Guess who's filled with insta-udon and menthol? If you guessed me, you are correct. ON with the show (hopefully it'll have some remnants of a story).
:P
:P
The Earth spun regardless. Tied to its axis, it flung around its destined orbit, oblivious to the drama its parasites were capable of.
Johnny could not see. Black spots clotted his vision and ripped thru his blood. He could hear shouting, tho he was unsure if it were his or his memories or the squish-ee murderers. No, he only heard an animalistic howling; the very sounds of madness whirling thru his skull and ricocheting off the rims. Heard only horrifying sounds and felt the very familiar stickiness between his fingers.
He cringed at his movements, tried to fight against them with rigid determination. But someone, something, was controlling him. The unearthly tugs on his flicking wrists countered every ounce of fight he possessed. Damn you, Diablo…
His vision popped on suddenly, as if he was hidden in a dark room and someone had thrown the switch. He was home, panting in exhaustion, stooped over a very dead corpse. He wasn't sure which catacomb he had stumbled down. Red mist clung to the air and dust around him. He looked to his right arm. Clutched in his trembling fist were a series of steel hooks. He vaguely recognized them as Jimmys, that poor demented excuse for a carbon being. He released them, the metallic jangle rebounding against the concrete walls.
The corpse was mangled beyond comprehension, the torso eviscerated and soaking in unidentifiable body fluids. Johnny wanted to hold back disgust but could not muster any. He knelt down beside the corpse, his dark eyes empty in understanding. He swirled his fingers in the blood and strange ooze, creating foreign symbols into the dirty floor.
I want to paint, he thought absentmindedly.
Meanwhile…….
Pepito did not sleep that night. He could only lie in bed, his hands tucked behind his head, as he replayed Todds tragedy over and over again. Every time it happened he watched, filled with agonizing hatred and sadness. He was forbidden from anything drastic, such as killing Todd's dad or even injuring him. His father had taken away his destructive powers after the 2nd grade massacre and only allowed him the benign gift of 'healing' and minor manipulation. He had never felt so useless against the evils of the world, especially the one he cared about.
He wasn't sure when exactly he started having feelings for him numero uno amigo. Somewhere between defending the child from weirdos and terrorizing him with the undead, Pepito grew to admire his friend. The admiration soon turned into a sort of love as they grew older and hormones began to spiral thru their bodies. He knew Todd would brush away any hint of admitting that someone actually cared about him, but he persisted regardless. One day, Todd would realize he was capable of the love and affection that he was worth.
The sun began to spill into his room, creeping beyond the slated venetian blinds. Pepito rolled out of bed, still clad in the clothes he wore last night. He didn't feel motivated to change. He couldn't face his father, not after they had fought over Todds life path. Pepito knew deep down it was dangerous to change the pre-destined but still wanted to deny it. He hoped father didn't try and separate them again. He had done that once before, manipulating the father to abandon his son at that ungodly institution.
Let the old man try, Pepito swore as he poofed to Todd's house.
Meanwhile…..
Todd felt pain. Numb, tingling, pulsing pain. He wanted to open his eyes but he couldn't. He rolled over, biting back the scream he wanted to unleash. His blood had crusted into the carpet beneath him, he realized as he attempted to peel himself up. He rocked slightly while taking in his ripped clothes and multiple wounds. His legs were covered in newer purple bruises that layered sickly over older faded blue ones. His arms were wound in an assortment of nasty black scabs intermingled with fresher streaks that still dripped crimson.
He tugged his torn shirt closer to him as he rocked. He should've died. Why hadn't he died long ago? His existence was useless. Please just let me die next time, he lamented as he rocked harder. Ragged breaths were dragged out of his blood encased lips as tears he did not feel splattered down his face. He felt movement behind him, though he really did not care. He jumped out of habit but returned to his swaying.
His skin cringed at the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder. Confused, he stopped his swaying and twisted his neck to see. He faced a sympathetic Pepito and his stomach sank into the depths of his innards. He implored Pepito wordlessly, filled with guilt and weakness. He had kept his abuse a secret for so long. Now that Pepito knew, with his temper and his father. Scenerios played in his overly imaginative head and he buckled. New sobs found their way in his throat but they were soon smothered.
Pepito wrapped his arms around the shaking boy, encompassing him in a protective field. Todd's silent tears created tiny pools on his shirt. "Shhhhh…." He tried to calm him, rocking him comfortingly. Todd laid his head against Pepitos thudding human heart and listened calmly to the beats. He relaxed against his friend and closed his eyes, leaning in to Pepito. Pepito held him tighter, trying to merge any sort of healing energy into Todd. Pepito lifted Todd up slightly, his eyes taking in the broken childs scars.
Pepito ran his thumb over Todds busted lips, the blood vanishing as he moved. He trailed his fingers with care and precision along the bruises and dried blood filling Todds pitiful face. They disappeared back into his pale skin. Pepito grinned a large satisfied grin and pulled Todd back into his embrace.
Todd stared at his friend dumbly. His body no longer ached, his breathing had steadied. He didn't want to leave Pepito's arms. This world was too harsh and filled with hatred. Is this what Johnny had felt before he went insane? Had he no one to comfort him and offer him any hope? Todd felt pangs of guilt again. Johnny had been upset yesterday.
Thin figments ghosted in his brain about what had happened yesterday in Johnny's home. There had been yelling and Diablo, then sleep. He would have to check in on his old friend today. But now there was peace.
Pepito clung to his comrade. Todd could not hear his heart breaking into tiny pieces. And it was for the better that way.
Meanwhile……
Johnny worked frantically at the stretched canvas. He had found it along with several snapped brushes in one of his many closets'. The colours were not right until time passed, after the vile liquids had dried and stuck to the fabric. He chuckled maniacally as he dug his brush into the busted skull, searching for more clear mucus. He leveled the brush with his intended strike, thickly coating the grotesque painting. He dropped the skull and brush. Stepped back to survey the mess he had created.
It was beautiful, the torment of his creation. And he calmed, thankful some of his soul was still alive in the midst of the terror of what he could not control.
:P
Yes. Somewhat filler, but not entirely so. Just a little peek into their brains once again. So, Johnny is painting again, but not his usual schtick. Teehee. And yes, some pepsquee. Nextime, I'm prepared to unleash fire and brimstone(quite literally) so stay with me here, kay?