Disclaimer – JTHM belongs to Jhonen Vasquez. Duh.
A/N – Greetings, anonymous reader! Well… I won't bore you with my personal problems, so on to the meat!
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--- Blood ---
It was a still, peaceful night. A deafening silence echoed between the decaying walls of old buildings. All was relatively quiet, with the exception of one really annoying cricket. In the black sky, a transparent haze of violet-blue lingered over the crumbling edifices. The indolent moon wasn't particularly watchful tonight; only a faint sliver of silver remained, like a sleepy eyelid straining to stay awake. Even the usually radiant stars seemed lazy and bored.
Faint rays of white light shone through the misty fog, casting soft shadows across the rotting buildings and bare alleyways. Barely illuminated by the weak light were two indiscernible shapes. One looked like a crumpled heap of… stuff on the floor. The other calmly stood over the mass, delicately balancing on two very spindly, thin legs. It appeared to be clutching something in its right hand. Something pointy.
Slowly the haze in the sky lifted. The yawning stars awoke from their idle state and illuminated the landscape with a heightened brilliance. The new light gently unveiled the mysterious, shadowy forms.
The pulpy pile of… thingies lay in a growing puddle of scarlet red, a stark contrast to the dull grayness of the cold concrete. Colorful liquid was chaotically spattered about like fruit juice on new carpet or, more gracefully put, like wild paint on a canvas. From a certain angle, it was truly a beautiful work to behold, both executed with skillful precision and lax carelessness. If drunk enough, one might have even declared it a masterpiece.
But nearby, the artiste (pronounced arteest) looked upon his work with an air of disinterest, with neither pride nor revulsion. He never had a taste for contemporary art anyways. The man promptly stepped back, gingerly wiping his tool with the end of his blood-soaked cloak. It was black, and so was the rest of his attire: black shirt, black pants, black boots. It simply served a practical purpose – to blend into the night. Utility was priority, not appearance.
The man in crinkled his nose and held back his natural impulse to gag. The thick stench of blood loitered in the humid air; it was suffocating. He glared down at source of this infernal stink.
"How revolting," his mellow voice lightly bounced off the building walls. "Even in death, you succeed in tormenting me." In response, the rancid stench only grew more unbearable.
Upon further inspection that crumpled heap of… stuff vaguely appeared to resembled a human being, but not quite. He/she/it was acting very oddly, spasmodically jerking about on the ground. It was difficult to tell whether it was trying to swim or dance in the splashing red puddle, though either way it didn't seem to be enjoying itself.
"Ewwwwwwwww," the man commented maturely. He paused cleaning the knife and poked at the body like an inquisitive child prodding a piece of roadkill.
The mass of mulchy meat was silently writhing about, probably due to random aftershocks from its brain. Its soul was long gone, but the body still fought on clinging desperately to what little life it still had. The limbless torso lay gashed open with various organs, mostly intestines, spilling out of the crude orifice. Next to the squirming cadaver, cold lifeless appendages were carelessly strewn across the gory ground.
"Interesting," the killer's left hand rested on his chin in a quizzical nature. His knife hand hung loosely at his side. Of all the victims he had slaughtered, none have survived for this long after one of his infamous 'dissection experiments.'
"I admit," said the madman, "Your tenacity is admirable, but also quite unnecessary." He scratched his chin as he studied jerking body. "Why fight? What's the use of prolonging that which is undeniably inevitable?"
It continued to flop about, like a big, smelly fish. Not a pretty sight but it was captivating in that it was similar to those terrible hotdog binging contests – one could not help but watch in both awe and horror.
"Just give up," the murder said gravely, regarding this hellish sight. "There is nothing here to live for in this.. this disgusting hellhole. Fleeting gratification and perpetual disappointment – that's all this miserable place consists of."
The mound wriggled.
He eyed it curiously.
"The only positive thing you can look forward to is some sort of release." He crossed his stick-thin arms. "Death is a gift, a beautiful closure to this ugly existence. Embrace it."
It ignored him and continued twitching.
He waited expectantly.
twitch
He coughed.
twitch
"… … … … …"
twitch twitch
"… … … … … … …"
"… … …."
"…"
twitch
"Dammit!" said the impatient man as he threw his arms up in the air. "Just DIE already!" He gave it the 'evil look,' daring it to twitch again.
"…"
"… …"
And with that one final twitch, the animated corpse and finally ceased its movements.
"bout time.." he mumbled grumpily. He nudged the body with the tip of his boot to make sure it was dead.
