Saturday, September 13, 2003
10:53 PM
-Beginning Transmission-
Hello. Good evening and welcome to the sequel to 'Bullet With Butterfly Wings'. I strongly advise that you read the first story before this one, as this one will undoubtedly make more sense if you do so. Then you'll know about all the characters in here that have been added, and you'll be much better off. It's rated R just to be safe.
SO, I'll shut up now and go on with the story, since no one likes to hear authors ramble. I bet you're not even reading anymore, huh? Well, oh well. So, why are you still reading this? Why aren't you reading the story? HUH? READ it. Ignore me. Skip all my shit. OK then. Fine. Be that way.
*/*/*
Nny lifted his head from his arms. He'd been lying on them at the kitchen counter, and somehow must have fallen asleep. He still loathed sleep. He'd changed many of things about his life. No more killing, no more succumbing to voices. And yet he still detested sleep.
Most of his positive changes had been a result of Nny living in Devi's apartment instead of that hellhole of a house he had once lived in. #777. The number for heaven my ass.
Nny stood and looked around the dark kitchen. Some light from a street lamp outside illuminated everything softly in its terrible dim glow. Darkness was better. Nny sighed. He looked toward the direction of Devi's painting room.
"Devi? Devi can you hear me?" he whispered softly. There was no answer. There never was. He liked to believe there was, since he could almost hear her voice even now. But there wasn't any real answer. Just the sound of the silence pressing upon his eardrums. God, it was lonely. He wished he could change the past. He missed so much he'd once had.
He missed Amy. He missed baby Johnny.
And he missed Devi. Especially Devi. He'd give just about anything to change the past. Anything to have her back. It hadn't taken long to realize how hard it was to live without her.
He and Tenna had finally decided to tell no one about Devi. She still resided where she had on that terrible night. Nny hadn't been in there since. He remembered that night, crying for the longest time after Tenna had left around seven hours after the discovery. How he'd sat over his Devi, crying endlessly into the night and finally standing weakly and leaving to room, never looking back at her. And he'd sat in the living room, on the sofa, crying and screaming in despair, remembering the last time he'd sat there, Devi holding him in her arms, asking him what was wrong. And if only he'd told her everything. Told her that he somehow could sense what was going to happen that night. And he remembered drifting off to sleep in her arms, so content, so secure, so glad for the feeling. Hoping it would never end. And then it ended only a few short hours later.
He swallowed a sob and looked back in the direction of the painting room. He couldn't stand it anymore. He took a deep breath and headed in the direction of the room, almost blindly, zombie-like. Walking faithfully and yet shakily toward his destination. He reached the door only a few seconds later, hand closing around the cold doorknob and turning it. The door slung open with a dry rustling of air, and Johnny walked carefully into the room, looking down at the floor.
He had expected to see some change in her saying 'I'm dead', but other than the drastic paling of her skin she looked no different. She still lay exactly as she had that night. And he remembered. He remembered too well. How he'd finally let go of her, reluctant to stop clutching her against him, trying to bring some life back to her. He'd lay her on her back on the floor, hands crossed on her chest. It was all as it had been. The paintbrush lay only a few inches from her right hand. The empty aspirin bottle lay a few feet from her left leg. Nny shakily inhaled the air of the room. It smelled cold and unwelcoming. The room smelled quite plainly of death. He walked a bit closer to her and knelt down, gazing at her beautiful face, immobile in death. Her eyes closed forever. Her mouth was drawn into a straight, stern line. No smile resided there. Her lips rested still, no longer forming the only loving words he'd ever heard anyone say to him. Nny shook his head sadly. Where there had once been life, there was now only silence. Devi wasn't in there anymore. Only an empty shell lay before him. And shit, that hurt him to know.
He stared at her face for a few moments longer and then turned and left the room, shutting to door gently behind him. In that room baby Johnny and Devi had both died. That room brought nothing but pain to him when he thought of it.
He returned to the kitchen once more and sat down at the table. He lay his cheek against the cool wood and closed his eyes as warm tears began to moisten his cheeks.
*/*/*
More soon.
