Title: The Tell-Tale Heart
Author: Lamia's Shadow
Rating: PG-13 to R for explicit and extreme violence, gore, and language
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Jhonen Vasquez, and everything else belongs to me. Title belongs to Edgar Allen Poe. No infringement is intended nor is any money being made - this is purely for entertainment purposes. Please don't sue me, I have no money. (So there!)
Summary: The thoughts and ruminations of an imaginary bunny...
A/N: The second time around. See below...
And on with the story...
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Upon reflection, a figment of an imagination does not necessarily have to feel. It can, upon the discretion of the imaginer, merely be a mirror of emotions, or a puppet of the imaginer, feeling whatever the imaginer wants it to feel. Or, if you wanted to be totally without imagination, a figment of an imagination does not have to feel at all. It is, after all, a figment of an imagination.
Apparently, Nny had imagination. A lot of imagination. Enough so that Nail Bunny could sustain itself as an independent figment of an imagination. And right now, though Nail Bunny could not cry, it felt the emotions that a mother might feel if she were in the darkest pits of despair. Shock, fear, concern, guilt, but mostly heart-wrenching grief. He could not look at Nny, and he could not look away. Here was a small boy, lying in a congealing pool of his own blood, looking for all the world like a homicidal and suicidal maniac. But Nail Bunny had once cared for Nny, as Nny had once cared for him, and Nail Bunny represented all that was sane and logical with Nny. And so, Nail Bunny saw past the blood, saw past the violence and the hate, and he saw what no one else saw. He saw a child. He saw pale, translucent skin, still incredibly soft and fragile to the touch. He saw painfully thin limbs and body, saw the need for nourishment. He saw deep anger and sadness, saw endless confusion and hurt, and most of all, loneliness. It was this overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness that made Nail Bunny wish that he had a physical form so that he could just scoop up this sad scrap of a human being and just run away to some remote location, someplace where no one would be able to find them, to hurt them, to hurt Nny, so that Nail Bunny could erase all the pain and make everything better again.
There was hope, and there was despair. Because Nail Bunny knew that this would never happen. Because Nail Bunny was not made of physical stuff, because Nny himself would never allow it. As much as he hated the world, the world needed him to survive, to keep from devouring each other in primitive orgiastic feeding frenzies that even the most base of animals would be terrified of. No, there was no solution to the problem, no seeming end for Nny's suffering. Whatever good could happen, either Nny, the world, or circumstances would ruin it, turn it into something wrong, skew it into a grotesque mutation of original intentions. And so, Nail Bunny could do nothing more than feel bad for Nny. 'Fat lot of good that will do.' Nail Bunny darkly thought to himself.
Nail Bunny continued this futile train of thought for some time. So engrossed in it he was that he did not even notice when Nny began showing the first signs that he was still alive. When Nny finally woke up, he was stiff and cold. He was also a bit scared.
"Nail Bunny?" Nny hesitatingly called out. "What am I covered in? What happened?" Nny had fallen unconscious, forgetting most of what had transpired before he had so intelligently hurled himself into a wall of knives, thus grievously injuring himself.
"It's blood Nny." Nail Bunny's voice floated to Nny, and a moment later, Nail Bunny appeared in front of him, a slightly chagrined yet sad look on its face.
Nny looked about him, looked down at his clothes, his body, stiff and cold with dark brown blood all over, at the dried blood that was not only on him, but on his knives, the floor around him, splattered on the wall, everywhere. It seemed as if something very savage had just happened, a murder that only the twenty-first century could produce, and though Nny was not unfamiliar to the concept of grisly acts of violence in his home, he did not remember such an act occurring within the recent past.
"Whose blood is it, Nail Bunny?" Nny asked, confusion coloring his words.
Heavy sigh, then "It's your blood Nny. All of it is your blood."
Nny took these words in with silent shock, looking around, amazed that all this blood could come from such a small and thin body. He was completely covered in a thick layer of dried blood. He was glad that he did not have carpeting, for if he did, it would now be so deeply stained that Nny would have to reinstall it. The wall had vivid, bold splashes of blood, a desperate attempt at trying to pass for a bad piece of modern art. And all around him lay knives, his knives, glittering in the moonlight, most of them sporting new, dried blood coats, all of them still impossibly sharp. Because Nny honestly did not know how to feel, did not know how to react to the situation, to the damning evidence of... something... that covered not only himself but most of his living room, Nny decided not to react. All his befuddled mind could offer was to help Nny stand up and begin cleaning up the mess.
