"You can get help!! Please don't do anything stupid!! There are have
to be people out there, some-where, who can help you! Different from the
ones who have hurt you! Yes!!" -Nailbunny, Jthm issue one.
-Nny- It was strange city; the building loomed like dark towers. He was unused to this place, but he knew she was here somewhere in this large dim and filthy maze, and to make it worse it was late November and very cold. Not many people noticed him dismissing the man as an old bum. He looked the part as well: disheveled grey hair, poking out from beneath a frayed hat, paper thin body, and ragged clothing. If you looked long enough you could see his face: gaunt, wrinkled, dirty and unshaven, with one eye blazing with some kind of determination and the other... wasn't there it was just an empty gaping socket. The ones that did notice shuddered in revulsion and horror, before wordlessly turning away and walking on. He scowled and turned back, walking back into the dark alleyway, in which he was living." I'm so sick of that look, it's like I ruin their day because I exist," he muttered. "I could just rip open their skulls and take out their brains ... that'd teach those assholes a thing or two."
"Then why don't you, Johnny?" An all too familiar voice said to him. He looked up, and saw a dirty and slightly cracked mirror leaning against the dumpster. The reflection in the mirror was his own; however it was a younger self clad all in black, with that jet black hair and those silver buckle boots.
"Will you leave me the fuck, alone I don't need to be caught, and I'm tired... you damned hallucination." Johnny sighed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you Nny, what the fuck is wrong with me? Afraid to be caught are we? To tired to give some assholes a lesson in etiquette? Where did we go so wrong and become some tired old, pathetic man, eh?" The mirror Nny spat back.
"You don't understand. First I'm not old, I'm middle aged. Secondly I'm not as fast or as good, I was when I was your age... I've gotten caught before whatever was protecting me or us back then, has stopped. And thirdly, it's hard as you get older to be an insomniac...everything feels so cold and aching now... every part of me screams for rest." Johnny said.
"EXCUSES, EXCUSES!" Mirror Nny screeched and wrung his gloved hands. "My god, we've become so spineless, if I knew this was to be my future I would have blown my head off again. You've gone soft Nny, oh so soft... like a fresh marshmallow peep. just like all old people, they start off with ideals but everything gets eroded away, and people become so complacent. Comprise... comprise... comprise.... The brains dim, the blade dulls and before you know it... your voting republican and gulping down pork rinds. It isn't us, Johnny or should I say... Jonathon."
"Fuck off, ghost of Nightmare past." Johnny mumbled and turned his back and started to walk away.
"You don't want to hear the truth; you've lost conviction, lost your spark. You envy me." Mirror Nny snarled. "You forget who you were... only wish, you could have taste of what you once were... you're a failure... Jonathon C."
Johnny spun on his heels his one eye blazing with anger. "LIES, LIES! I remember I when was young, I was miserable! I had nothing, nothing but insanity and blood! I hated myself! I hated everyone and killed without discretion, without mercy! I WAS A FUCKING MOSNTER!" He yelled at the mirror. "I didn't think I deserved happiness. Didn't think I could get happiness. I couldn't handle any emotion beyond blinding rage and despair. But you see, Nny I've learned a lot since I was you. I've had happiness; pure wonderful undiluted joy was MINE! ALL MINE! I HAD A REAL LIFE!" He seethed with rage, teeth barred, hat flung aside.
The young man in the reflection looked at him with a thoughtful gaze and spoke calmly. "Ah yes... your so called 'happiness'. Look at it closer. It wasn't happiness, it was submitting to emotions. You became a slave to your feelings and instincts the instinct to find a mate, to breed nothing more then that. Your happiness was hollow. It was dependant on so few people and things. It was hollow. There were so few moments of 'pure undiluted joy' anyhow. It was more of the monotony of middle class life, punctuated with scrambles to make ends meet and domestic disputes. And besides where is your vaunted happiness now? It's gone all gone, you lost it. And you turned back to watered down version... a hazy reflection of your old self to regain it." Mirror Nny sneered.
"SHUT UP! I HATE YOU!" Johnny yelled. He drove his fists through the cracked surface of the mirror. It shattered into hundreds of small shards. He looked at his hands they were cut and covered with blood. And it was dripping down and down to the cold ground. He saw the fragments of the mirror; each one contained a small version of Nny, all of them grinning evilly at him.
