Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > My Own Sins
Pete sighed heavily as he slumped back against the ceramic wall of the cookie jar. He had dried off from his soaking inside the glass when the photographer had re-captured him but the man’s promise to place him somewhere secure hadn’t been an idle threat. But for a few crumbs, the jar was empty and over twice his current height. Even if the stopper wasn’t firmly lodged in the top of the jar, he couldn’t have reached the opening. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Pete reached out for a crumb. The smallest he could find was the size of his fist, but he hadn’t eaten in ages. Beyond the walls of the jar, he heard voices.
“Sir!” the Photographer cried as he stood quickly, pushing his seat back causing it to fall clattering to the floor.
“Edward,” a gruff, gravelly voice boomed. “You said you have something special for me.”
“Yes, Sir, I have something… very special.”
Pete threw his arms back against the side of the jar to steady himself as he felt it lifted sharply and carried to another location.
“A cookie?” the gruff voice asked irritably.
“No, Sir,” Edward, the photographer replied somewhat flustered. “He escaped from the photograph, I put him in here for safe-keeping.”
“He?” the man sounded curious. “Who do you have?”
“None other than Mr Sandman,” Edward replied proudly.
Pete squinted as the light flooded into the jar. Scrambling to his feet, he looked up at the man peering inside. He was The Guv’nor, ruler of The Hills and Editor of the district’s two rival magazines – Popular and America’s Suitehearts. He looked like a stereotypical gangster and an angry one at that. His jutting lantern jaw, vicious sneer and impossibly broad shoulders together with the photographer’s reaction when he entered all told Pete that this man was someone to be feared.
“You captured Mr Sandman?” The Guv’nor mused. “Why is he wearing those strange clothes?”
“He was trespassing in The Hills, Sir, probably trying to go unnoticed.”
“Without shoes?” he asked raising an eyebrow.
“Sir?” Edward gasped.
“This is no more Mr Sandman than you are!”
Pete looked up nervously; he had no idea what to say for the best, if anything. What would keep him alive? That’s what it really came down to. Pressing himself back against the ceramic wall, Pete gasped in surprise and fear as a large rough hand reached inside the jar. Despite his best efforts to evade the gasping fingers, finally the big hand pinned him and he was pulled into a firm grip. Leaning forward to avoid hitting his head on the way out of the jar, Pete pushed and punched with his free arm.
“Would you like me to let go?” The Guv’nor laughed unpleasantly. “Right here? Right now?”
Pete glanced down. The Guv’nor held him up to his face. Pete could smell the fetid stench of old cigars and whisky on his breath and wanted very much for him to let him go, but a brief look down revealed the dizzying height he was held at. Instantly calming at the sight of the distance he would fall, surely a fatal drop, Pete stopped struggling.
“Now then,” he demanded, “who are you?”
Looking up, Pete didn’t know what to say. Insist he was Mr Sandman in the hope that he needed him for something or just simply tell the truth. Either way things seemed really bad for him.
“If you’re not going to talk,” The Guv’nor shook his head, “I can make you talk.”
Pulling what looked like a gun from a holster inside his jacket, The Guv’nor sneered at the terrified look on Pete’s face and the ill-advised but involuntary struggles from him. From the barrel of the gun Pete could see a viscous lime-green fluid; so luminous it almost glowed. Hearing a sharp intake of breath from Edward the photographer, he realised immediately that this could not be good. Leaning back in the Editor’s grip Pete tried hard to avoid the gun as it was held closer and closer to him, the green fluid almost burning him without even touching him.
“Pete!” he shouted finally. “My name’s Pete!”
Lowering the gun, to Pete’s relief, The Guv’nor’s mouth extended into an unpleasant smirk.
“Well, Pete,” he nodded. “You may not be what Edward here intended to get for me, but you will be surprisingly useful. If I know Mr Sandman, he’s as good as mine already.”
Pete frowned nervously; he wasn’t convinced. Mr Sandman’s words to him suggesting that he should try not to be killed didn’t make him sound the rescuing type, let alone the sort who would give up his own freedom for another.
Re-holstering the gun, The Guv’nor turned a cruel sneer back to Pete before raising his right hand close by.
“Has he mentioned the ‘L’ word at all?”
“No, Sir,” Edward finally smiled again on seeing that The Editor was happy with his new captive.
“Good,” he nodded to himself. “Get ready to download him, I want him ready to go within the hour.”
Download? Pete looked nervously from one giant to the other. Still clutched in The Guv’nor’s hand, whatever downloading was, there seemed little he could do about it. And what did he mean by the ‘L’ word?
“Scared, Pete?” The Guv’nor chuckled slyly. “Don’t worry, you won’t know a thing about it.”