He first gathered up his knives - there were a lot of them - and take them to the sink to clean. The knives were, after all, his instruments, his beloved tools, and one must always take care of their tools. So Nny gathered them all up, took them to the sink, and washed them, one by one, taking care to dry them thoroughly. 'Mustn't let them rust', he thought.
Then, he ran some warm water into a bucket, dumped in a healthy amount of soap, grabbed a big, thick sponge, and started to clean the blood off the walls. The warm, soapy water first turned pink, then red. By the time the wall was totally clean, the water was a deep, dark red color. Then Nny went to work on the floor. He went to get a mop and started to clean the floor in earnest, harshly rubbing the mop across the floor, sweating with his ministrations. As with the wall, the water turned pink, then red, before finally settling on a deep dark crimson.
Through it all, Nny stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say or how to react. Nail Bunny stayed silent as well, since he too did not know what to say or how to react. He just floated there, content to watch Nny in the same sort of denying confusion that Nny was in.
Living room and instruments satisfactorily clean, Nny stood there, lost, not knowing what to do since there was nothing else to clean. Nny looked at Nail Bunny, and once again, Nail Bunny was struck with how young Nny looked, how much of a child he still was, still, in many ways, so innocent and vulnerable. Nny looked like he was going to say something, thought better of it, and walked towards the bathroom. Moments later, Nail Bunny heard the shower running, and he was relieved. Relieved that Nny was out of the room, that he had spared him from saying something, from reacting.
In the back of the house, in the shower, Nny hissed as the scorching hot water made contact with his skin, but he did not move. He stood dutifully under the unrelenting onslaught of the water, head bent, watching the water turn pink with blood.
'With my blood' he thought. And the thought scared him more than he would ever admit. He stared at his arms, his skin, his body, marred with hundreds of tiny scratches and cuts. "How did it come to this? These tormentors of mine, these horrible, mindless things, desperately running with their heads down towards nothing, running until they die, teaching their offspring to do the same. Am I the same, thinking that I am different?" Nny smiled, gave a small snort of laughter. "It is not enough that I avenge myself on them. It is not enough that I rid the world of their filth and ignorance, not enough that I expunge humanity of its more ... uglier... components. It doesn't matter what I do. They will still hurt me. They will still find a way to ruin what little figments of contentment and peace I have. Even today, ruminations on them have forced me to turn on myself. They will always find a way to hurt me. Who ever would have thought?"
Nny was sad. He felt it, welling inside of him, knowing that it would soon explode into a mushroom cloud of rage and grief. And Nny, being alone and too tired to care, let go. Letting his psyche be the canvas, he let the emotions roll across it, let it play and fuck, let it beat each other up, assert it's individual dominance, and in general, let them devour him and spit him back out again. And as they wrecked emotional havoc, Nny remembered, in picture perfect clarity, every single person he had ever hurt, every person he had murdered. It was a long time before he was finished. And Nny remembered, not from his perspective, nor from their perspective, but from no perspective. Nny was a by-stander, observing without commenting, simply passing through but not participating, indifferent and apathetic. And somehow, this was a hundred times worse than actually being the victim, than being killed. Because Nny not only saw his fury, his calculated coldness and dementia, he also saw the victim's painfully slow movements, their absolute ignorance and fear. Seeing all of this together, and simply not caring, made it all worse, made the pain unbearable. Tears streamed down his face, washed away in a second, becoming oblivion. And, like a child, naked and alone, Nny curled into a small ball and cried.
TBC...
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
A/N: I come back from obscurity, or at least from a lack of ideas and an unhealthy surplus of reality. After finally getting an idea and getting off of my lazy ass, you now have the third installment of my story. Really missing those reviews, so you know what to do. To all those that review, thank you for your continued support. To all those who don't review, start reviewing. Even if it's just a review saying that you've read the story, because I've walways wondered how many people have just read it. Anyways, hopefully you enjoy this, and if you would like to see something included in the story or see the story go in a particular direction, don't hesitate and drop me a line... I sorta don't have any idea myself, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!
A/N: The second time around, making bits of modifications, everything falling into the grand scheme of things... Yeah, next chapter my grand plan will be revealed... (I'm sorry, I haven't had enough sleep. Please excuse my inanity.)
