Disclaimer: Honestly, why can't people just assume? Oh well here it is: I
IN FACT DO OWN EVERYTHING I'M WRITING ABOUT EXCEPT NNY, MMY, VOLDEMORT AND
THE CONCEPT OF THE 'DIE-ARY'. NEVERTHELESS I DO NOT GET PAID FOR WRITING
THIS. JOHNNY JUST HAS A KNIFE TO MY THROAT FORCING ME TO WHIMS. Teehee I
wish.
Author's Note: I came to the revelation that for my other story, I have a horrid case of writer's block. If you think this is a true piece of shit and would like to see more things fashioned after the style of my prior story then take it upon yourselves to leave some suggestions.
Another Note on Sequence of Events (AKA the plot): This is what I think would have happened if, instead of crashing through his window and continuing life as is after his stay in death, Johnny went instead on a walk to try to decide if this was his reality. The irony of this story is....well I'm not going to tell you. Figure it out. Anyway Johnny ends up in a group home for his 'violent tendencies' and schizophrenia. The former has shown itself in more or less just a fight where weapons were involved; his trusty smiley knives. Miraculously he got arrested and sent to The House of Merry Acres (sinister name for the place I know). His roommate is none other than MMY, his stalker. Though of course our system of healthcare is so fucked up, that nobody notes this and they're stuck together. Wouldn't it be diabolical if they fell in love? Ha ha I do love slash, but that would just be....
Some day's Promise
Chapter One
Nny's Introduction to Insanity
Like a very thin cat, Johnny was practically curled up on his hard plastic seat situated before his psychiatrist, Dr. England. Though he remembered her from a few months ago when he had done some sleep testing here at the hospital; the woman didn't seem to recall Johnny. Listening but not interpreting, he went through her mindless chortle as she rustled papers on her desk.
"Sir, it says here you had some rather distinctive knives on you at the time of the assault. Where would they be?" she asked.
"If you would just move your eyes up and down a little bit, it would be quite obvious in the police report....and any thinking individual for that matter that the fucking knives are at the police station as evidence!" His voice was casual; a graceful sound at the start of this sentence, building to a tense roar that nearly knocked the doctor's white-blond hair right off her head.
Quickly however, she recovered smugly smiling and murmuring, "There's no need to be hostile Mr. C." She was humming Dixie. Of all things, Jesus Christ, Johnny thought sizing up her neck and the time it would take to find a metal pen in her desk while holding her down. He moved a little, being very uncomfortable in the scratchy material of plain-white mental hospital styling. Oddly they allowed him to keep his boots, the short plain black ones that now he was rather glad he had been wearing at the time. His long ones were uncomfortable, not to mention full of knives.
A sharp knuckle-cracking brought the chirpy woman back to her specimen. "Sign here," Dr. England said shoving the papers at him. It had been one of those moments in the nature of human dislike when the two of them had jointly been staring off into space. Nny had not fully recovered from the hate-induced trance centered the blood-filled veins in her white hands, so he received a thin paper cut on his face from the fluttering forms.
His eyes locked on hers. "And what will this do to me?" he asked with a definite edge to his voice.
"It will release your control over your own destiny Mr. C. The hospital and your caring house mother will be allowed to do basically anything they want to you. We could medicate you until you see little birdies in your underpants, you could be electro shocked into the servitude of Lord Voldemort, or the caring house mother could allow your housemates to poke things up your asshole 'til you cry," England said, obviously delighted with all of these ideas. Madly she clicked a pen in his face, which he snatched away from her just to stop the noise.
"If I refuse?" he asked suspiciously.
"You go to jail where they don't need forms for people to poke things up your asshole!" she cried.
He rolled his eyes, a blaring trademark of an adult who never quite gave up teen angst. This woman should not be a doctor; he thought viciously, she should be a prison guard with a fucking sex change. Nny stabbed his signature into the forms which were whisked away from him as quickly as he could settle his hand onto the desk space beside them.