"But we are you." Said the shards.
Johnny turned away once more; he sat down and curled himself into a ball. Everything ached so much now all the time. it was too cold here and his hands wouldn't stop bleeding. What had he become? Just an old weak shell of a man. How had this happened.?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Doctor Stevenson had to be one of few worthy people in this he had met so far. His madness had ruined his chances with any sort of social relationship with the other three. But Doctor Stevenson had helped him get rid of that. Doctor Stevenson even looked like a nice person, like Santa Claus only younger and black without the beard.
"When I came here, I was so messed up. I was a prisoner of my own delusions. I was hearing voices. I thought I was mass murderer. I thought, I died and came back from the grave. I was such a fucking mess, they had to keep me locked up in padded cell, and drugged up. How can I ever thank you Doctor?" Johnny said looking around the modest office.
"You don't have to," Doctor Stevenson smiled. "You're the one that made the progress. I knew you were an intelligent, artistic, articulate young man underneath it all. We just had to get you back to that place, where you could be that person again."
"So, I'm totally sane again?" He asked.
"I don't believe anyone is totally sane, everyone has their problems, I just work on getting my patients to a level that is acceptable to society," Doctor Stevenson said. "In the one year I had you and you're already in out patient treatment, that's remarkable."
"Everything seemed so dark and so twisted a year ago. I was a prisoner of my own mind. I had no way of getting out. And no one in the world seemed to care. I was so lost, so far away from reality. And now, I've come back, somehow and it's waking up from a nightmare." Johnny said, giving a small smile.
"Hmmm speaking of nightmares, I've looked at the artwork you brought me. It's some of the darkest and bleakest things I've seen-" Doctor Stevenson started.
"Look, I draw and paint what I feel, what I know, and how I see the world! You said your self I've made progress! You can't make judgments on my sanity because of some scribbling on paper-" Johnny growled standing up.
"-Calm yourself, now. I think you have real talent here you should get a portfolio of your work together and submit it to publishing company. As for the subject matter of your drawings, this medium seems to be a safe outlet to express your feelings. And I encourage you to continue it." Doctor Stevenson answered a faint smile on his face.
"Really? You think so, thanks. Sorry about the outburst-" Johnny stated apologetically.
"It's fine. Well, I'd say that this wraps up our session for today. I'll see you the same time next week." Doctor Stevenson said.
"Yeah, good bye then." Johnny said and turned to leave.
"Before you go take this, it's the sketchbook you had me look at last time." Doctor Stevenson added.
Johnny turned around and the Doctor handed him, a tattered sketchbook. "Thanks."
He was walking back, down the narrow echoing linoleum corridor and back to the little clean apartment they had gotten for him. When he got there he'd re-examine the sketches and... There was someone coming the other way, not looking at where they going. They rushed into him, knocking the sketchbook onto the floor and scattering the pages. He gritted his teeth, another asshole. Another person who didn't give a shit how they acted and how hurt anyone else. He could feel the anger rising with him. He didn't want it taking control. He thought of what Doctor Stevenson had taught him. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, slowing and quietly counting to twenty.
He didn't hear their foot steps going further down the halls. He opened his eyes and saw sitting the person who had just bumped into him was picking up the various loose pages. And person was the right word for them, he couldn't tell the gender. They had a shaved head with a light growth of blonde fuzz on the scalp, large thick circle frame glasses and they wore a drab baggy sweat suit which revealed nothing of their body. The person turned and smiled faintly at him, handing him a stack of papers. "What are you doing?" Johnny asked in s defensive tone.
"I wasn't looking were I was going and I made ya drop it. The least I can do is pick it up for you," The person said, their voice sounded female with and they had a slight southern accent. "The things you drew here are interestin' I like your style." She added examining the pages, before handing them to him.
"Thank you." He said quietly, taking the papers. It had been a long time since he received a compliant on his work and yet today he had gotten two. This was very odd day indeed. He couldn't remember the last time so many people, had been so kind to him.
"I know I look odd, but you would mind not staring and help me, this is your stuff after all." She said.
"I wasn't staring, at you (though you do look like an insect) really. I just thinking about how extremely rare random acts of kindness are." Johnny said, crouching down to help pick up the flood of papers that had flown from his sketchbook. He didn't remember how he filled up do many pages.
