It was 2:09 A.M.
Johnny sat on the ledge of his window, staring at the vast, starry sky above him, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. His pale fingers were wrapped around a grey tape recorder, and his voice burdened with thick emotion, finishing up his recording.
Hanging his head, his thin black hair shadowed his face, giving him a mysterious, intimidating look upon his features. His mind wandered back to Devi again.
"I like you immensely, Devi. And to prove it, I shall obliterate all of my affection interest for you. Just like before, but different," a shudder filled Johnny and he cringed at the truth of his next words, "I cannot hurt what I do not acknowledge. I don't know of anyone that I love, or of anyone that loves me. But I give you what I can. I give you my nothing. While I still have feeling I wish to apologize."
Shutting his eyes, he willed his heart beat slower, and he continued recording his message.
"I know forgiveness is out of the question. I just ask for what we all ask the people we respect – that the thought of me does not compel you to violent spasms of projectile vomiting."
Contemplating on the words that he had just recorded, he scrunched his toes inside his boots, and covered his white face with his free hand, rambling on into the recorder about vomit and the doughboys.
Gritting his teeth, he realized his rant, and reluctantly pressed the stop button.
Empty words; he wasn't worth forgiveness or the time of Devi. Fuck, he wasn't worth anything to anyone, except the doughboys. Their taunts filling his head; the temptation of suicide buzzing in the back of his pitiful mind.
Taking a deep breath, Johnny set the tape recorder onto the ledge of the window, the light of the moon reflecting off of the shiny plastic that lined the speakers. Johnny willed himself back into the living room, and sat into a wooden chair which sat in a dark corner of the room.
One of the demonic pillsburry doughboys, Psycho Doughboy, hobbled over to the deathly suicide machine hanging on the wall. Peering at it closely in disappointment and confusion, "this piece of shit won't work; you've tried countless times, but you've never successfully been able to kill yourself."
"You notice, perhaps, that I am not smiling. See, you never really mean to kill yourself, you pathetic tick. Oops, I'm being unfriendly aren't I? Well, I've grown so sick of seeing you make a mockery of self-annihilation."
Johnny looked up and responded in a thick voice,
"Well, this should do the trick. I want out of this. Nailbunny stopped talking yesterday- I know you know why. You've stolen too much of me… I'm through with being used." Johnny's lips formed a thin line across his face in seriousness.
Mr. Eff looked at the other doughboy, and then to Johnny. A cackle rose in his throat as he headed towards Johnny's chair, pointing at him in agreement.
"That's right, Nny, you little SHIT! Free will and all that ROT! C'mon, you're a slave – just play the game a little longer. Soon enough you won't even be needed… Hm… what, exactly, do you have set up here for today's show?"
Johnny fingered the bridge of his nose, and then pinched it with his skinny thumb and forefinger; a throbbing headache growing and the blood pounding in his ears adding to his irritation. Tiredly, he gave the Styrofoam dolls the description of the motion tracking gun connected to the telephone, and got back an approving response from Mr. Fuck, and a rude sneer from the other.
"Oh, please, spare me this! Here is yet another of his false attempts! The little shit lies. Tell me, Johnny C., who is going to call you? Nobody ever calls you! Not even wrong numbers! And you KNOW IT! When was the last time that phone even rang? Especially at two in the morning? Nobody wants you! You've chased them all away! Pusillanimous wretch! Peering over the edge of the abyss, but never strong enough to JUMP!"
Psycho Doughboy's voice was filled with anger, betrayal, and disappointment as he glared hatefully at the sickly thin man sitting in the chair several agonizing feet away from him. Johnny lifted his head, his eyes possessed and filled with a dangerous hunger for blood and his facial features expressing genuine hate.
"You want, so much for me to die, why haven't you just KILLED ME YOURSELF?"
He spit at the Styrofoam toy and flared his nose, swiftly getting up and glaring down at the two doughboys in disgust.
"I CAN'T. But trust me; I would LOVE to- to serve my master. I am, however, not strong enough. Fuckety, fuck."
