A/N: I changed my mind again, it's staying in first person until I randomly give the signal.

Mmyep. It's just easier this way, cause then I don't have to explain stuff.

I'm so evil, I make Satan look like a girl scout.

Anyone want cookies?

Uh, anyhow, this fic has no plot as of yet. I really mean that too. I'm just pulling this shit outta my ass.

Anyhow, on with da mentally subverted fun

Disclaimer: seriously Jhonen, suing me would only get you a weird fanatic as a new permanent appendage. Cause I'ma hug you bitch. Anyhow, I don't own JTHM obviously, I only exploit it's characters

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time

I don't know WHEN it all went wrong, exactly. I couldn't tell you at what point my little "escapades" ceased being for my own unknown purposes and became the functions of servitude to that wall creature.

After all, I was still having fun and was foolish enough not to realize that anything was amiss.

Sure, I was still suicidal at times, I admit I was…unbalanced

I'm better now.

I acted like such a person…true, a psychotic and angry person, but still a person. Yet I waved my little freak flag so proudly, I actually thought I was making a difference.

How foolish.

But I changed…

IT changed me.

So I don't know if I should thank that creature or hate it

I think I'll hate it. Hating things is easier. Besides, I was still its slave, and I really don't appreciate that.

It's times like these when I think I actually know WHAT that creature was.

Work with me here.

That thing, that monster, was, if you will, a physical manifestation of my own sickness.

I had been killing people for so long the essence attached itself to that wretched little house. The stench of death clung to the walls and swirled together and formed that monster. It feed off me, what I did to create it also sustained it.

It's like the digging of one's own grave in a sense.

But then, it all went away. I can actually remember that day. That's a rather large achievement for me I'm sad to say.

Ah, but I felt so free. Everything was so light. And in a scary way I felt alive (Not in a literal sense, though that does apply. But in more of a metaphorical sense.)

Completely unburdened. I faced death, I died! But I was still alive.

I braved the afterlife like some kind of hero! An epic conqueror of sorts. I saw the shit that was mucking up the universe, and I returned to tell the tale.

Sure, it might've all just been a really stupid dream…but you must remember I'm insane, so it makes no difference. Dreams or reality, it's all the same.

My head hurts.

Now, what was I getting to? Oh yes. My little house.

Well, after certain events involving a weird stalker guy with some serious mental issues and character defects, I decided it was high time for me to take a little break. Homicidal maniac can be a stressful job.

I think that leaving the house was the final burden I dropped. I just, packed up some "gear" into my car and drove away. I don't think I even looked back.

I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was in a hurry to get there.

That's how it is sometimes.

It makes you feel important.

But enough about you.

So, I sort of just, wandered. Like a samurai in one of those old Japanese movies.

Romantic in a way, only I seemed to lack the honor they hold so dear.

I mean, just because I was away from work didn't mean it didn't follow me around.

Like an executive with a cell phone glued to his ear. The bullshit was inescapable.

And the call to kill stupid pathetic assholes was just too loud. A ring tone far too annoying to ignore.

Ode to Joy.

Ack! Such a badly constructed metaphor. I shudder at my lack of eloquence.

All that aside however, I still had my own version of fun to occupy myself with. Killing people never loses its luster (or at least it didn't then). And with no more wall monster I knew that it was all for me. All the blood, tears, and screams. All mine.

And in a way I felt more complete than I ever had before.

Contentment is a wondrous thing.

The raising of a weapon. Sharp or blunt it didn't matter. The feeling of my heart pumping blood in the rush of feeling when I would look into my victim's pleading eyes. The swooping feeling of euphoria when I struck down. The loud crack of bones, music to my ears, and I would be quickly bathed in blood.

Oh, I do so detest blood. But, it's the symbolic part of the blood spatter that I cannot help but adore.

Amazingly, I still was never caught.

I always found that very strange. At first I just attributed it to the house. After all, it just seemed natural that it would be a safe haven, all things considered.

But I was free, on my own. Like a boy going off to school for the first time. Torn away from his parents. I was unguarded, and yet I remained unscathed. I defied the law at every turn.

Maybe I should change my last name to Yuma. (1)

Ah humor.

But the holiday wasn't all fun and games. No.

In fact, it's the holiday itself that made me distance myself even more from humanity.

I've seen some pretty disgusting things in my life, but the cities I wandered through grew progressively worse. There were less and less humans and more and more people. People are vile, repulsive. They never think, they do what their instinct says. Humans are better, I like them more. I had a few human friends before. They slip away from my recollection.

But none of that is important.

The point I'm trying to make is that I was trapped in a downward spiral. A whirlpool of excrement I could not escape.

Everywhere I looked, there was either a drugged-up bum occupying that patch of sidewalk, or some strumpet with far too much makeup on. Degenerates as far as the eye could see…and not the good kind of degenerates either.

I had to constantly fight with the urge to eradicate them all. I knew it wouldn't be worth it though. It seemed like that for every one I killed, three more of their kind took their place. An endless cycle I was not ready to contribute to. It made the killing dull.

And that's when I hit rock bottom. Well, no, maybe that's not the proper term. I was already at rock bottom. I guess that's when life really became hell. Beyond the bottom.

Yeah, much better…only not.

You see, it was then when I came to the worst city yet. It made me shudder as soon as I entered the city limits. The buildings towered dismally over me, and though the streets were bustling with noise, it all sounded muted somehow. Like my head had been pushed underwater.

It was in this city that the truth became painfully clear to me.

TBC

End Note: I suck

I think I might have a plot now, but I lost my control over Nny's brain. Which may or may not be a good thing.

Mmyep.

A review or two would be nice. Though I won't demand it. Just know the less feedback I get, the crappier the story will be.

(1) A big hug to anyone who got that little joke. I was referring to the song "The Rebel Johnny Yuma" by Johnny Cash. In a sick twisted way it makes me think of Nny.