this…?

And instead of white, I drift off into the dark.

"Subject 2236 has been drugged and secured, sir."

"Thank you."

Such a strange voice…where……?

who………….?

"He's mumbling"

"Perhaps he's not all the way under, yet."

"He won't remember any of this, will he?"

"Goodness, no. That's the last thing we would need."

No……..

I ne.d……..

..met.i.g'..r.ng…………………………………

"Subject 2236 has an apparent resistance to the collar."

"I know, I know. We're working on it. Has he discovered anything?"

"No, not yet. Nothing important, anyway. Didn't black out for some reason."

"So he witnessed himself commit the last murder?"

"Affirmative. I've been watching this one. "

"Have you renewed his probe?"

"Of course. I'm always on top of these things. Something you should look into, perhaps."

"Sorry sir."

"Yesss."

Footsteps sound across what sounds like a tile floor.

"Sir?"

The footsteps cease, and silence fills the room. My head is light. I can't open my eyes.

"What's his trigger?"

Trigger? W..t..r.g...?

T.l…e..b4i.'.t.o..ate.

And they both start laughing…..

.nd..'.g.ne.

Concept created by Tha Kalligrapha

Concept destroyed by cornwallace.