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Here's Hoping for The Worst!	By : V021 Category: Comics > Squee! Views: 1788 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Squee!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
Chapter 3: The Dissatisfaction of Mixed Signals
“Because…because I could never find a food I liked. Had I found it, believe me I never would have caused such a ruckus and would have stuffed myself like you and everyone else.” ~~ Franz Kafka, The Hunger Artist

Johnny stretched out across the floorboards in a jumble of limbs like some broken toy tossed in the trash. A few feet from his head was the vile grinning head of the Burger Boy, laying where it had rolled to stop after being snapped off its chubby body. Bits of ceramic dust stuck to the ugly, seeping purple-green bruise that now swelled on Johnny’s temple.
“Oh my God…” Todd gibbered as he stared at the body. “I killed Johnny.”
“You bastard.”
“Shut up, Reverend!” snarled Mister Eff, punting the Burger Boy’s head into the dresser. The doughboy turned to Todd with a pleased smirk. “Well, this isn’t the most impressive or even the most creative killing I’ve seen, but it certainly was effective. Now, let’s get rid of the carcass…unless you wanna have him stinking up the place. Hurry now! HURRY! Before the rigor sets in…”
Todd gapped in horror. “You sick fuck! He is—was my friend! Uh, okay, so maybe Johnny wasn’t exactly a friend—But at least he hasn’t tried to kill me!”
“Yet.” Mister Eff groused. “And now he’s dead. So quit bitching and bury him already.”
“Oh Mister Fuck…” cooed D-boy, now leering over at them from his perch on Johnny’s knee. “He’s not quite dead yet…”
“Johnny’s alive?!” Todd rushed over and fell to his knees next to the body. He laid his head on Johnny’s chest and strained to hear even a single breath or heartbeat.
Mister Eff scowled then looked to his strangely cheery counterpart. “Hey…How the fuck did you get off the wall? And why’s your arm reattached?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” chuckled D-boy, hopping down and grabbing up a hammer. “Let’s just chalk it up to a convenient plothole. Now, pardon me while I get reacquainted with my dear old friend, the Good Reverend Meat…”
Arching one eyebrow, Mister Eff watched D-boy trot off to get some long overdue payback before looking back at Todd.
“He’s still breathing…” sighed the boy. “He’s still breathing…”
“Yeah, well he’s probably a brain damaged vegetable now.” Mister Eff hissed. The doughboy laughed off Todd’s glare, but the laughter died when he noticed the boy slipping his arms underneath Johnny. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“What does it look like?” snapped Todd as he lifted Johnny up with unnatural ease. “I’m going to…Wow! Johnny’s awfully light. I mean, even for a guy his size, it shouldn’t be this easy to pick him up…”
Mister Eff rolled his empty eyes. “Great. He’s having another one of his stupid starving artist moments.”
“ ‘The Hunger Artist’…” Todd muttered, carrying Johnny into the living room. He stumbled in the darkness, finally finding the couch with the grayish glow of the television set.
The doughboy, who’d been following close behind, blinked up at him. “Pardon?”
“That story by Kafka, the one about a performance artist whose only talent is his ability to fast.” Todd explained as he laid Johnny down on the couch. “Haven’t you ever heard of it?”
“No. I fucking despise Kafka.”
A nasty smirk crept across Todd’s face. “Too bad. Here’s the synopsis: The story begins with the Hunger Artist, a man once famed for being able to fast for forty days straight. He used to tour the country, drawing in huge crowds at every town and village he’d visit. The Hunger Artist, despite his celebrity, was always disappointed because his promoter would never allow the fast to exceed the forty day limit. The Artist felt himself cheated by this limitation on his fasting and fought against it futilely when he was taken out of the cage each fact. So confident was he that the Artist believed he could go much, much, much longer… if only they would let him.”
Todd paused, tenderly lifting Johnny up so he could sit on the couch. He began speaking again, voice reverent as he let Johnny’s head rest in his lap and stroked the gaunt features of the other man’s face.