"Yeah, they are aren't they? There are so many people out there who're just wastes o' skin." She sighed.
"Yeah." He said.
"However, there are a few people, out there who can put your faith back in mankind." She continued smiling. "You have to risk it to find them. All life is a risk, just one big ride of the wall of death, (Which is song reference no one gets)."
"And you just happen to be one of those people." He said in sarcastic tone.
"Me?" She giggled. "Naw. I'm just too messed up. By the way my name is Katrina, what is yours?" She said offering her hand for a friendly handshake.
"I'm Johnny," He said cringing away from her outstretched hand. He noticed a faint vertical scar running from the bottom of palm and disappearing into under the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "You tried to kill yourself."
"Yeah," Katrina sighed and looked away, her smile gone. "It's just one the fucked up things I used to do. I happen to be bi-polar, an amateur folk singer and I'm late for my appointment with Doctor Stevenson. All your papers are picked up. I think I'll get goin'. Nice meeting you Johnny." She got up and started down the corridor.
"Wait!" Johnny called after her.
"What?" She turned around.
"I should walk you down there. He hates it when his patients are late and I guess it's my fault, I could explain everything." He said. "Okay, thanks." She said and smiled. She had a nice smile. ~~~~~ The wound was bound now. The cold gnawed at him and his clothing was all to thin and ragged, to protect against much. "You gave in, the flesh was weak and your mind was weaker," The shards hissed behind him. "She was your friend at first, just a friend a good friend... why the fuck did YOU need a friend?"
"Because all the voices in my head were gone." He answered sarcastically.
"Oh, touché," The shards said in blasé tone. "And what pray tell did that get anyway? After all those years, she's gone. And you're alone on the street and you're missing an eye. "
"Shut up." He growled. He closed his eye and tired to breathe, to think. Then he saw her, long blonde hair spread out like a halo, in a pool of blood. a gaping hole in her face. the lights of the police cars and the children. a little boy spattered with blood and gore and a girl.... girl with thick brown hair and eyes like his. crying. He opened his eye again. It was cold, miserable and now it was raining. Why the fuck did have to be in New York City in November? He reached in the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a creased and faded photograph. It was picture of the girl, she had to be about three in the picture and she was smiling into the camera. "Oh, yes Genevive. my little Veevee... I have to find you. your suffering..."
-Nny- It was strange city; the building loomed like dark towers. He was unused to this place, but he knew she was here somewhere in this large dim and filthy maze, and to make it worse it was late November and very cold. Not many people noticed him dismissing the man as an old bum. He looked the part as well: disheveled grey hair, poking out from beneath a frayed hat, paper thin body, and ragged clothing. If you looked long enough you could see his face: gaunt, wrinkled, dirty and unshaven, with one eye blazing with some kind of determination and the other... wasn't there it was just an empty gaping socket. The ones that did notice shuddered in revulsion and horror, before wordlessly turning away and walking on. He scowled and turned back, walking back into the dark alleyway, in which he was living." I'm so sick of that look, it's like I ruin their day because I exist," he muttered. "I could just rip open their skulls and take out their brains ... that'd teach those assholes a thing or two."
"Then why don't you, Johnny?" An all too familiar voice said to him. He looked up, and saw a dirty and slightly cracked mirror leaning against the dumpster. The reflection in the mirror was his own; however it was a younger self clad all in black, with that jet black hair and those silver buckle boots.
"Will you leave me the fuck, alone I don't need to be caught, and I'm tired... you damned hallucination." Johnny sighed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you Nny, what the fuck is wrong with me? Afraid to be caught are we? To tired to give some assholes a lesson in etiquette? Where did we go so wrong and become some tired old, pathetic man, eh?" The mirror Nny spat back.
"You don't understand. First I'm not old, I'm middle aged. Secondly I'm not as fast or as good, I was when I was your age... I've gotten caught before whatever was protecting me or us back then, has stopped. And thirdly, it's hard as you get older to be an insomniac...everything feels so cold and aching now... every part of me screams for rest." Johnny said.
"EXCUSES, EXCUSES!" Mirror Nny screeched and wrung his gloved hands. "My god, we've become so spineless, if I knew this was to be my future I would have blown my head off again. You've gone soft Nny, oh so soft... like a fresh marshmallow peep. just like all old people, they start off with ideals but everything gets eroded away, and people become so complacent. Comprise... comprise... comprise.... The brains dim, the blade dulls and before you know it... your voting republican and gulping down pork rinds. It isn't us, Johnny or should I say... Jonathon."
