Categories > Comics > Jhonen Vasquez
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0 reviews...I just put it here to show to the peeps in Cherry Doom.... because my Fanfiction Acct. isn't 2 days old yet.
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I turned the key in the lock, sighing. Why did I even bother to check the mail anymore? All that was ever in my mailbox was junk anyways. I flipped through the ads on my way back upstairs. I paused just before I reached my door, looking again at the last piece of paper and adjusting my glasses. After double-checking the date, I realized there was going to be a new tenant in the apartment next to mine. Today.
My back hit the wall as I wondered what kind of godless management would let another person move into these apartments. The neighbors were like going through the seven circles of Dante’s Inferno, not to mention the fact that the living spaces were small and the pipes leaked regularly.
As I began to rub my temples in frustration (bad habit), and rose from against the wall, I noticed a person unlocking the door to the left of mine. The New Tennant.
He was carrying a small, slender case, splattered in red paint, and the clothes he wore were ill-fitted on his slender frame. As I approached, I noticed a few other things about him as well. Despite being unnaturally thin, the clothing he wore was overly large and looked to be hand tailored. His skin, while sickly pale, had an olive tinge to it, and his hair was dyed an uncanny shade of indigo.
The man was shorter than I was, so he looked up when I tapped him on the shoulder. I could see the whites of his eyes, which were wide and bag-rimmed as he stared at me. Then, he began to smile.
You see, the smile he gave was one that unnerved and encouraged one at the same time. I couldn’t help but smile back (of friendliness or fear, I don’t know) as I offered him a hand. He took it, and I introduced myself, “I’m Edgar Vargas.”
He nodded, then said, “I’m Johnny. But please, call me Nny.”
I raised an eyebrow, putting my hand back down. “Nny? You mean, as in the word ‘knee’?”
“No, it’s different. Not ‘knee’, ‘Nny’.” He turned and stepped into his apartment without even so much as a goodbye.
I sighed again. Great. Another nut job to deal with. As I made my way inside my apartment, it struck me that Johnny’s hair wasn’t truly dyed blue, but that it had contained blue paint flecks.
Maybe he was an artist. A starving artist, by the looks of it. That smile…. It kind of freaked me out. I wonder where he learned to do that…. Maybe it’s natural. OUCH!
I really need to learn not to drift off while walking.
My back hit the wall as I wondered what kind of godless management would let another person move into these apartments. The neighbors were like going through the seven circles of Dante’s Inferno, not to mention the fact that the living spaces were small and the pipes leaked regularly.
As I began to rub my temples in frustration (bad habit), and rose from against the wall, I noticed a person unlocking the door to the left of mine. The New Tennant.
He was carrying a small, slender case, splattered in red paint, and the clothes he wore were ill-fitted on his slender frame. As I approached, I noticed a few other things about him as well. Despite being unnaturally thin, the clothing he wore was overly large and looked to be hand tailored. His skin, while sickly pale, had an olive tinge to it, and his hair was dyed an uncanny shade of indigo.
The man was shorter than I was, so he looked up when I tapped him on the shoulder. I could see the whites of his eyes, which were wide and bag-rimmed as he stared at me. Then, he began to smile.
You see, the smile he gave was one that unnerved and encouraged one at the same time. I couldn’t help but smile back (of friendliness or fear, I don’t know) as I offered him a hand. He took it, and I introduced myself, “I’m Edgar Vargas.”
He nodded, then said, “I’m Johnny. But please, call me Nny.”
I raised an eyebrow, putting my hand back down. “Nny? You mean, as in the word ‘knee’?”
“No, it’s different. Not ‘knee’, ‘Nny’.” He turned and stepped into his apartment without even so much as a goodbye.
I sighed again. Great. Another nut job to deal with. As I made my way inside my apartment, it struck me that Johnny’s hair wasn’t truly dyed blue, but that it had contained blue paint flecks.
Maybe he was an artist. A starving artist, by the looks of it. That smile…. It kind of freaked me out. I wonder where he learned to do that…. Maybe it’s natural. OUCH!
I really need to learn not to drift off while walking.
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