Johnny The Homicidal Maniac Fan Fiction ❯ Changes ❯ One ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I was changing. I could feel it, no matter how long it was taking. I hadn’t even had the strong urge to kill today, which is strange for me. Different, but I’m not so sure it was good. I couldn’t tell you for sure. I wouldn’t know a good feeling if it bit me on the nose, though I doubt it would be such a good feeling if it bit me on the nose, and then, I’d probably have the urge to kill it for biting me on the nose.
It was growing rather dark by now and I was more interested in getting home then the stupid imbeciles that found something about me hilarious, but like I said, the change was coming slowly, and I still wasn’t for sure if I wanted to change.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked turning around and smiling viciously.
“No…heh… not really I guess.” One of the girls answered back. “It’s just you’re so skinny. I only thought girls were anorexic!” She blurted out with a eruption of laughter from the other girls sitting with her.
“Actually, anorexia has become an increasing problems among males in the past few years, though I don’t suffer from it personally.” I said as I finished decapitating the last girl who had spoken.
I quickly walked away, smiling. So maybe I wasn’t as changed as I had thought. It had felt so good though. It was like my drug, which is why I must quit, because at this moment, it controlled me, just like any other vise would.
I slipped into an alley way while a police cruiser passed. Since I was no longer a ‘flusher’, I didn’t have the supernatural immunity anymore, though it would seem as though I’m still good at not getting caught. A gleam at the end of the alley caught my eye, and my emotions getting the best of me I went to check it out.
2 discarded screws lay only inches from a big metal dumpster, like someone had missed from a window above. I smiled as I picked them up and examined them. With nothing special about them, I decided to throw them away. As I went to throw them over my shoulder, into the dumpster, I paused when a faint wind blew from the opposite end of the alley.
Wait…
I wasn’t sure if I really heard it, or if I was imagining things. Or maybe the wind just could talk now. After you hear voices in your head for so long, you start to become paranoid, which I guess isn’t really surprising. Without really thinking about it, I slipped the screws into my trenches pocket and went home to wash the blood off my clothes before they were permanently stained.