11:39 PM
10:53 PM
-Beginning Transmission-
Hello. Good evening and welcome to the sequel to 'Bullet With Butterfly Wings'. I strongly advise that you read the first story before this one, as this one will undoubtedly make more sense if you do so. Then you'll know about all the characters in here that have been added, and you'll be much better off. It's rated R just to be safe.
SO, I'll shut up now and go on with the story, since no one likes to hear authors ramble. I bet you're not even reading anymore, huh? Well, oh well. So, why are you still reading this? Why aren't you reading the story? HUH? READ it. Ignore me. Skip all my shit. OK then. Fine. Be that way.
*/*/*
Nny lifted his head from his arms. He'd been lying on them at the kitchen counter, and somehow must have fallen asleep. He still loathed sleep. He'd changed many of things about his life. No more killing, no more succumbing to voices. And yet he still detested sleep.
Most of his positive changes had been a result of Nny living in Devi's apartment instead of that hellhole of a house he had once lived in. #777. The number for heaven my ass.
Nny stood and looked around the dark kitchen. Some light from a street lamp outside illuminated everything softly in its terrible dim glow. Darkness was better. Nny sighed. He looked toward the direction of Devi's painting room.
"Devi? Devi can you hear me?" he whispered softly. There was no answer. There never was. He liked to believe there was, since he could almost hear her voice even now. But there wasn't any real answer. Just the sound of the silence pressing upon his eardrums. God, it was lonely. He wished he could change the past. He missed so much he'd once had.
He missed Amy. He missed baby Johnny.
And he missed Devi. Especially Devi. He'd give just about anything to change the past. Anything to have her back. It hadn't taken long to realize how hard it was to live without her.
He and Tenna had finally decided to tell no one about Devi. She still resided where she had on that terrible night. Nny hadn't been in there since. He remembered that night, crying for the longest time after Tenna had left around seven hours after the discovery. How he'd sat over his Devi, crying endlessly into the night and finally standing weakly and leaving to room, never looking back at her. And he'd sat in the living room, on the sofa, crying and screaming in despair, remembering the last time he'd sat there, Devi holding him in her arms, asking him what was wrong. And if only he'd told her everything. Told her that he somehow could sense what was going to happen that night. And he remembered drifting off to sleep in her arms, so content, so secure, so glad for the feeling. Hoping it would never end. And then it ended only a few short hours later.
He swallowed a sob and looked back in the direction of the painting room. He couldn't stand it anymore. He took a deep breath and headed in the direction of the room, almost blindly, zombie-like. Walking faithfully and yet shakily toward his destination. He reached the door only a few seconds later, hand closing around the cold doorknob and turning it. The door slung open with a dry rustling of air, and Johnny walked carefully into the room, looking down at the floor.
He had expected to see some change in her saying 'I'm dead', but other than the drastic paling of her skin she looked no different. She still lay exactly as she had that night. And he remembered. He remembered too well. How he'd finally let go of her, reluctant to stop clutching her against him, trying to bring some life back to her. He'd lay her on her back on the floor, hands crossed on her chest. It was all as it had been. The paintbrush lay only a few inches from her right hand. The empty aspirin bottle lay a few feet from her left leg. Nny shakily inhaled the air of the room. It smelled cold and unwelcoming. The room smelled quite plainly of death. He walked a bit closer to her and knelt down, gazing at her beautiful face, immobile in death. Her eyes closed forever. Her mouth was drawn into a straight, stern line. No smile resided there. Her lips rested still, no longer forming the only loving words he'd ever heard anyone say to him. Nny shook his head sadly. Where there had once been life, there was now only silence. Devi wasn't in there anymore. Only an empty shell lay before him. And shit, that hurt him to know.
He stared at her face for a few moments longer and then turned and left the room, shutting to door gently behind him. In that room baby Johnny and Devi had both died. That room brought nothing but pain to him when he thought of it.
He returned to the kitchen once more and sat down at the table. He lay his cheek against the cool wood and closed his eyes as warm tears began to moisten his cheeks.
*/*/*
More soon.
11:39 PM