|Lights of a Silhouette
Author: Addsername PM
The first time Johnny meets St Jimmy, feeling hopeless and defeated in the dank Murder City. One shot. REPOPULATE! Rated T for language.Rated: Fiction T - English - Suspense/Romance - St. Jimmy & Johnny - Words: 619 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 2 - Published: 04-04-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7991084
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I felt unstoppable. I felt insubordinate. I felt all alone.
Eyes fixated on the muddy ground, Johnny trudged down one of Murder City's numerous alleys, lacking any better way to spend his all too ample time. He had come to the city in search of an escape- looking for a place to suit him more than his empty home, devoid-of-emotion mother, and tyrannical stepfather Brad. All Johnny had found so far was a bleak, dank city where the lights of police sirens leapt from one dull building to the next as everything stood silent, even the flies patrolling the abundant garbage not making a sound. He was tired of the dampness that hung in the air, worsening the already acrid smell of the refuse lining each narrow street. Nearly ready to return home, Johnny lifted his eyes from the ground and gazed at the graffiti-laden wall across from him. Hanging at the heart of the crumbling wall was a peeling poster with Johnny's picture dead in the middle, accompanied by a single word: LOST. Lost. Just fucking great. He had been away from home for...what was it... five days, and all Mom and Brad had done was paste up a pathetic poster. Just fucking pathetic. Shows how much they cared about him. Infuriated, Johnny ripped the poster from the wall and crumbled it into a ball, throwing it onto the litter-covered ground. He let out a mumble, cursing under his breath as the mumble turned into a scream, piercing the silence surrounding him. "Fuck. IT. ALLLLL!" Screaming, cursing, and panting, Johnny fell to the ground, his legs lacking the energy to support his lanky frame a second longer. He threw his fists to the ground, kicking and punching the damp concrete like a six year old who dropped his ice cream cone. Finally realizing how pathetic he looked, Johnny's screaming came to a cease just in time for him to realize there was a shadowy figure watching him. He stared at the figure, his tear-filled eyes unable to piece together more than the silhouette of a cadaverous man with piercing silver eyes staring right through Johnny as though he wasn't there.
Johnny slowly raised his gaze from the sooty concrete, still unable to make out much more than the silhouette of the man standing before him. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, Johnny forced his brain to focus on the man, slowly piecing together a comprehensible image. The man was rawboned, his jagged figure more emaciated than anyone Johnny had ever seen. He wore a jet-black tank top with various snags and tears revealing bits of his bony chest, paired with skin-tight black jeans clinging to his scrawny legs. His facial expression was still unreadable, framed by inky hair formed into spikes all over his head. The silhouette raised his gaunt, pale arms from his sides and crossed them over his chest, revealing multiple jagged white scars crisscrossing his rail-thin biceps. As the man lowered his eyes to the ground, Johnny followed suit only to notice that the man was wearing charcoal converse identical to his own. The man glanced up and his piercing eyes met Johnny's, his expression finally becoming readable. His heavily lined eyes narrowed as his lips formed an audacious smirk, proclaiming an air of haughtiness with a sad, subtle vulnerability lying underneath. Johnny stood up as the man came into full view, emerging from the shadows as the blue light of a siren illuminated his lean figure. He opened his mouth as his low, gravelly voice emerged:
"My name is Saint Jimmy, and don't you fucking wear it out."