I'm developing an obsession with naming stories and titles after songs. Oh
well. At least I don't look up people's phone numbers that live on the
other side of the country just so I can use the school payphone to make
phony child support claims as prank calls. You know who you are. XD.
Anyway, I do not own these characters in case you've read 20 or so chapters
of 2 and (insert fraction here) stories and still haven't figured that out.
Don't I get all the bright readers?
Chapter 3: Down With the Sickness
"Sickness, you seem awfully glum today.", Devi commented snidely to her doll which had strangely developed screws for eyes. "And stop stealing my screws! I need those!" "It's none of your concern. A slight flaw in our plans, but an obstacle that can easily be overcome. Don't worry about the screws. You won't need them anyway."
Devi thought she saw the painted doll try to move, to push through its boundaries to prove its point. But it must have been some illusion with origins in her imagination. AT least it was active again. With a control other than the ever mounting illustrations that had been sucking more and more of her energy as they went. This painting was going nowhere at the moment. The next impossible task was fitting monkeys into a picture with two fire breathing dragons wreaking havoc on a small planet. There weren't even any creatures mildly resembling monkeys in the story. But the scared little author was not going to change anything about that. Stinking Nerve.
In her absentmindedness, the strokes where the monkey was supposed to be instead resembled a freak of nature combination of a person and an unusually large stick. It had an expression somewhere between sadistic glee and pure insanity, pleased at seeing his knife pierce the dragon's thick, scaly navy purple skin.
"Grrr. Nny, how many times are you going to ruin my paintings?"
It could always be painted over. But why didn't she want to? She got up and took her brushes to the closest sink, in her bathroom to wash them off.
If she had the ability to move, Sickness would have shaken in her painting.
"Don't remember. Please don't remember."
******************************************************
Red morning light crept over the floorboards and onto Nny. The color shone through his eyelids. He didn't have the energy to be pissed at himself for sleeping, though he wantd to get up instead of wondering if he was really alive or not. At last a speck of blood on the window had provided a temporary shadow for his eyes.
"Ah, such fond memories. Why is it that the only way something can remain eternally beautiful is if it is destroyed before decay can occur?" He remembered all of them, how they made him smile and for a brief moment think that he was worth something more than just a way to dispose of everyone too stupid to live. Though they produced athe same feelings of exaggerated contentment they were all beautiful in their own ways. Some tried to fight, but collapsed in a pool of broken bones and blood soon enough. His fingers traced their way along a scar on his arm. That one had mixed emotions attached to it.
"Devi", he recalled her name. She might not have had one for all the difference it would have made. Her fate would have been the same. "The one that."
Johnny's head spun as if he had been rotating on some invisible roller coaster. Past, present and expectations of the future all blurred and blended with each other, pleading for their unanswered calls of unconsciousness. The skin on his arm began to tingle, burning in peculiar yet not completely painful way. He could see next to nothing through the whirlpool or his line of vision. But the scar seemed to blend into its surroundings and become less than usually visible to him.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the dizziness passed. He was not sure how, but it had definitely left its mark. Or more accurately a lack of one. The scar o his arm had somehow disappeared, to be replaced by a new but considerably aged blood stain on the floor beneath the doorway to Johnny's seldom used bedroom.
Something told him that the night had been different than what his memories allowed him to recall. But he knew that he could not have possibly hallucinated something so realistic with so much evidence of it authenticity.
*Flashback Panel. Again. Get used to it. It's going to happen a lot.*
Johnny had just blown what would have been the gushy, slobbery, disgustingly sweet romance scene in a movie. In other words I would be in the restrooms puking like the little girl from The Exorcist. Or laughing if it was making anyone else cry. Anyway, the doughboys were yelling at him both for walking out and for not killing Devi sooner.
"Just face it. You'll never be happy. NEVER!! End it while you still can without looking like a bigger doofus than you already are!"
"Quit telling me what to do! You both say you think I'll be better off following you, but you both just want it for yourselves.! Why don't you just SHUT UP!?!?"
Something behind him rattled, presumably the door handle and Devi trying to get in. "Johnny? Are you okay? Where did you go?", Devi called from behind the door. He picked up a single weapon, preparing to greet her when she did come through the door. *Click*
The door opened and Devi stepped through, only to be greeted with a knife in the face. The look of absolute shock and horror on her face was greater than the one on Johnny's. But only by so much. Psychodoughboy laughed behind Nny. Devi, seeing the little streams of blood drip down past her wide open eyes, lifted her finger to her nose, giving the blood something else to drip down on. She swayed as her center of balance shifted with the end of its use, finally falling to the ground.
"F you Psycho. I wanted to do that!"
*End Flashback Panel*
******************************************************
"The one that never got away."