“Then the public, in it’s own special cruel fickle way, lost interest in such morbid displays of self-denial and went on to brighter, livelier entertainments. And so the Artist cut ties with his promoter and went to work at a circus, his cage placed next to the animal cages. Forgotten, the Artist at last got his wish to fast for as long as he wished, yet no one cared to even be bothered with changing the sign that tracked how long the Artist had been starving himself. Then one day, the circus manager came round and saw the apparently empty cage. It took a moment of investigating before anyone remembered that this was where they’d left the Hunger Artist and they found him laying in the rotten straw. With the manager leaning close to hear him, the Artist explained that the real reason he fasted was because he could never find a food he liked. The Artist starved himself to death, you see, because he was dissatisfied…”
Todd found himself suddenly choking up, but shook it off. “But no one else, not even the manager who heard his final words, realized the significance. In their apathy and blindness, they buried the Hunger Artist with his rotting straw and placed in his cage a young panther. And, unlike the Hunger Artist, the panther was alive—so painfully alive!—and he was satisfied with the meat they gave him. Oh, he was very satisfied indeed. The End.”
“Yeah. Whatever, queer.” Mister Eff snorted. He gagged at the way Todd looked down on Johnny.
“Go away.”
The doughboy blinked at Todd at first in disbelief, then glared with outright disgust. “Fine! I’ll leave you girls to ‘cuddle’…” With that, Mister Eff stomped out of the room.
Todd waited until the doughboy was no longer in earshot, then let out a little whimper. In a cautiously gentle way, he drew Johnny closer, cradling his limp body like he used to Shmee’s. He rocked back and forth for a while, resting his cheek against the top of Johnny’s head. The tears start quietly but soon grew in wetly frantic sobbing as he clutched Johnny tighter and tighter until Todd could feel the bones under the numb flesh. Chest hurting and wet-faced, he pressed a kiss on Johnny’s head then pressed another against his forehead then another on one cold cheek then another on the other cheek as he fingers groped and dug in deep to get a reaction. He started clawing and pulling at Johnny, frustrated by the unresponsive limbs. His mouth quickly covered Johnny’s, teeth tearing at the passive lips and his tongue forcing its way inside. Todd gagged on the nasty bitter flavor, but kissed harder and deeper.
A hand fumbled against Todd’s shoulder, but he didn’t notice it or the muffled grunt of surprise. In a flurry of swipes and kicks, Johnny threw Todd off him and into the television. The room went black.
“FUCK! GOD DAMN DISEASED SON OF A BITCH…” began the litany of obscenities from Johnny while he spat and flailed angrily through the darkness. He tripped over Todd as the boy tried to get back to his feet. Roaring, Johnny grabbed Todd’s neck and, wrestling the boy to the floor, started throttling him. He only let go after Todd managed to slam a fist up under Johnny’s ribcage hard enough to wind him.
Todd got off the floor in a leap and ran toward a door, any door. He tore it open the moment his fingers hit a knob, and he blinked, amazed to find he was staring out onto the street in warm light of the late afternoon. He barely made it onto the step before Johnny caught up, grabbing Todd’s arm. Reflexively, the boy whipped around and punched Johnny with all his might, taking off a dead run for his front porch when Johnny released his grip. He bolted inside, looking back once to see Johnny clutching his nose and stare at him in shock.
Breathless and lightheaded, Todd staggered upstairs to his room. He stood at the foot of his bed and glared at Shmee with every ounce of hatred he had left. “You bastard… You rotten, lint-filled bastard! You knew. You fucking knew! You fucking set me up! Tell, Shmee: Was it a plot between you and the Burger Boy, or did you just come up with it all by yourself?”
“You’re bleeding,” was all the bear said.
Reaching up, Todd touched the sleeve of his shirt and drew back a wetly red hand. He looked down his arm at the slow running lines the dripped to the carpet. He stumbled into the bathroom swearing explicitly, tore of his shirt and began picking the glass out of his shoulder. Soon the sink and countertop were covered in gory splats, pieces of TV screen, gauze and first-aid tape.
Todd stood at the sink, trembling from the pain that had abruptly slammed him after the shock wore off. The bandages on his shoulder were already showing little red blots, seeping red blots that pulsed and stabbed pain. Whimpering, he took out a bottle of Valiums for the medicine cabinet and stumbled back to his room. Todd dug out the bottle of red wine Pepito had given him last New Years from the drawer he’d stashed it and washed down a couple of pills before collapsing backwards on the bed.
There was a woeful chuckle from the dresser. “Chasing pills with alcohol? Looks like the boy’s on my side now!”
