OH LOOK, CHAPTER THREE. why yes, i DO still exist. and i'm sorry for the wait. it's a-happening, slowly, but surely! so, anyway. my life has been awesome. and full of schoolwork. and a lot of studying, because i might be going to france. and my dog is prego. good times.

disclaimer: i own none of this. dern.

CHAPTER THREE

Johnny's dark eyes narrowed as he turned the corner, turning his music off. An eerie silence met him, almost like the universe was waiting for this moment; the moment where Johnny once again faced his past. This didn't happen often, and he wasn't really keen to do it, but he'd gotten this far hadn't he?

A loud clatter pulled Nny out of his thoughts and caused him to whip his head around, searching behind him wildly. His heart rate gave a jolt and he found himself instinctively reaching for the knife he kept tucked away in his long, black coat.

Johnny slid the knife out and held it threateningly, his eyes darting back and forth for a few frantic moments before he concluded that it must have just been his imagination. He didn't bother to put his weapon back, but merely held the handle and let his long coat sleeve fall down to conceal most of it.

He continued nearing his old home, keeping his gaze glued onto the gray sidewalk. That was one thing about this town that he didn't miss; the colour. Of course, he didn't miss really anything about this place, but he definitely didn't miss the way the sky was almost always overcast, throwing everything off. Red was gray and yellow was white, and everything was an illusion. * It made Johnny uneasy to have something play up his eye sight like that, even though he knew exactly what it really was; just lighting.

The neighborhood was beginning to get to him. He could feel it in his bones that something was wrong, but he didn't dare look up until he reached his destination. So he passed cracks in the sidewalk that shrank and expanded, depending on the direction it was heading, and he kicked any stray pebble that happened to be in the path of his black boots.

He caught himself glancing over his shoulder a lot, gripping his knife tighter each time. The outlandish feeling was making him feel semi-frantic. Once, he could have sworn his eyes had locked onto someone else's, but as soon as he blinked, he was staring at the trees and the empty street again. Eventually, he pocketed his knife, but kept looking back.

When the moment finally came for Johnny to face his past, he could have sworn eyes were on his as he lifted his own. The instant his eyes looked up, his heart jumped, jolted, and seemingly stopped, like a frightened deer that had run only to be shot in the end.

There was no past to look at. Not even a pile of rubble to sift through, or the remnants of a home ever existing. Johnny's feet acted on their own, taking him closer to the patch of stiff, stalks of grass that looked as though no one had mowed it in the past three years. When he came to standing in it, he was almost certain that was the case.

He scoured the earth beneath him, blinking in confusion at the dirt and plant life under his feet. Where was his house? What had happened to it? Did the town tear it down, or did it swallow itself? Johnny scraped his boot across the dirt, and, considering the lack of his old basement, he guessed the latter was the most logical explanation.

Had anyone witnessed the strange phenomenon? When did it happen? Johnny tore his eyes from the ground and looked over to the only house near his, and strode over to it. Squee would know, wouldn't he? Was Squee still here? The entire house had the atmosphere of emptiness, and the thought of no one being there made Johnny nervous.

Johnny felt a strange fondness in his chest as he approached the window and was able to slide it open. Squee always listened. Without hesitation, he slipped into the house, using a dirty lawn gnome as a step up. The sound of his feet hitting the wooden floor sounded horribly out of place in the silence, and the stale odor made him terribly aware that no one was here.

Where was Squee?

The boy's room, although barely visible in the fading daylight, was messy, but it looked like the room of a little kid. The bed was the same; sheets tussled, rocket ships zooming across the comforter toward the poster-filled walls. Clothes were still strewn across the floor, a tiny pair of red sneakers resting next to the door.

A good layer of dust lined everything, though. No one had touched this room in a long time, Johnny realized. He set his bag down on a tiny nightstand, using his free hands to brush his hair back, holding it there and gazing around.

"No house, no Squee, what am I doing here? Why do I still feel this urge to be here? What is waiting for me here?" Johnny thought, dropping his hands, hair falling to fringe his face again. He could feel himself growing displeased with the lack of direction his trip had suddenly produced. What else could be here? He didn't want to leave though, and he knew that. What was he waiting for?

He turned, getting ready to crawl back out the window when something distracted him. A familiar object was resting in the space between Squee's nightstand and the wall. He grabbed his bag and set it on the bed to better see the strange fuzzy lump that looked to be hanging awkward by its leg. Johnny lifted it up and felt an unidentifiable tug in him.

Shmee. Johnny held the little bear in front of him and looked it over; it was worn and had fading fur. One of the eyes looked as though it'd seen more than any plastic eye was able to, and its chest had a snaking stitch holding it together. Johnny vaguely recalled the first time he'd seen the bear and stabbed it until the fluffy entrails fell out.

Unlike last time, though, Johnny didn't hear any voices as he held it. He didn't hear any voices ever. It was just a silent, darkening room full of dust, abandoned items, and him. Johnny brought the tiny stuffed animal closer to him, hugging it to his stomach. Without thinking, he lay down on Squee's old bed and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure why, but he sat there for maybe hours before falling asleep, clutching Shmee as close to him as he could.

oh, look. an end. review, yes? :D