He didn't want to be, but oh God he was in the basement again, working on that mural. Alone on a hilltop. Johnny didn't bother hiding it now. Who was there to hide it from, alone here? Nobody. . . he could not hide it from himself, after all.
He had discovered what it was that was missing from the painting. The color red. He had been sitting in his kitchen, forcing himself to eat, when he had just thought, "Red," and ran downstairs and stared at the mural for hours. Insanity. He talked to the two Pillsbury Doughboys the whole time.
"It needs red."
Why, whatever for, Johnny? asked the voice that seemed a bit more depressing, less fierce.
"I. . . don't know," Johnny replied.
Oh-oh! I think Johnny-wohnny just told us a wittle fibby-wibby!
Johnny gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. You're not real, you're not real. Go away, leave me alone. I don't want this.
We didn't ask if you wanted us, Johnny. We do not ask. We take what we want. And you can too!
"No!" said Johnny stubbornly, sounding like a pouting child who will not do what Mommy wants him to do. "No, I won't!"
Tell us, Johnny. Why do you need red?
"NO!"
Johnny, you will tell! Like it or not, you will have to!
"I DON'T WANT TO!"
TELL US.
"WHY?!"
We can get you red.
Johnny paused at that. Get him red? What did they mean by that? He had red paint. . .
Tell us, and we will get you red.
Johnny hung his head and whispered, "The man's hands are covered in blood. I need red to paint the blood on the man's hands." He inhaled deeply and a ragged sigh escaped him.
Well, then, Johnny, why don't we go and get some red? whispered the fierce doughboy.
"I have red paint," muttered Johnny.
Both of the doughboys laughed now. Do you, Johnny? Well, why don't you try and paint with it. See how you like the results, hm? Yes?
Johnny said nothing, but pulled a jar of red paint off of a shelf, unscrewed the lid, and dipped a brush in. He held the brush up to the wall. And dropped it. Before Johnny knew what was happening, his legs were pumping up the stairs and he was screaming, "I HAVE RED!! RED PAINT!! PAINT!! I DON'T WANT THIS!!"
He had discovered what it was that was missing from the painting. The color red. He had been sitting in his kitchen, forcing himself to eat, when he had just thought, "Red," and ran downstairs and stared at the mural for hours. Insanity. He talked to the two Pillsbury Doughboys the whole time.
"It needs red."
Why, whatever for, Johnny? asked the voice that seemed a bit more depressing, less fierce.
"I. . . don't know," Johnny replied.
Oh-oh! I think Johnny-wohnny just told us a wittle fibby-wibby!
Johnny gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. You're not real, you're not real. Go away, leave me alone. I don't want this.
We didn't ask if you wanted us, Johnny. We do not ask. We take what we want. And you can too!
"No!" said Johnny stubbornly, sounding like a pouting child who will not do what Mommy wants him to do. "No, I won't!"
Tell us, Johnny. Why do you need red?
"NO!"
Johnny, you will tell! Like it or not, you will have to!
"I DON'T WANT TO!"
TELL US.
"WHY?!"
We can get you red.
Johnny paused at that. Get him red? What did they mean by that? He had red paint. . .
Tell us, and we will get you red.
Johnny hung his head and whispered, "The man's hands are covered in blood. I need red to paint the blood on the man's hands." He inhaled deeply and a ragged sigh escaped him.
Well, then, Johnny, why don't we go and get some red? whispered the fierce doughboy.
"I have red paint," muttered Johnny.
Both of the doughboys laughed now. Do you, Johnny? Well, why don't you try and paint with it. See how you like the results, hm? Yes?
Johnny said nothing, but pulled a jar of red paint off of a shelf, unscrewed the lid, and dipped a brush in. He held the brush up to the wall. And dropped it. Before Johnny knew what was happening, his legs were pumping up the stairs and he was screaming, "I HAVE RED!! RED PAINT!! PAINT!! I DON'T WANT THIS!!"