Two glassy, soulless eyes gazed up at the executioner.
A pair of razor-sharp pupils fearlessly returned the corpse's gaze. No latent emotion stirred within those inky, black depths. No guilt. No remorse.
"What are you looking at?" he spat spitefully.
The unblinking orbs just stared at him. There was something quite unsettling about them…
"W-what?" his voice stammered. Those creepy eyes were making him a little nervous. Just a little. "Stu.. Stupid c-corpse!" He crossly kicked the body attempting to cover up his unease.
Shaking his head, he turned back to wiping his knife with his coat. But to no avail; it was difficult cleaning a bloody knife with an equally bloody cloth.
"Stupid knife…" Frustrated, the young man roughly shoved the grimy knife into his right boot.
"Stupid coat…" He proceeded to remove his drenched cloak. It had grown quite heavy, and the weight burdened his thin frame. He held it at arms length, calmly observing the dripping article of clothing. He focused his attention on the coat, careful to avoid eye contact with the corpse. His confidence returned.
"Well," the killer spoke to his dead companion, "I'm sorry things had to end for you this way. But that's not to say you didn't deserve it.," he said smoothly. His dark eyes intently followed the drips of scarlet falling from the black fabric. "Consider yourself lucky. Your death was rather swift compared to the unfortunates back at my place."
The corpse stared back wordlessly.
He shrugged. "I'll take your silence as an expression of thanks."
With the thrill of adrenaline slowly ebbing away, his frail body was beginning to exhibit serious signs of fatigue. His aching muscles burning from exertion, malnourishment, and lack of sleep – especially lack of sleep. But somehow his body still managed to function under these extreme conditions.
A wave of dizziness enveloped his senses. His head rolled and his footing swayed.
"Ugh… not again"
Underneath his clothes, he could feel the sticky blood drying against his pale skin. The ruddy gunk was gummy to the touch. A sickening, gut-wrenching stench emanated from his hands.
"Shhhit… please, not now…"
The blood was overwhelmingly revolting. It consumed him in an unfathomable feeling of complete and utter disgust and revulsion. The horrible substance ate away his flesh, like acid on butter.
This sudden realization aggravated the man to a great extent. His thin body viciously began to tremble. Nervous eyes darted about in a state of terror and bewilderment.
The restless pupils fell upon the mutilated body of the woman. He gawked at the vile spectacle as if he had just discovered it. Though this time his eyes widened in an evident expression of fear.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. The foul air strangled him.
The panicking man stepped backwards, unsure of what to do. He eyed the soggy cloak in his hand, absolutely horrified.
Suddenly he hurled the bloody cloth across the alleyway.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" an inhuman screech boomed across the concrete alleyway and echoed in the midnight air.
The black cloak skidded across the floor, leaving a heavy trail of red.
The man's gaunt figure shuddered violently as he struggled to regain composure. He could barely stand.
"How I hate it," he whispered to himself, his breath ragged and irregular.
"The sight, the smell, the feel of it." His stomach retched as he tasted the thick, metallic air. The reek devoured him.
"I h-hate blood."
The gasping man fell to his knees, bony hands clasping onto messy, navy-black hair.
"sh-shh-it…w-w-what…" he choked through clenched teeth. He savagely tugged and ripped at his hair, trying to distract his senses with a different source of pain. "… w-what have I done?..."
He ruthlessly slammed his head against the pavement. Red liquid trickled down the end of his nose.
"I-I can't take much more of this," his head swam amid the nausea. "…stop it," he said meekly.
But the sickness only worsened. Something was terribly wrong. Inside, he knew it, but stubbornly fought to suppress the horrible thought, that horrible emotion.
"STOP IT!"
The shaky man staggered to his feet and leaned against the cold building wall. Wincing, he futilely waited for the rushing pain to stop. His breathing grew more deep and labored. Managing to remain relatively calm on the outside, he tried to reorganize the tumultuous thoughts churning about in his head.
What the hell am I doing? I'm not enjoying this at all. This isn't who I am.
He slowly tilted his head towards the midnight sky and sighed deeply.
This isn't me.
A cool breeze whisked a strand of unruly hair from his tired face.
Now whatever do you mean, Nny? the voice in his head replied. This is who you are.
No, it's not… Leave me alone.
Oh, come on now. You know you love it. The rush. The power.
Shut up, Meat. I'm really not in the mood right now.
Awwww. What's wrong? The reverend snickered. Are you sick?