Author: Lamia's Shadow
Rating: PG-13 to R for explicit and extreme violence, gore, and language
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Jhonen Vasquez, and everything else belongs to me. Title belongs to Edgar Allen Poe. No infringement is intended nor is any money being made - this is purely for entertainment purposes. Please don't sue me, I have no money. (So there!)
Summary: The thoughts and ruminations of an imaginary bunny...
A/N: The second time around. See below...
And on with the story...
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Upon reflection, a figment of an imagination does not necessarily have to feel. It can, upon the discretion of the imaginer, merely be a mirror of emotions, or a puppet of the imaginer, feeling whatever the imaginer wants it to feel. Or, if you wanted to be totally without imagination, a figment of an imagination does not have to feel at all. It is, after all, a figment of an imagination.
Apparently, Nny had imagination. A lot of imagination. Enough so that Nail Bunny could sustain itself as an independent figment of an imagination. And right now, though Nail Bunny could not cry, it felt the emotions that a mother might feel if she were in the darkest pits of despair. Shock, fear, concern, guilt, but mostly heart-wrenching grief. He could not look at Nny, and he could not look away. Here was a small boy, lying in a congealing pool of his own blood, looking for all the world like a homicidal and suicidal maniac. But Nail Bunny had once cared for Nny, as Nny had once cared for him, and Nail Bunny represented all that was sane and logical with Nny. And so, Nail Bunny saw past the blood, saw past the violence and the hate, and he saw what no one else saw. He saw a child. He saw pale, translucent skin, still incredibly soft and fragile to the touch. He saw painfully thin limbs and body, saw the need for nourishment. He saw deep anger and sadness, saw endless confusion and hurt, and most of all, loneliness. It was this overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness that made Nail Bunny wish that he had a physical form so that he could just scoop up this sad scrap of a human being and just run away to some remote location, someplace where no one would be able to find them, to hurt them, to hurt Nny, so that Nail Bunny could erase all the pain and make everything better again.
There was hope, and there was despair. Because Nail Bunny knew that this would never happen. Because Nail Bunny was not made of physical stuff, because Nny himself would never allow it. As much as he hated the world, the world needed him to survive, to keep from devouring each other in primitive orgiastic feeding frenzies that even the most base of animals would be terrified of. No, there was no solution to the problem, no seeming end for Nny's suffering. Whatever good could happen, either Nny, the world, or circumstances would ruin it, turn it into something wrong, skew it into a grotesque mutation of original intentions. And so, Nail Bunny could do nothing more than feel bad for Nny. 'Fat lot of good that will do.' Nail Bunny darkly thought to himself.
Nail Bunny continued this futile train of thought for some time. So engrossed in it he was that he did not even notice when Nny began showing the first signs that he was still alive. When Nny finally woke up, he was stiff and cold. He was also a bit scared.
"Nail Bunny?" Nny hesitatingly called out. "What am I covered in? What happened?" Nny had fallen unconscious, forgetting most of what had transpired before he had so intelligently hurled himself into a wall of knives, thus grievously injuring himself.
"It's blood Nny." Nail Bunny's voice floated to Nny, and a moment later, Nail Bunny appeared in front of him, a slightly chagrined yet sad look on its face.
Nny looked about him, looked down at his clothes, his body, stiff and cold with dark brown blood all over, at the dried blood that was not only on him, but on his knives, the floor around him, splattered on the wall, everywhere. It seemed as if something very savage had just happened, a murder that only the twenty-first century could produce, and though Nny was not unfamiliar to the concept of grisly acts of violence in his home, he did not remember such an act occurring within the recent past.
"Whose blood is it, Nail Bunny?" Nny asked, confusion coloring his words.
Heavy sigh, then "It's your blood Nny. All of it is your blood."
Nny took these words in with silent shock, looking around, amazed that all this blood could come from such a small and thin body. He was completely covered in a thick layer of dried blood. He was glad that he did not have carpeting, for if he did, it would now be so deeply stained that Nny would have to reinstall it. The wall had vivid, bold splashes of blood, a desperate attempt at trying to pass for a bad piece of modern art. And all around him lay knives, his knives, glittering in the moonlight, most of them sporting new, dried blood coats, all of them still impossibly sharp. Because Nny honestly did not know how to feel, did not know how to react to the situation, to the damning evidence of... something... that covered not only himself but most of his living room, Nny decided not to react. All his befuddled mind could offer was to help Nny stand up and begin cleaning up the mess.