"This is good!", the slightly less separated voice that might have once been Eff tried to lighten the situation with its almost irritating optimism. "It never went bad! You got what you've always wanted! You immortalized the moment!"
"No. This isn't it."
"Why not?"
"The moment is immortalized. But not at all in the way I wanted."
Chapter 3: Down With the Sickness
"Sickness, you seem awfully glum today.", Devi commented snidely to her doll which had strangely developed screws for eyes. "And stop stealing my screws! I need those!" "It's none of your concern. A slight flaw in our plans, but an obstacle that can easily be overcome. Don't worry about the screws. You won't need them anyway."
Devi thought she saw the painted doll try to move, to push through its boundaries to prove its point. But it must have been some illusion with origins in her imagination. AT least it was active again. With a control other than the ever mounting illustrations that had been sucking more and more of her energy as they went. This painting was going nowhere at the moment. The next impossible task was fitting monkeys into a picture with two fire breathing dragons wreaking havoc on a small planet. There weren't even any creatures mildly resembling monkeys in the story. But the scared little author was not going to change anything about that. Stinking Nerve.
In her absentmindedness, the strokes where the monkey was supposed to be instead resembled a freak of nature combination of a person and an unusually large stick. It had an expression somewhere between sadistic glee and pure insanity, pleased at seeing his knife pierce the dragon's thick, scaly navy purple skin.
"Grrr. Nny, how many times are you going to ruin my paintings?"
It could always be painted over. But why didn't she want to? She got up and took her brushes to the closest sink, in her bathroom to wash them off.
If she had the ability to move, Sickness would have shaken in her painting.
"Don't remember. Please don't remember."
******************************************************
Red morning light crept over the floorboards and onto Nny. The color shone through his eyelids. He didn't have the energy to be pissed at himself for sleeping, though he wantd to get up instead of wondering if he was really alive or not. At last a speck of blood on the window had provided a temporary shadow for his eyes.
"Ah, such fond memories. Why is it that the only way something can remain eternally beautiful is if it is destroyed before decay can occur?" He remembered all of them, how they made him smile and for a brief moment think that he was worth something more than just a way to dispose of everyone too stupid to live. Though they produced athe same feelings of exaggerated contentment they were all beautiful in their own ways. Some tried to fight, but collapsed in a pool of broken bones and blood soon enough. His fingers traced their way along a scar on his arm. That one had mixed emotions attached to it.
"Devi", he recalled her name. She might not have had one for all the difference it would have made. Her fate would have been the same. "The one that."
Johnny's head spun as if he had been rotating on some invisible roller coaster. Past, present and expectations of the future all blurred and blended with each other, pleading for their unanswered calls of unconsciousness. The skin on his arm began to tingle, burning in peculiar yet not completely painful way. He could see next to nothing through the whirlpool or his line of vision. But the scar seemed to blend into its surroundings and become less than usually visible to him.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the dizziness passed. He was not sure how, but it had definitely left its mark. Or more accurately a lack of one. The scar o his arm had somehow disappeared, to be replaced by a new but considerably aged blood stain on the floor beneath the doorway to Johnny's seldom used bedroom.
Something told him that the night had been different than what his memories allowed him to recall. But he knew that he could not have possibly hallucinated something so realistic with so much evidence of it authenticity.
*Flashback Panel. Again. Get used to it. It's going to happen a lot.*
Johnny had just blown what would have been the gushy, slobbery, disgustingly sweet romance scene in a movie. In other words I would be in the restrooms puking like the little girl from The Exorcist. Or laughing if it was making anyone else cry. Anyway, the doughboys were yelling at him both for walking out and for not killing Devi sooner.
"Just face it. You'll never be happy. NEVER!! End it while you still can without looking like a bigger doofus than you already are!"
"Quit telling me what to do! You both say you think I'll be better off following you, but you both just want it for yourselves.! Why don't you just SHUT UP!?!?"
Something behind him rattled, presumably the door handle and Devi trying to get in. "Johnny? Are you okay? Where did you go?", Devi called from behind the door. He picked up a single weapon, preparing to greet her when she did come through the door. *Click*
The door opened and Devi stepped through, only to be greeted with a knife in the face. The look of absolute shock and horror on her face was greater than the one on Johnny's. But only by so much. Psychodoughboy laughed behind Nny. Devi, seeing the little streams of blood drip down past her wide open eyes, lifted her finger to her nose, giving the blood something else to drip down on. She swayed as her center of balance shifted with the end of its use, finally falling to the ground.
"F you Psycho. I wanted to do that!"
*End Flashback Panel*
******************************************************
"The one that never got away."
"This is good!", the slightly less separated voice that might have once been Eff tried to lighten the situation with its almost irritating optimism. "It never went bad! You got what you've always wanted! You immortalized the moment!"
"No. This isn't it."
"Why not?"
"The moment is immortalized. But not at all in the way I wanted."