"Fuck off, ghost of Nightmare past." Johnny mumbled and turned his back and started to walk away.
"You don't want to hear the truth; you've lost conviction, lost your spark. You envy me." Mirror Nny snarled. "You forget who you were... only wish, you could have taste of what you once were... you're a failure... Jonathon C."
Johnny spun on his heels his one eye blazing with anger. "LIES, LIES! I remember I when was young, I was miserable! I had nothing, nothing but insanity and blood! I hated myself! I hated everyone and killed without discretion, without mercy! I WAS A FUCKING MOSNTER!" He yelled at the mirror. "I didn't think I deserved happiness. Didn't think I could get happiness. I couldn't handle any emotion beyond blinding rage and despair. But you see, Nny I've learned a lot since I was you. I've had happiness; pure wonderful undiluted joy was MINE! ALL MINE! I HAD A REAL LIFE!" He seethed with rage, teeth barred, hat flung aside.
The young man in the reflection looked at him with a thoughtful gaze and spoke calmly. "Ah yes... your so called 'happiness'. Look at it closer. It wasn't happiness, it was submitting to emotions. You became a slave to your feelings and instincts the instinct to find a mate, to breed nothing more then that. Your happiness was hollow. It was dependant on so few people and things. It was hollow. There were so few moments of 'pure undiluted joy' anyhow. It was more of the monotony of middle class life, punctuated with scrambles to make ends meet and domestic disputes. And besides where is your vaunted happiness now? It's gone all gone, you lost it. And you turned back to watered down version... a hazy reflection of your old self to regain it." Mirror Nny sneered.
"SHUT UP! I HATE YOU!" Johnny yelled. He drove his fists through the cracked surface of the mirror. It shattered into hundreds of small shards. He looked at his hands they were cut and covered with blood. And it was dripping down and down to the cold ground. He saw the fragments of the mirror; each one contained a small version of Nny, all of them grinning evilly at him.
"But we are you." Said the shards.
Johnny turned away once more; he sat down and curled himself into a ball. Everything ached so much now all the time. it was too cold here and his hands wouldn't stop bleeding. What had he become? Just an old weak shell of a man. How had this happened.?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Doctor Stevenson had to be one of few worthy people in this he had met so far. His madness had ruined his chances with any sort of social relationship with the other three. But Doctor Stevenson had helped him get rid of that. Doctor Stevenson even looked like a nice person, like Santa Claus only younger and black without the beard.
"When I came here, I was so messed up. I was a prisoner of my own delusions. I was hearing voices. I thought I was mass murderer. I thought, I died and came back from the grave. I was such a fucking mess, they had to keep me locked up in padded cell, and drugged up. How can I ever thank you Doctor?" Johnny said looking around the modest office.
"You don't have to," Doctor Stevenson smiled. "You're the one that made the progress. I knew you were an intelligent, artistic, articulate young man underneath it all. We just had to get you back to that place, where you could be that person again."
"So, I'm totally sane again?" He asked.
"I don't believe anyone is totally sane, everyone has their problems, I just work on getting my patients to a level that is acceptable to society," Doctor Stevenson said. "In the one year I had you and you're already in out patient treatment, that's remarkable."
"Everything seemed so dark and so twisted a year ago. I was a prisoner of my own mind. I had no way of getting out. And no one in the world seemed to care. I was so lost, so far away from reality. And now, I've come back, somehow and it's waking up from a nightmare." Johnny said, giving a small smile.
"Hmmm speaking of nightmares, I've looked at the artwork you brought me. It's some of the darkest and bleakest things I've seen-" Doctor Stevenson started.
"Look, I draw and paint what I feel, what I know, and how I see the world! You said your self I've made progress! You can't make judgments on my sanity because of some scribbling on paper-" Johnny growled standing up.
"-Calm yourself, now. I think you have real talent here you should get a portfolio of your work together and submit it to publishing company. As for the subject matter of your drawings, this medium seems to be a safe outlet to express your feelings. And I encourage you to continue it." Doctor Stevenson answered a faint smile on his face.
"Really? You think so, thanks. Sorry about the outburst-" Johnny stated apologetically.
