Chapter 5: The Doughboys

Sleep. A rare occurence. Dreams. Only nightmares. Love. A memory of loss... of blood... of pain... this is the motivation of all nightmares. Pain. For Nny, many nightmares are this. So, for him, sleep has become but a memory, as it has been for as long as he can remember. Somehow, tonight is different, normal, but different. Something wasn't right. Oh well...

A casual stroll, nothing wrong, absolutely nothing, no one laughing at him, but that's not right. Not right at all. Nothing makes sense anymore. Not since she died. "No, no, I can't let myself remember it," he repeated over and over again in his head. He had left it all behind, he had moved on. Or so he hoped. He had walked past many buildings and had seen many faces. But this building and this face was different. It wasn't exactly a building or a true face. A dumpster. And two Pillsbury doughboys. For some odd reason Nny felt compelled, or more to the point, expected, to take them home with him.

He walked through the door. He didn't need to lock it because it wasn't the kind of place someone would want to steal anything from, or come near for that matter. "They look so... plain," he thought to himself. He pulled an old bucket of black paint he had bought some time ago to paint the words, "THE ALIENS ARE COMING" on the back wall of the mall. He started to paint the eyes on the first one, but the paint started to drip, so he started on the other one and placed the first in a corner to dry. The first one looked smart, quite possibly devious, even though he had just started painting the eyes. So he decided to make the other one... crazy, bordering insanity and suicide. First, he painted swirly-eyes, not because it looked crazy, but just because it looked cool, with tears dripping from them. He also painted short sleeves on his "shirt" because, well, because people who wear short sleeves are just crazy. Next, he painted the word "FUCK" on him because it, somehow, at the time it meant something crazy... somehow. (I don't know why I'm just the narrator and he just just ate sixteen Freezy Pops. Mmmmm.... Freezy Pops.) He then tied a black ribbon around his neck so he could strangle himself whenever he wanted. He was finished with the second, and the paint on the first had dried, so he started on the first again. It would be... different. Not strange... just different. Ghosts on his cap, "Z?" on his shirt, back gloves, and to top it all off, a ribbon he'd been trying to get rid of for a long time. So with this, he was finished. As he placed them up against the wall, he thought he saw one of them blink. "I think I should go easier on the Freezy Pops," he said to himself as he went downstairs to torture the newest load of assholes he'd captured.

Next Day

He came back upstairs as the sun came up so he could pull the blinds closed. As he did, he thought he heard something, a whisper. "Aaaahhhh... freedom for me and you. Mr. Eff," it said. "Shut the fuck up, Psycho-Doughboy! He may hear us!" another voice, another whisper, replied. Nny looked over at them. "Did you say something?" he said to the one called "Psycho-Doughboy. "Not me, not I nor my brother said but a mere whisper, for we have sat in silence," it replied in a whimsical, if you could call menacing and sadistic with a nice voice tone whimsical, voice. "Dammit, Psycho-Doughboy! You always have to ruin everything! Now he knows we're not just displays! Fook! Fook, Fook, Fookity, Fook! Now you've done it! I should break my goddamn fuckin' foot in your styrofoam ass!" the other one screamed at the first as if he had been just covered in acid. "Now, now, Mr. Eff, we can be friends with this boy, maybe he can help us," he smile seemed to grow wider as he said the end of that sentence. "I'm going out," Nny said so he could get away from the insanity. "I thought you didn't like the sun, JOHNNY," Psycho-Doughboy said as Nny reached for the doorknob. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open so light flooded the room. Nny turned around, looking that demented monstrosity straight in the eyes and said, "Fuck you," and walked out.

Later That Day

Nny walked for a while, thinking. "How did that thing know my name?" he asked himself. He kept wondering, "What are they?" "What do they want?" "Why didn't I buy some sunscreen last week?" He looked down as he walked, in a ditch, was a little animal whimpering and covered in mud and, it looked like, blood. He picked it up and stroked its head. "It's okay, it's okay, I'll take care of you," he cooed to it. He carried it all the way home. He took it into the kitchen, the bathroom was too bloody, and carefully washed it and dried it off. After he had rubbed it with a towel he found out it was a little pink rabbit. Now Nny hated all things pink, but he couldn't help wanting to take care of this little creature. "How could someone throw away something so precious, so cuddly, so goddamn CUTE?" he said out and didn't care who heard. He took his sheets and a box and made a bed for it. He went out, killed a businessman, took his wallet, and bought some things for the little bunny at the pet store. He began nursing it back to health over the next few days. Slowly, it grew stronger and stronger. Nny even named him. He named his pink bunny, Morbid.

One day, Johnny came home after going to the pet store. He went into his room and found Morbid lying on the floor in a pool of blood, but he was still breathing. Nny fell to his knees and picked Morbid up and held him close. Tears just falling from his face. He stood up and walked over to a wall. "I'm sorry, Morbid, I have to do this. Forgive me," He said, trying to hold back his tears as he pulled out a knife and stabbed Morbid through the heart so he died instantly. "It's over now. I love you, my little, fuzzy Morbid," he said before he fell down into a corner and sobbed uncontrollably until he had no tears left.

Chapter Fin.

Not bad, eh? I wanted to show that Johnny was able to care for things you would probably think he would hate. Like loving a fuzzy, cute, PINK bunny. Basically, showing his true humanity. Wow, I need to stop being this deep. Next thing you now I'll be reading poetry that isn't by Edgar Allen Poe.

I now sign off, till next rude awakening, Duelist of Roses.