He first gathered up his knives - there were a lot of them - and take them to the sink to clean. The knives were, after all, his instruments, his beloved tools, and one must always take care of their tools. So Nny gathered them all up, took them to the sink, and washed them, one by one, taking care to dry them thoroughly. 'Mustn't let them rust', he thought.
Then, he ran some warm water into a bucket, dumped in a healthy amount of soap, grabbed a big, thick sponge, and started to clean the blood off the walls. The warm, soapy water first turned pink, then red. By the time the wall was totally clean, the water was a deep, dark red color. Then Nny went to work on the floor. He went to get a mop and started to clean the floor in earnest, harshly rubbing the mop across the floor, sweating with his ministrations. As with the wall, the water turned pink, then red, before finally settling on a deep dark crimson.
Through it all, Nny stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say or how to react. Nail Bunny stayed silent as well, since he too did not know what to say or how to react. He just floated there, content to watch Nny in the same sort of denying confusion that Nny was in.
Living room and instruments satisfactorily clean, Nny stood there, lost, not knowing what to do since there was nothing else to clean. Nny looked at Nail Bunny, and once again, Nail Bunny was struck with how young Nny looked, how much of a child he still was, still, in many ways, so innocent and vulnerable. Nny looked like he was going to say something, thought better of it, and walked towards the bathroom. Moments later, Nail Bunny heard the shower running, and he was relieved. Relieved that Nny was out of the room, that he had spared him from saying something, from reacting.
In the back of the house, in the shower, Nny hissed as the scorching hot water made contact with his skin, but he did not move. He stood dutifully under the unrelenting onslaught of the water, head bent, watching the water turn pink with blood.
'With my blood' he thought. And the thought scared him more than he would ever admit. He stared at his arms, his skin, his body, marred with hundreds of tiny scratches and cuts. "How did it come to this? These tormentors of mine, these horrible, mindless things, desperately running with their heads down towards nothing, running until they die, teaching their offspring to do the same. Am I the same, thinking that I am different?" Nny smiled, gave a small snort of laughter. "It is not enough that I avenge myself on them. It is not enough that I rid the world of their filth and ignorance, not enough that I expunge humanity of its more ... uglier... components. It doesn't matter what I do. They will still hurt me. They will still find a way to ruin what little figments of contentment and peace I have. Even today, ruminations on them have forced me to turn on myself. They will always find a way to hurt me. Who ever would have thought?"
Nny was sad. He felt it, welling inside of him, knowing that it would soon explode into a mushroom cloud of rage and grief. And Nny, being alone and too tired to care, let go. Letting his psyche be the canvas, he let the emotions roll across it, let it play and fuck, let it beat each other up, assert it's individual dominance, and in general, let them devour him and spit him back out again. And as they wrecked emotional havoc, Nny remembered, in picture perfect clarity, every single person he had ever hurt, every person he had murdered. It was a long time before he was finished. And Nny remembered, not from his perspective, nor from their perspective, but from no perspective. Nny was a by-stander, observing without commenting, simply passing through but not participating, indifferent and apathetic. And somehow, this was a hundred times worse than actually being the victim, than being killed. Because Nny not only saw his fury, his calculated coldness and dementia, he also saw the victim's painfully slow movements, their absolute ignorance and fear. Seeing all of this together, and simply not caring, made it all worse, made the pain unbearable. Tears streamed down his face, washed away in a second, becoming oblivion. And, like a child, naked and alone, Nny curled into a small ball and cried.
TBC...
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
A/N: I come back from obscurity, or at least from a lack of ideas and an unhealthy surplus of reality. After finally getting an idea and getting off of my lazy ass, you now have the third installment of my story. Really missing those reviews, so you know what to do. To all those that review, thank you for your continued support. To all those who don't review, start reviewing. Even if it's just a review saying that you've read the story, because I've walways wondered how many people have just read it. Anyways, hopefully you enjoy this, and if you would like to see something included in the story or see the story go in a particular direction, don't hesitate and drop me a line... I sorta don't have any idea myself, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!
A/N: The second time around, making bits of modifications, everything falling into the grand scheme of things... Yeah, next chapter my grand plan will be revealed... (I'm sorry, I haven't had enough sleep. Please excuse my inanity.)