I'm fine. He hugged his shivering body. Just a little… chilly.
Meat cackled. Your slight discomfort is nothing compared to the horrors you've inflicted on others.
I know.
Yes, isn't it exhilarating?
Not really… no.
Quit lying.
I'm not.
Eh, what's this? Aren't you enjoying yourself?
No. Not one bit. Something just doesn't feel right…
If you claim to hate it so much, why don't you just stop?
Johnny didn't answer.
Tell me.
Silence. He counted the stars pretending to be busy.
Hmm?... The reverend waited in anticipation.
Finally, he replied –
…Go fuck yourself.
Meat chuckled.
I'd be most obliged… He smirked. ..after you answer my question.
Johnny paused to seriously think it over.
I …… …I don't know.
The reverend snorted.
A stupid answer. Of course you know. Your actions betray your true nature.
He gritted his teeth as another wave of unexplained pain surged through his body.
You're thinking of her, aren't you? Meat sneered maliciously Your precious love.
He cringed at the word 'love'.
I swear, if you don't shut that stupid trap of yours –
Well, it's too late now… She's gone. The voice whisper lowly. And it's - all - because - of you. He enunciated each word with biting clarity.
Johnny's blood boiled with that last bitter remark, but taking it in stride, he responded calmly.
Yes, it is all my fault… I won't deny that…
The reverend seemed pleased with this assent. He paused for a moment to feed off the man's self-contempt.
Taking advantage of his smug silence, Johnny continued.
But still… I wonder if things could have turned out somewhat differently… What if change isn't an impossible thing? He thought. As screwed up as things may be, how does one know if there really might be some rational sort of explanation out there, some sort of solution… What if I –
HA! The voice rudely interrupted. What if, what if – What if it doesn't it matter? You actually believe you could have 'changed'? Meat laughed heartedly. Let's face it, buddy. You are far from any sort of hope. Broken way beyond repair.
The defeated man sullenly reverted his head back towards the gory scene.
But that's the best part of it! Don't you see? The reverend was unusually excited. You've evolved, Johnny. You've surpassed all other filthy humans in perception, casting aside the trivial, grasping what no other being can possible begin to comprehend. They crawl beneath you like a horde of blind maggots. His shrill voice climbed higher. Can you not sense it? The satisfaction of your own unique acuity?
Sense what? All I smell is conceit.
Blind fool. Meat replied disappointedly. Still clouded by your emotions, I see.
No duh. There's nothing I could really do to block it. Johnny explained. As 'evolved' as you state I am, there is a portion of me that still remains human. Try as I might, it's almost impossible to completely rid myself of these irritating.. 'emotions.'
Reverend carefully contemplated this statement.
I see… Well, no matter. We will find a way around that. You'll come to understand some day. But until then, Meat smirked. You will remain obedient to me. Just leave it to me and everything else will fall neatly into place.
Johnny considered him suspiciously.
Trust me.
Too tired to argue, he nodded weakly in agreement.
Soon you will finally come to realize your true greatness – your true potential.
What greatness? He sharply retorted. I feel like shit right now.
Don't worry. The voice soothingly assured him. Only a temporary nuisance.
At last, the voice in his head ceased. However, the vicious pain still electrocuted up and down his spine. Nevertheless, at least his mind was at rest now… at least at the moment.
Ignoring his excruciating affliction, he returned his attention on the mangled body with his former cool poise.
"Heh…" he grinned. "Well, that was a doozie."
The corpse looked none too amused.
"What," he said mockingly. "You don't think doozie's a funny word?"
Though dead, its unblinking eyes shot back in solid defiance, revealing no mark of pity for the quivering man. If anything, it was far more pitiful a sight than he. The jade-green orbs pierced angrily through his own eyes, into his soul..
That's strange. Nny thought as he anxiously observed the familiar face. Do I know this person?
He gazed intently into the woman's face, trying to evoke any recollection of where he might have seen this person.
Stumped, he carelessly shrugged it off.
Oh well. It's probably just another one of my weird hallucinations. Nothing new.
"Anyway," he spoke up in a suddenly playful tone, "See ya later then, lady." With a careless wave of a hand, he turned around. "Most likely in hell," he added lightheartedly.
And with that, The tall, black clad figure walked off into the night. Steal-toed boots clunked softly across the smooth cement as a violet-haired woman silently stared after the shrinking shadow…
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Acclaims or complaints? Perhaps I kinda overdid that flinchy corpse thing… Review plz.