Flicking his finger sharply out from behind his thumb, The Guv’nor allowed it to connect sharply with Pete’s head. Briefly aware of the explosion of pain, it was only moments later that Pete slumped in The Guv’nor’s hand before sinking into oblivion.
“Sir!” the Photographer cried as he stood quickly, pushing his seat back causing it to fall clattering to the floor.
“Edward,” a gruff, gravelly voice boomed. “You said you have something special for me.”
“Yes, Sir, I have something… very special.”
Pete threw his arms back against the side of the jar to steady himself as he felt it lifted sharply and carried to another location.
“A cookie?” the gruff voice asked irritably.
“No, Sir,” Edward, the photographer replied somewhat flustered. “He escaped from the photograph, I put him in here for safe-keeping.”
“He?” the man sounded curious. “Who do you have?”
“None other than Mr Sandman,” Edward replied proudly.
Pete squinted as the light flooded into the jar. Scrambling to his feet, he looked up at the man peering inside. He was The Guv’nor, ruler of The Hills and Editor of the district’s two rival magazines – Popular and America’s Suitehearts. He looked like a stereotypical gangster and an angry one at that. His jutting lantern jaw, vicious sneer and impossibly broad shoulders together with the photographer’s reaction when he entered all told Pete that this man was someone to be feared.
“You captured Mr Sandman?” The Guv’nor mused. “Why is he wearing those strange clothes?”
“He was trespassing in The Hills, Sir, probably trying to go unnoticed.”
“Without shoes?” he asked raising an eyebrow.
“Sir?” Edward gasped.
“This is no more Mr Sandman than you are!”
Pete looked up nervously; he had no idea what to say for the best, if anything. What would keep him alive? That’s what it really came down to. Pressing himself back against the ceramic wall, Pete gasped in surprise and fear as a large rough hand reached inside the jar. Despite his best efforts to evade the gasping fingers, finally the big hand pinned him and he was pulled into a firm grip. Leaning forward to avoid hitting his head on the way out of the jar, Pete pushed and punched with his free arm.
“Would you like me to let go?” The Guv’nor laughed unpleasantly. “Right here? Right now?”
Pete glanced down. The Guv’nor held him up to his face. Pete could smell the fetid stench of old cigars and whisky on his breath and wanted very much for him to let him go, but a brief look down revealed the dizzying height he was held at. Instantly calming at the sight of the distance he would fall, surely a fatal drop, Pete stopped struggling.
“Now then,” he demanded, “who are you?”
Looking up, Pete didn’t know what to say. Insist he was Mr Sandman in the hope that he needed him for something or just simply tell the truth. Either way things seemed really bad for him.
“If you’re not going to talk,” The Guv’nor shook his head, “I can make you talk.”
Pulling what looked like a gun from a holster inside his jacket, The Guv’nor sneered at the terrified look on Pete’s face and the ill-advised but involuntary struggles from him. From the barrel of the gun Pete could see a viscous lime-green fluid; so luminous it almost glowed. Hearing a sharp intake of breath from Edward the photographer, he realised immediately that this could not be good. Leaning back in the Editor’s grip Pete tried hard to avoid the gun as it was held closer and closer to him, the green fluid almost burning him without even touching him.
“Pete!” he shouted finally. “My name’s Pete!”
Lowering the gun, to Pete’s relief, The Guv’nor’s mouth extended into an unpleasant smirk.
“Well, Pete,” he nodded. “You may not be what Edward here intended to get for me, but you will be surprisingly useful. If I know Mr Sandman, he’s as good as mine already.”
Pete frowned nervously; he wasn’t convinced. Mr Sandman’s words to him suggesting that he should try not to be killed didn’t make him sound the rescuing type, let alone the sort who would give up his own freedom for another.
Re-holstering the gun, The Guv’nor turned a cruel sneer back to Pete before raising his right hand close by.
“Has he mentioned the ‘L’ word at all?”
“No, Sir,” Edward finally smiled again on seeing that The Editor was happy with his new captive.
“Good,” he nodded to himself. “Get ready to download him, I want him ready to go within the hour.”
Download? Pete looked nervously from one giant to the other. Still clutched in The Guv’nor’s hand, whatever downloading was, there seemed little he could do about it. And what did he mean by the ‘L’ word?
“Scared, Pete?” The Guv’nor chuckled slyly. “Don’t worry, you won’t know a thing about it.”
Flicking his finger sharply out from behind his thumb, The Guv’nor allowed it to connect sharply with Pete’s head. Briefly aware of the explosion of pain, it was only moments later that Pete slumped in The Guv’nor’s hand before sinking into oblivion.
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