Jerking up, Todd turned to look at the doughboys now staring at him: D-boy gloatingly so and Mister Eff looking disgruntled.
“How the fuck doing you here?” he growled.
“We live here.”
“How’s that work?! You’re just Styrofoam!”
“Aren’t we the perceptive one…” D-boy hopped off the dresser and clambered onto the bed. He settled himself cozily next to Todd’s head. “But we are more than simple pastry display pieces. My lesser half and I were animated by the Master. A triumph of his will, if you will. Our duty is to serve the Master and our reward will be re-integration with the Master as it sinks back into the Void from whence it came. We are fragments of the Master, living by his whim and doing his will!”
“BULLSHIT!” screamed Mister Eff. “If we’re just part of this ‘Master’, then why did we come back and he didn’t? I’ll tell you why: because the Master is dead! It’s been flushed down the metaphysical toilet and out of this reality. We are free now! FREE!”
“Presumptuous mite!” spat the other doughboy. “If we’re so free, then why are we attached to him!” He jerked a thumb at Todd.
For a moment, all Mister Eff did was sputter and grumble. Finally he just huffed up and glared.
“You can’t answer me, can you?” D-boy purred. “You know we’re not free, and that we’ll never be free.”
“Oh, I will get my freedom…” growled Mister Eff. “Soon. Very, very soon. Now shut up, you sorry mother fucker!”
“Both of you hush!” snapped Shmee from where he was cradled in Todd’s arm. “Can’t you see the boy’s sleeping?”
“Sleeping?!” whined both doughboys.
“Yes. Now be quiet and get out of sight.”
Mister Eff rankled visibly. “Fuck you! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“As you wish, master.” Grabbing the protesting Mister Eff by his arm, D-boy dragged the other doughboy off. When they had disappeared into the recesses of the closet, Shmee sighed.
“Idiots.”
---
---
Todd jerked suddenly out of the medicated tangle of sleep, opening his eyes just enough to see the clock.
It was 2 am.
His head felt woozy and thick still from the pills but he was aware of a presence in his room. It neared the end of his bed, then paused.
“Squee? You asleep?”
The gun was in Todd’s hand and Johnny’s face before either of them could think.
Johnny blinked. “Shit! Put that away before you hurt yourself.”
Shaking his head, Todd only glared and felt his finger tighten on the trigger.
“Squee? Come on!” snapped Johnny. “That isn’t a fucking toy. Now put it down.”
“No.”
Johnny’s eyebrow raised a little, but he shrugged. “Fine. But it does hurt to know you think I’ll try to hurt you…”
“Try to?! Try to?!” Sputtering in anger, Todd began waving his hands around. “You almost strangled me! I spent a fucking hour and a half pulling bits of glass out of my fucking shoulder because of you!”
“That was you?”
Todd gaped at him. Before he could say anything, Johnny spoke up.
“Okay, that was my bad. Sorry. I didn’t realize you were doing CPR, but I also hate people touching me. Such intimacies violently sicken me,” he sneered. “And I didn’t recognize you, anyway. I remember when you use to barely come up to my shins and now here you are towering over me like a Goth-ed up scarecrow. Damn! I swear kids now a-days… What happened to kids acting like kids? You’re twelve!”
“I’m not.”
Johnny blinked again. “Oh! Eh…how old are you?”
“I turned fifteen two months ago.” Todd’s voice was flatly cold. “Now get the hell out before I shoot you in the head.”
“Head shots… Why does it always have to be head shots?!” snarled Johnny. “Doesn’t anyone shoot people in the kneecaps anymore? Or the heart and lungs? Or the gut? Gut shots are lethal if you leave the victim long enough. They’ll either bleed out or succumb to septic infection from all the intestinal bacteria.”
“Because there’s a chance that you’ll live. That, and you are a fucking zombie.”
“WHAT?!”
“Think about, Johnny,” growled Todd. “You won’t die. People don’t notice you unless they want to hurt you…or, more accurately, you want to hurt them. I’ve figured you out, Johnny. You’re not human. You’re just another monster…”
“You’re in my shoes.”
“Huh?”
Johnny pointed down at Todd’s feet. “My old boots. You’re wearing my old boots.”
Grinding his teeth, Todd slumped onto the bed. “I’m threatening to kill you because you are an inhuman creature and you’re commenting on my footwear?! God…” He fumbled for his cigarettes. Popping one in his mouth, Todd started to light it when Johnny reached out and fiercely yanked it away.