"Now what?" he growled.
"The van!" she said, jumping up and knocking over her own flimsy chair. England turned quickly to right it, showing immediate distrust of turning her back to him for any amount of time. Good, he thought watching her quirky movements as he stood; a black panther in white fur.
Author's Note: I came to the revelation that for my other story, I have a horrid case of writer's block. If you think this is a true piece of shit and would like to see more things fashioned after the style of my prior story then take it upon yourselves to leave some suggestions.
Another Note on Sequence of Events (AKA the plot): This is what I think would have happened if, instead of crashing through his window and continuing life as is after his stay in death, Johnny went instead on a walk to try to decide if this was his reality. The irony of this story is....well I'm not going to tell you. Figure it out. Anyway Johnny ends up in a group home for his 'violent tendencies' and schizophrenia. The former has shown itself in more or less just a fight where weapons were involved; his trusty smiley knives. Miraculously he got arrested and sent to The House of Merry Acres (sinister name for the place I know). His roommate is none other than MMY, his stalker. Though of course our system of healthcare is so fucked up, that nobody notes this and they're stuck together. Wouldn't it be diabolical if they fell in love? Ha ha I do love slash, but that would just be....
Some day's Promise
Chapter One
Nny's Introduction to Insanity
Like a very thin cat, Johnny was practically curled up on his hard plastic seat situated before his psychiatrist, Dr. England. Though he remembered her from a few months ago when he had done some sleep testing here at the hospital; the woman didn't seem to recall Johnny. Listening but not interpreting, he went through her mindless chortle as she rustled papers on her desk.
"Sir, it says here you had some rather distinctive knives on you at the time of the assault. Where would they be?" she asked.
"If you would just move your eyes up and down a little bit, it would be quite obvious in the police report....and any thinking individual for that matter that the fucking knives are at the police station as evidence!" His voice was casual; a graceful sound at the start of this sentence, building to a tense roar that nearly knocked the doctor's white-blond hair right off her head.
Quickly however, she recovered smugly smiling and murmuring, "There's no need to be hostile Mr. C." She was humming Dixie. Of all things, Jesus Christ, Johnny thought sizing up her neck and the time it would take to find a metal pen in her desk while holding her down. He moved a little, being very uncomfortable in the scratchy material of plain-white mental hospital styling. Oddly they allowed him to keep his boots, the short plain black ones that now he was rather glad he had been wearing at the time. His long ones were uncomfortable, not to mention full of knives.
A sharp knuckle-cracking brought the chirpy woman back to her specimen. "Sign here," Dr. England said shoving the papers at him. It had been one of those moments in the nature of human dislike when the two of them had jointly been staring off into space. Nny had not fully recovered from the hate-induced trance centered the blood-filled veins in her white hands, so he received a thin paper cut on his face from the fluttering forms.
His eyes locked on hers. "And what will this do to me?" he asked with a definite edge to his voice.
"It will release your control over your own destiny Mr. C. The hospital and your caring house mother will be allowed to do basically anything they want to you. We could medicate you until you see little birdies in your underpants, you could be electro shocked into the servitude of Lord Voldemort, or the caring house mother could allow your housemates to poke things up your asshole 'til you cry," England said, obviously delighted with all of these ideas. Madly she clicked a pen in his face, which he snatched away from her just to stop the noise.
"If I refuse?" he asked suspiciously.
"You go to jail where they don't need forms for people to poke things up your asshole!" she cried.
He rolled his eyes, a blaring trademark of an adult who never quite gave up teen angst. This woman should not be a doctor; he thought viciously, she should be a prison guard with a fucking sex change. Nny stabbed his signature into the forms which were whisked away from him as quickly as he could settle his hand onto the desk space beside them.
"Now what?" he growled.
"The van!" she said, jumping up and knocking over her own flimsy chair. England turned quickly to right it, showing immediate distrust of turning her back to him for any amount of time. Good, he thought watching her quirky movements as he stood; a black panther in white fur.