Psycho Doughboy was cut off by Mr. Fuck who was smiling with dark pleasure. "Not yet, anyhow. But get this, Nny, he doesn't even care about being strong enough! He actually does want to serve his master. Me? Well, I need you alive a little longer, so just ride it out!"
Looking away from them, Johnny muttered to himself, "You know what? I don't even know how I came to live in this house. I guess pretty soon, I won't even remember Nailbunny." He took a long, shuddering sigh, and rubbed an eye, tired, but not willing to retreat from the shitty scene and sleep. It wasn't at all comforting or reassuring; it wasn't even productive. But then again, when was his life ever productive?
"It's all so very distressing. Is it not? So what is the point of remaining? Be serious on this Johnny. I apologize for what I said earlier. I'm your friend. Kill yourself. Do it for your FRIEND."
Psycho Doughboy pleaded with a desperate tone in his voice; his Styrofoam hand reaching out for assurance. Johnny's face filled with tears turned to a deathly expression. Turning around to face the shit possessed decoration, Psycho Doughboy, Johnny grabbed him around the neck in a crushing force, his nails creating dents into the foam. Slamming the doughboy onto the cracked wall of his home, he angrily pulled out a knife which was hiding inside one of his black steel-toed boots, and stabbed Psycho Doughboy in the middle of his shit-smeared face.
Letting go of the squirming Styrofoam, Johnny panted with unsettling anger as his hands and eyelids twitched. "NO! I CONTROL ME! I CONTROL ME, YOU FUCKING SHIT!"
Johnny's crazed look spread on his face, his eyes wide and pupils only tiny specks along with crow's feet lining his forehead. Mr. Fuck hobbled over to the wall and stared in humor and entertainment at the sight.
"HURRAH! YIPPEE! Fook-fook! Nicely done, dear boy! Now, quick, go kill something! The barrier grows thin! Don't let IT escape! Let's go mutilate club kids!"
Johnny turned to the other doughboy standing beside him and unleashed his anger and emotion upon the other. "FUCK YOU, EFF! I'M NOT FEEDING THE WALL! AND I'M NOT KILLING MYSELF, AFTERALL! I'm turning the arm OFF! And I'm TAKING CHARGE OF…"
Johnny turned the arm on, thinking that he had turned it off, and flinched. "Hey, It didn't fire, the gun! I am SO lucky! I…"
"IT WASN'T ON TO BEGIN WITH!" Psycho Doughboy yelled just as the phone rang.
Johnny and Mr. Fuck glanced at the phone behind them, and Johnny's eyes opened even wider in surprise.
Who would give a care, or would even be awake at two in the fucking morning?
"WHO THE HELL…. Somebody's calling me? SOMEBODY'S CALLING ME," Johnny reached for the phone hook, immediately forgetting that he had just turned on the suicide machine, "I beat you guys! Things will be DIFFERENT now! I feel it."
A flood of questions poured through Johnny's thoughts as he picked up the receiver. Who would call him? Why did they call him? Why did they care? DO they care? Maybe it's just someone calling the wrong number. Fuck.
Putting the phone to his ear, he answered with a weak, "hello?"
Before Johnny could hear the other person's voice, the gun's trigger whizzed through the air, and a silver bullet shot into Johnny's head, and through his eye socket. Due to the force of the bullet, Johnny fell to the floor in a mess of blood and carcass; dark crimson running down his face, the skin around the wound burning with irritation, and the hot bullet was lodged inside of Johnny's brain. A complete mess.
Blind, Johnny's breaths came quick and burdened as a stream of blood flowed out of the hole. Bloodcurdling shrieks and screams came from Mr. Fuck in fury and surprise as Psycho Doughboy stayed pinned to the wall, smiling madly and cackling in pleasure and success.
Dear Die-ary,
I seem to be dead.
(AUTHORS NOTE): Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's not as gorey and bloody as you might have wanted, but whatever. ALL OF THE BOLD TEXT are specific quotes from the comic issue, "A Call", and they belong to JHONEN VASQUEZ. Not me.
I didn't put much psychological input on this chapter, its more about the action of the story.
Rate it, Review it, Message me, Hate it, tell me what you think of the story so far. And if you would, please tell others about the story as well.