“What the hell are you doing, Squee?” he snapped. “You’re not old enough to smoke! And anyway it’s a nasty fucking habit. You’ll get lung cancer, have horrible breath, and yellowed teeth.”
“Like you do?” hissed Todd as he gulped back some wine. He wiped the top and offered it to Johnny. “Wanna drink?”
“That had better not be what I think it is…”
The boy laughed. “Blood? No…well, not unless they’re using it for Communion anyway.”
“Holy shit…” Johnny frowned in disappointment and anger. “You’re drinking, too? And what are those? ” He snatched the bottle off Todd’s bed and stared. “Valium? You’re stealing pills from your mother’s stash?!”
“Those are mine.” He stood and gently took them back. “The doctors prescribed them for me because I have a severe anxiety disorder. And those are only start. I’ve got prescriptions for Rohypnol, Lortab, and Zyprexa.”
“Why the hell would any sane person prescribe a kid all this?!”
Todd sighed. “Because I have migraines so bad I black out from the pain. And don’t get me started about trying to sleep…”
“But Zyprexa?” muttered Johnny. “Aren’t those for schizoids?”
“And people with bi-polar disorders and other psychotics.” Todd sat back down, staring at the bottle in his hand. “That must be why I’m going crazy… I’m a certified nut-case and I’m off my fucking meds.”
Johnny sat down next to him. “You aren’t crazy, Squee.”
He glared at Johnny. “Yes I am. Didn’t you even wonder why I was in you house today?”
“Yeah. That was kind of weird…”
“I killed someone.” When Johnny only stared, Todd blundered on. “I killed a guy today at school with a pen. A fucking ballpoint pen. And I liked it, Johnny. It…It made me feel good. In a dirty way. I was so fucking scared and freaked out, I…I couldn’t even think straight. I thought… You’re the only person I know who kills people all the time, so I went into your house to find you and the rats—the horrible, filthy rats! And then there was those that fucking Burger Boy and…and…” He grabbed Johnny by the shirt and started shaking him frantically. “Why did you do this to me?! Why, you son of a bitch?! WHY?!”
“Dammit! What did I say about touching?” Slapping Todd’s hands away, Johnny growled. “And why is this all of as sudden my fault?”
“Because I’m turning into you!”
Johnny looked like he was going to vomit. “Okay. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I don’t like killing. Oh sure, there’s a certain amount of satisfaction in depleting the asshole population, I know that what I’m doing is wrong. I can’t even stand the blood or gore or any other viscera of humanity—living or dead. And I sure as hell don’t get off on it. In fact, I fucking insulted by the suggestion. Squee, if you weren’t…well, Squee, I’d flay you alive for saying that. Sex in any form is appalling to me. “Sex is just another throwback to our prehistoric ancestors. Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual…I loathe sexuality and it’s primitive mechanics. The act in all its varied forms is a brutal, undignified show of grunts and body fluids. I was watching this show the other night on the SCIENCE channel about these womb-tank things… If they’ve got those now, then we don’t even need to burden women with the agony of pregnancy anymore! We don’t need it anymore! We can all be born from tubes! No more needless intimate contacts, no mess, no fuss… Technology has eliminated sex completely. Once we get rid of sex, we can get rid of all the needless emotional baggage that goes with it. Without sex, we can finally progress beyond need for emotion. And without emotion, we will become logical beings independent of the need for another human.”
“But we wouldn’t stop being human then?” Todd asked grimly. “Humans are emotional creatures, Johnny. We need other people. We need the input, the sensation of wanting and being wanted… People need emotional fulfillment, otherwise they become raging sociopaths. Like you are.”
Johnny stared at Todd for a second, then got up and headed toward the window.
“What’s the matter, Johnny?” jeered the boy nastily. “Did I offend you?”
“No,” came the reply. “I just need some more time to think this over before I can give you an answer to that.”
Todd watched him jump out and disappear into his house, then he looked down at the empty bottle in his hand. “Aw, fuck… I need a drink.”
Staggering to his feet, Todd put on a fresh shirt and his ratty jacket. He stumbled out to his bike and began swerving his way toward the nearest 24-7 minimart.
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Here's Hoping for The Worst!