"Slaughtered"

It was insane the way that maniac murdered my best friend. We were both in a straight jacket that cut out our blood circulation. We were dragged inside his ill-gotten house where our eyes widened at the sight of other people decapitated, bones, blood, innards, shit, etc. The sight was a putrid, dripping eidolon of unwholesome revelation. We then reached a room below the abyss. Our hands and ankles were clamped onto a wall with chains rusting with blood, as red as the huge curtain in front of us. "Y'know, Anne," the maniac started to sharpen his tools, "When I waited for five hours for you do your make-up in that house of scary fanatic abominations and knick-knacks, I saw your high school year book. I noticed you were a cheerleader."

Oh dear, God! What an unwholesome revelation! Anne Gwish, a cheerleader? How I wanted to laugh, and yet the horror of getting killed filled me more. It's such a bittersweet feeling, quite mixed up, but oh, I wanted to laugh. "Then, let me go, Nny!" Anne said nervously, "Everyone likes cheerleaders, right? Everyone likes cheerleaders! I can be whatever you like, goth or cheerleader."

"Oh, I like cheerleaders alright. That's why I still stayed with you 'til the end. Yes, they're the kind of people I love…." Then, he pulled a rope and the curtain opened, revealing that we were on a stage and the audience was a cheerleading team, clamped on the chairs and scared that they could not speak. He continued, "People I love to butcher! And if you don't mind, I took the liberty of inviting the present team to watch a veteran cheer and yell." Then, the maniac said to the audience, "Okay, girls, let me show some tips on how to be the pretty thing you fuckin' try so much to be."

First, he removed all of Anne's make-up and showed her a mirror. He was evil! How could he do such thing to a woman? Without make-up, we look like the monsters the Earth should hide. Yet, I wanted to laugh at my best friend's abhorrent travesty. I know the cheerleaders also want to laugh at her. But there was empathy there. I could feel the horror Anne was in, the imagination of hellish humiliation. She shrieked and cursed Johnny. She tried to close her eyes to ward off her hideous reflection, but he already took the mirror away. "You don't need to buy expensive make-up, ladies," the maniac said, "Just be creative." Then, he sliced Anne's lips and called the blood "lipstick." For eye-shadow effect he said, he pulled out her eyeballs. "Beautiful!"

"I know you're all conscious of your weight, ladies," he grabbed a circular chainsaw while Anne was screaming with the pain in her eyes, "But you don't have to spend so much money for liposuction. Do it yourself." Then, he turned on the chainsaw that made an abhorrent whirling noise, and he sliced Anne's torso open. Her guts hung out. She was still alive to feel the unbearable pain. I screamed, we all screamed for her whose voice was gone with the sighs of the walls. "But to really impress the guys," the maniac then put suction caps all over Anne. With one pull of a lever, she was dreadfully electrified. "This effect should magnetize your bones and attract more fuckin' people!" Johnny pointed out, "You'll have a shocking personality."

"But if you're really desperate to get attention," the maniac continued and pulled the lever down more. The electrocution was so powerful, at last, Anne exploded; her guts, hair, blood, bone fragments, flesh, everything that's waste now, made the most gruesome fountain, showering the horrified spectators with blood. "Can't take your eyes off her, huh?" Johnny asked the audience, "That means my tips are working." I don't know I'm narrating this in detail, but deep inside, I think it's awesome.

"Who are you talking to?" the maniac just asked me.

"Are you narrating? Why are you mimicking my words? Stop saying what I'm saying! What's this? Words, typed. What's going on here? Chapter 1 Rejected….Chapter 2, Nailbunny's narrating, too. Stop typing my words! What the hell? What the hell, Cleo! How could you narrate with such idiocy? Look at your chapters. They're terrible. No wonder no one's reviewing this thing. It's all about you, never about me. Yeah, you described the goth culture. But who would give a damn for creative writing! You're a bad narrator, an unreliable one, drunk with all the absinthe, leaving out the parts where I should be. I'm the antagonist here! Shit! You portrayed me as a weak stock character."

"I described in detail about your homicidal masterpiece on Anne Gwish," I replied.

"Stop narrating! Yeah, you did describe my work, but you're telling everyone that they should feel sorry about Anne. Fuck! She's not even a good homicidal maniac, killing all those posers in the ball. Fuck again! I killed more inside the mansion. Why did you leaved that part out? Wait, oh, you're not in there at that time. Then, why did this fanfic even chose you to narrate? Yet, I'm thankful it included Nailbunny's side. He has more of a steadfast point of view, getting on my good side. But, you! You're a liar! I noticed it's all about you, it's all about Anne Gwish, leaving out the details of glorious gore, dissatisfying the readers. Don't you put those apostrophes"

Out of childish rage, Johnny scalped my head, cut off my limbs, pulled out my spine, and nailed rusty pins on each nerve. In my excruciating living agony, I was still conscious of what's next. Someone tapped Johnny's shoulder. It was one of the cheerleaders, out of the clutches, covered in blood and had a dark aura. She gave Johnny a knife, "Sorry if I didn't get your permission, but my friends were annoying me while I was enjoying your morbid work of art. They kept on blaming me on their piteous fate. I think they should deserve it." Johnny looked at the audience and the cheerleaders were dead and disembodied.

The goth cheerleader returned back to her seat and clamped herself, "Just a courtesy to a fellow murderer." The eyeless cat appeared on her shoulders. Johnny smiled and got interested. Then again, he threw the knife upwards and it cut the rope of a huge chandelier with spears pointing downwards. It landed on the goth cheerleader who thought she would win her idol's heart. Oh, Great God Osiris, is that you? Are you here to collect my soul now?

(from nailbunny's point of view) I guess Johnny is still the homicidal maniac. Just this morning, he killed two goth girls and a whole cheerleading team. Now, I'm watching him paint the Wall with their scented blood and use Phoebe as the paintbrush. "First, it was Jimmy," he murmured, "I hate fans."