Fanatics 2

Fragments of a Past Reality- Soup and a Blanket

Johnathan raced down the street, his heavy breathing turning to steam in the chilly, evening air. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far away from that school as possible.
He could hear sirens in the distance: police sirens, ambulance sirens. They haven’t moved in a while. They were probably still too aghast at the scene before them. No one can really walk away from a massacre without feeling anything.
Not even the one who caused it.
Johnathan suddenly found himself at an unfamiliar playground. He stumbled past the fence and over to a nearby water fountain. He took a quick drink and tried to wash off as much of the blood as possible.
He was shaking like a leaf. He gripped the fountain as he started to hyperventilate. Saliva and tears mixed with the water as it spiraled down the drain.
It flashed across his mind, bombarding all his senses. He saw the many bodies littering the floor, all the blood splattering the ceiling and walls. He smelled the rancid stench of death. He heard their cries as they told him to stop, apologizing, begging for mercy. He felt the handle of the blade in his hand, as he cut through their skin like butter.
But most of all, he tasted the blood in his teeth. Not their blood, but his own. The very taste that provoked him to slice through that murderer’s body and caused him to have a massacre of his own.
Johnathan took another drink of water to wash the taste out and gritted his teeth. That bastard murderer. He shot so many of his classmates just like he shot his mother and sister. And then he recognized Johnathan and had the audacity to try and beat him to death. But that became his undoing.
Johnathan didn’t black out when he attacked that murderer and everyone else at school. He remembered every second of it. And that’s what was so painful.
But why was it painful? What emotion was causing him to tremble like this? Regret? No. Fear? No. Sadness? No.
It was a hard emotion to define, but as Johnathan walked over to the swing set he figured it out. He wasn’t shaking because he killed all those people. He didn’t care about them.
No, he was shaking because he had nowhere to go now.
He sat on a swing and sighed miserably. Yeah, that’s it. He ran away and he could never go back. He could never see his father or baby brother ever again.
Did they really mean that much to him? After Mom and Tammie died, he didn’t feel much of anything. But did they mean something to him subconsciously?
No, that’s not it. It was because now he was truly alone. Dad and Mack might not have been able to comfort him mentally or emotionally, but at least they were there for him physically. Now he was completely alone.
Fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. He curled in on himself, resting his forehead on his knees, and sobbed quietly.
“I’m… alone.”
“Hey.”
He looked up at the sudden voice. There was a girl not much older than him standing a few feet away. It was hard to make out her features in the growing darkness, but she had dead straight, black hair and appeared to be carrying a bag.
“What’s a kid like you doing out here?” she asked curiously.
“I could ask the same to you,” Johnathan mumbled.
The girl grunted, offended, and sat on the swing beside him. “Well, if you must know, I’m going to a friend’s house. Gonna spend the night. Your turn.”
Johnathan stared blankly at the ground and didn’t answer. But the girl didn’t give up.
“Are you here with friends?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“Are you lost?”
“No. Well, maybe. But I don’t really have a destination.”
“Why don’t you go home?”
“I don’t have a home anymore,” he muttered, “I ran away.”
“Whoa, really? Why?” she asked then quickly retracted the question. “I’m sorry, that’s personal. You don’t have to answer.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Johnathan murmured.
The girl swayed back and forth on the swing, tapping her fingers on the chains. “Is that why you were crying?” she asked cautiously.
He flinched and glared at the ground. “I guess.”
The girl suddenly stopped swinging and looked at him. “You know, it’s not your fault!”
Johnathan looked at her, surprised by the outburst.
“Not directly at least,” she added, “I don’t know what happened to you to cause you to run away. But I do know that you didn’t cause it.”
“How would you know that?” he asked.
“Because as kids we are constantly influenced by what goes on around us,” she replied, “especially by adults.”
“You know, adults think they rule the world just because they’re adults,” she growled, “and they view us kids all the same: as bothersome, over-imaginative burdens. And worst of all, they think we live the exact same as other kids. But they’re wrong.”
“All kids have to go through different trials throughout their lives. And adults seem to forget that. They think that since they were once kids they know how we live. But they’re wrong.”
“You seem to have a bit of pent up rage towards adults,” Johnathan commented.
“Yeah. It’s mostly directed to my parents and teachers,” she nodded, “they’re always stifling my creativity. I’m a painter! Why can’t they support that?”