"It's fine. Well, I'd say that this wraps up our session for today. I'll see you the same time next week." Doctor Stevenson said.
"Yeah, good bye then." Johnny said and turned to leave.
"Before you go take this, it's the sketchbook you had me look at last time." Doctor Stevenson added.
Johnny turned around and the Doctor handed him, a tattered sketchbook. "Thanks."
He was walking back, down the narrow echoing linoleum corridor and back to the little clean apartment they had gotten for him. When he got there he'd re-examine the sketches and... There was someone coming the other way, not looking at where they going. They rushed into him, knocking the sketchbook onto the floor and scattering the pages. He gritted his teeth, another asshole. Another person who didn't give a shit how they acted and how hurt anyone else. He could feel the anger rising with him. He didn't want it taking control. He thought of what Doctor Stevenson had taught him. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, slowing and quietly counting to twenty.
He didn't hear their foot steps going further down the halls. He opened his eyes and saw sitting the person who had just bumped into him was picking up the various loose pages. And person was the right word for them, he couldn't tell the gender. They had a shaved head with a light growth of blonde fuzz on the scalp, large thick circle frame glasses and they wore a drab baggy sweat suit which revealed nothing of their body. The person turned and smiled faintly at him, handing him a stack of papers. "What are you doing?" Johnny asked in s defensive tone.
"I wasn't looking were I was going and I made ya drop it. The least I can do is pick it up for you," The person said, their voice sounded female with and they had a slight southern accent. "The things you drew here are interestin' I like your style." She added examining the pages, before handing them to him.
"Thank you." He said quietly, taking the papers. It had been a long time since he received a compliant on his work and yet today he had gotten two. This was very odd day indeed. He couldn't remember the last time so many people, had been so kind to him.
"I know I look odd, but you would mind not staring and help me, this is your stuff after all." She said.
"I wasn't staring, at you (though you do look like an insect) really. I just thinking about how extremely rare random acts of kindness are." Johnny said, crouching down to help pick up the flood of papers that had flown from his sketchbook. He didn't remember how he filled up do many pages.
"Yeah, they are aren't they? There are so many people out there who're just wastes o' skin." She sighed.
"Yeah." He said.
"However, there are a few people, out there who can put your faith back in mankind." She continued smiling. "You have to risk it to find them. All life is a risk, just one big ride of the wall of death, (Which is song reference no one gets)."
"And you just happen to be one of those people." He said in sarcastic tone.
"Me?" She giggled. "Naw. I'm just too messed up. By the way my name is Katrina, what is yours?" She said offering her hand for a friendly handshake.
"I'm Johnny," He said cringing away from her outstretched hand. He noticed a faint vertical scar running from the bottom of palm and disappearing into under the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "You tried to kill yourself."
"Yeah," Katrina sighed and looked away, her smile gone. "It's just one the fucked up things I used to do. I happen to be bi-polar, an amateur folk singer and I'm late for my appointment with Doctor Stevenson. All your papers are picked up. I think I'll get goin'. Nice meeting you Johnny." She got up and started down the corridor.
"Wait!" Johnny called after her.
"What?" She turned around.
"I should walk you down there. He hates it when his patients are late and I guess it's my fault, I could explain everything." He said. "Okay, thanks." She said and smiled. She had a nice smile. ~~~~~ The wound was bound now. The cold gnawed at him and his clothing was all to thin and ragged, to protect against much. "You gave in, the flesh was weak and your mind was weaker," The shards hissed behind him. "She was your friend at first, just a friend a good friend... why the fuck did YOU need a friend?"
"Because all the voices in my head were gone." He answered sarcastically.
"Oh, touché," The shards said in blasé tone. "And what pray tell did that get anyway? After all those years, she's gone. And you're alone on the street and you're missing an eye. "
"Shut up." He growled. He closed his eye and tired to breathe, to think. Then he saw her, long blonde hair spread out like a halo, in a pool of blood. a gaping hole in her face. the lights of the police cars and the children. a little boy spattered with blood and gore and a girl.... girl with thick brown hair and eyes like his. crying. He opened his eye again. It was cold, miserable and now it was raining. Why the fuck did have to be in New York City in November? He reached in the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a creased and faded photograph. It was picture of the girl, she had to be about three in the picture and she was smiling into the camera. "Oh, yes Genevive. my little Veevee... I have to find you. your suffering..."