‹ Prequel: Cut Me Open
Status: Ignore that last Comment everyone ! Thats not what its gonna be about
Drenched in Blood
Comedic Runaway
“Why are you always so serious, Honey? You need to smile more,” Mrs. Napier looked at Jack with worried eyes.
“What is there to smile about, Mom?” the little boy asked, looking up at his mom.
“You’re only eight, Jacky, you have so much to smile about,” she touched his face.
The door slammed open, “Bitch, where the fuck is your son?”
“Run,” she whispered towards Jack, he turned around and ran towards his parent’s room and he hid in the closet.
“I know you fucking heard me!”
“Please leave him alone, Jack, he’s just a boy,” she begged.
Jack heard a loud slam and a couple of dishes fell to the ground and broke, he snuck back to his room and got into his own closet, he picked up his little stuffed gerbil, the gerbil he had stuffed a couple of weeks before while they argued. He could recall the memory of the little gerbil’s soft squeaks and blood as it ran down his arms. It had given him a feeling of superiority and knowledge that the gerbil would always be there and never have to leave him. He held the report card he had received that morning in his hands, all A’s. He joyously recalled the way he conned his third grade teacher into giving him better grades.
Then he picked up the little joker doll his mom had bought him while they were at a medieval castle museum. The painted on face he always dreamed he had. The purple suit, the green hair. ’One day, he will be me,’ he thought, rubbing its face with his thumb.
“Where the hell are you?” his father screamed, “I have your mom, you don’t want me to kill her, do you?”
Jack thought about his mother, her gentle-face, her soft-hands. He would be alright if his father killed her. He had dreamt of it many times, the way his mother’s blood would feel as it ran down his arms. He would never want to kill his father, if he did, the lack of adrenaline-rush would make his life so much less. He didn’t love his parents, he just knew they were necessary, until he could run his own circus full of mannequins, not real humans, humans were so unbearable. His ’friends’ at school were mainly just tools he used to get out of being in trouble, not that he ever let his self be in the position of being ’in trouble.’
Jack reached for his suit-case, it was full of money, well change. He only really had about 35 dollars. Then he grabbed his purple suit that was stuffed in the back-corner of the closet. He smiled giddily. It was time for a new scene. He took his clothes off and put on his little purple suit, he would put the makeup on later. He picked up his pocket-knife with a smile.
“One! Two! Three!” a loud scream echoed through the house then cut off with a gargle, then he heard the sound of his mother’s lifeless body hitting the floor.
Jack, now Joker, picked up his black bag and headed out his room, “I’m right here, Daddy, why did you want me?”
His father lunged towards him dropping the gun like a wild boar. Joker laughed excitedly and jumped over him, then when his father finally got him down, Joker stuck the knife to his throat, “Daddy, tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat?”
His father’s eyes popped out of his head, “What? Jacky, where did you-”
“I asked you a question, Daddy.”
“I’m your father,” his father replied.
Joker laughed, hysterically, “Really?” then he slit his throat and let his father’s blood paint his face. Then he rubbed his father’s blood across his face, like a permanent-smile. Then he used his father’s blood to paint the words, ‘Why so serious, Jacky? Hmm?’ across the hallway’s wall.
“What is there to smile about, Mom?” the little boy asked, looking up at his mom.
“You’re only eight, Jacky, you have so much to smile about,” she touched his face.
The door slammed open, “Bitch, where the fuck is your son?”
“Run,” she whispered towards Jack, he turned around and ran towards his parent’s room and he hid in the closet.
“I know you fucking heard me!”
“Please leave him alone, Jack, he’s just a boy,” she begged.
Jack heard a loud slam and a couple of dishes fell to the ground and broke, he snuck back to his room and got into his own closet, he picked up his little stuffed gerbil, the gerbil he had stuffed a couple of weeks before while they argued. He could recall the memory of the little gerbil’s soft squeaks and blood as it ran down his arms. It had given him a feeling of superiority and knowledge that the gerbil would always be there and never have to leave him. He held the report card he had received that morning in his hands, all A’s. He joyously recalled the way he conned his third grade teacher into giving him better grades.
Then he picked up the little joker doll his mom had bought him while they were at a medieval castle museum. The painted on face he always dreamed he had. The purple suit, the green hair. ’One day, he will be me,’ he thought, rubbing its face with his thumb.
“Where the hell are you?” his father screamed, “I have your mom, you don’t want me to kill her, do you?”
Jack thought about his mother, her gentle-face, her soft-hands. He would be alright if his father killed her. He had dreamt of it many times, the way his mother’s blood would feel as it ran down his arms. He would never want to kill his father, if he did, the lack of adrenaline-rush would make his life so much less. He didn’t love his parents, he just knew they were necessary, until he could run his own circus full of mannequins, not real humans, humans were so unbearable. His ’friends’ at school were mainly just tools he used to get out of being in trouble, not that he ever let his self be in the position of being ’in trouble.’
Jack reached for his suit-case, it was full of money, well change. He only really had about 35 dollars. Then he grabbed his purple suit that was stuffed in the back-corner of the closet. He smiled giddily. It was time for a new scene. He took his clothes off and put on his little purple suit, he would put the makeup on later. He picked up his pocket-knife with a smile.
“One! Two! Three!” a loud scream echoed through the house then cut off with a gargle, then he heard the sound of his mother’s lifeless body hitting the floor.
Jack, now Joker, picked up his black bag and headed out his room, “I’m right here, Daddy, why did you want me?”
His father lunged towards him dropping the gun like a wild boar. Joker laughed excitedly and jumped over him, then when his father finally got him down, Joker stuck the knife to his throat, “Daddy, tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat?”
His father’s eyes popped out of his head, “What? Jacky, where did you-”
“I asked you a question, Daddy.”
“I’m your father,” his father replied.
Joker laughed, hysterically, “Really?” then he slit his throat and let his father’s blood paint his face. Then he rubbed his father’s blood across his face, like a permanent-smile. Then he used his father’s blood to paint the words, ‘Why so serious, Jacky? Hmm?’ across the hallway’s wall.
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Questions/Comments?Sorry I havent posted in a while been super duper busy.