“Anyway,” she sniffed, “all kids have to go through different trials in their lives to become adults. Some go through simple trials, others not so much. But if you make it through those trials and you learn from them, you’ll definitely have the potential to be a good person.”
“A good person, huh?” Johnathan mused, “that’s a nice thought.”
The girl stared at him with surprise. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he was smiling. He looked so sad and lonely.
She cleared her throat, feeling a little awkward, and stood up. “Well, I should be going. I gotta get to my friend’s house. But um before I go...”
She reached into her bag and handed Johnathan a soft looking blanket and a Tupperware container full of soup.
“What’s this?” he asked as he took the bundle.
“One of my old blankets and a bowl of soup I made in Home Ec.,” she replied, “I don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing, but I do hope everything works out. So I’d like to help any way I can.”
He blinked. “Thank you.”
“Good luck, kid,” she smiled and saluted. He smiled back and it was an actual, almost happy smile.
With that the girl marched away into the darkness. Johnathan stared after her until she disappeared. Then he noticed the sirens have started moving. He should do the same.
He hopped off the swing and climbed onto the equipment. He crawled into a large tube and curled up in his new blanket. It had a bit of wear but it was really comfortable.
He took the lid off the Tupperware bowl. It smelled great. He dumped the contents into his mouth. It was cold but tasted fantastic.
He snuggled up nice and warm in his current bed for the night, eating his soup and listening to the sirens. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but that’s okay. A story is always more interesting when you don’t know how it will end. But was it really possible for him to be a good person?
Present Day
Johnny’s eyes blink open. He sits up and rubs his head. He always wakes up with a headache.
As he stands up, his little blanket slips of his shoulders and falls to the floor. He quickly picks it up and lays it on the bed. It’s an old blanket and it’s not long enough to cover his whole body, but he’s had it for longer than he can remember. And he likes it.
Johnny stretches his thin arms to the ceiling. He considers changing out of his t-shirt but he can’t be bothered. Besides, Squee doesn’t mind his scars.
Johnny yawns as he trudges out of his room and into the living room. The TV is on but the sound is turned down.
“Morning, Nny,” Squee chimes as he exits the hall.
Morning,” Nny grunts.
“Morning, chicken arms.”
Johnny stops abruptly and glares into the kitchen. “Why are you two here so early?”
Devi and Tenna smirk brightly. “We were nice enough to bring some lunch over,” Devi explains, “since you’re both too lazy to make your own food.”
“That’s true,” Squee nods.
“Lunch? How long did I sleep in?” Nny asks.
“Not long,” Squee replies, “it’s only 9. They’re early.”
“9? Isn’t that breakfast?”
“Soup is lunch food,” Tenna states.
“Well, I’m hungry now,” Johnny says plainly as he sits at the table. Squee joins him, setting Shmee on the tabletop.
“Fine, fine,” Devi shrugs as she sticks the Tupperware of soup into the microwave.
“Did you make it?” Squee asks.
“Yup. I learned how to in Skool,” she replies, “one of the few things that actually stuck with me.”
When the microwave beeps, Devi dishes the soup out into four bowls. Everybody grabs their own and eats at the table.
“Do you like it?” Devi asks.
“Yeah, it’s good,” Squee nods.
Johnny chews slowly, a quizzical look on his face. “It almost tastes… familiar somehow.”
“Familiar?” Tenna questions.
“Yeah. Like I’ve tasted it before,” he mutters.
“Well, I learnt that recipe when I was in junior high,” Devi points out, “it’s probably pretty common.”
“Right,” Johnny sighs. But as he eats, an odd, piercing sense of loneliness overcomes him. And it’s a familiar feeling, one he’s felt many times before.
He groans and rubs the scar on his forehead.
“Johnny? Are you okay?” Squee asks.
Johnny looks at him and the loneliness immediately disappears. He smiles and nods, “yup.”
“Good soup, Devi,” he comments, “you should work in the kitchen at the café. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to see you every time I go there.”
“If you don’t want to see me every time you go there, then don’t go there,” Devi retorts, “simple as that.”
“Aw, the way you two argue,” Tenna coos, “it’s like the spats of an old married couple.”
They immediately shoot her a piercing glare that she laughs at. Squee just smiles and eats quietly.