Author's Note: WHEEEEE I AM BACK! The long promised rewrite of Lonely Beginning is here! Well, the first chapter is here. Anyway, there should no longer be any need to rewrite anything, for I will never rush to finish chapters again. Thank you whoever is reading this for waiting. I decided to finish this instead of starting my essay on love and Romeo and Juliet, which is due December 1st, just for you... and my friend Selena. Well I'll let you guys go. Remember, I don't own JtHM. Sir Jhonen Vasquez has that amazing honor.


Johnny tossed and turned in his bed; sleep refused to come upon him. The creaking of the bed was barely audible, for he was quite underweight for his age. He turned on his side once again to glance at the clock on his nightstand; the glowing red numbers indicated that it was two in the morning, and he was wide awake. Johnny let out a sigh before lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling.

Crash! The sound of shattering glass filled his ears, startling him. Someone had smashed a window open downstairs. Frightened and in search of comfort, Johnny jumped out of bed and raced over to his parents' room, but he bumped into someone in the process. He looked up, slightly terrified; his heart pounded in terror. To his relief, he looked up to see, rather than a stranger, his father. Johnny's eyes showed terror and desperation for words of comfort.

"Daddy, what was that noise?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Nny," Mr. C. replied, adjusting his glasses. Johnny's eyes grew wide. Those were not the he had wanted to hear, not at all. Sensing his son's fear and dismay, Mr. C. knelt down and embraced Johnny in a reassuring hug. "Don't worry; I'll make sure everything will be okay." Now those were the very words Johnny wanted to hear. Mr. C. stood up and quickly went downstairs to investigate the source of the noise, leaving his son feeling just a tad bit better.

"Johnny," said a soft, feminine voice. Johnny looked over his shoulder to see his mother standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. "Nny, come over here."

Johnny silently nodded and went over to his mother, hugging her. Mrs. C. patted his back and led him into the room. Johnny let go of his mother and sat at the edge of his parents' bed. His mother sat next to him and stroked his messy, blue-black hair.

"Don't be afraid, Johnny. I'm sure Daddy will take care of every…" her words of comfort were abruptly interrupted by the sound of breaking furniture and her husband's angry yelling. Although the words could be barely made out, it was evident that they were tainted by fear.

Soon afterwards, footsteps pounding upstairs were heard and Mr. C. came running into the room. Panting, he slammed the double doors closed and locked them shut.

"There's a maniac downstairs!" he shouted.

"What?" Mrs. C. exclaimed, her facial features showing tremendous fear and worry. "Did you call the police?"

"There wasn't any time!" he shouted. "Not to mention that she broke the phone as she tried to slit my throat!"

"She's armed?" Mrs. C shrieked. Her pale face looked as if she had seen a ghost.

"Yes, now help me hide Johnny under the bed!"

Johnny stared wide-eyed at his parents as they kneeled down and gently shoved him under the bed. He immediately started to crawl out from under the queen-sized bed.

"No, Johnny. This is for your safety," Mrs. C. said, trying not to sound frightened. She ran her hand through his blue-black hair for what surely would be the last time. Mr. C., who was kneeling next to his wife, reached out to rub Johnny's back in attempt to calm him down. Johnny looked back and forth at his parents in pure confusion. He did not understand why they were doing this, waiting for their imminent death instead of doing all they can to prevent it.

Whoever had broken into the house began pounding at the doors, trying to break them down. A scream of pure frustration pierced the tense atmosphere. By the sound of it, the lunatic was a young female, a girl barely in her teens. Johnny wondered how such a young girl could be so frightening and dangerous.

"Be still, Nny," Mr. C whispered. Mr. and Mrs. C. knelt down and kissed the top of Johnny's head.

The girl behind the door let out a screech of annoyance. Johnny's eyes were glued to the doors in horror. Suddenly, a knife pierced the door, the shiny blade visible on the other side of the door.

"We love you, Johnny," Mrs. C. whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She let go of the bed skirt, leaving Johnny out of sight.

In the darkness, Johnny's thin frame trembled in fright. The trembling only grew worse as he heard the door break down. He was shocked that such a young girl could have such strength. Slowly, he lifted the bed skirt just enough for him to see while remaining somewhat hidden.

He peered up at his parents; he was facing their back. The married couple were standing up, hugging each other and waiting to be finished off. In front of them, standing in the doorway, was an insane looking girl.

Johnny was sure that the image of the young maniac would haunt his dreams forever. The girl wore a black, long sleeved shirt; black jeans; and black boots with buckles. Her fiery red, waist length hair was unkempt and clashed with her sickly pale skin. Her bright green eyes had a glint of pure insanity in them. Her smile bared her pearly white teeth; it was the grin of cruel derangement. The long, jagged knife she had stabbed the door with was gripped in her left hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"I don't mean to intrude," she said, "but you see, this was the first house I saw." She reached down and withdrew a butterfly knife from her boot. "It's nothing personal, really. So please, do accept my sincerest apologies."

Mr. and Mrs. C. tightened their grip on each other. Under the bed, Johnny's lower lip trembled as he fought the urge to cry for his parents. He understood how important it was for him to be silent.

The maniacal girl cocked her head to the side and looked at the couple in front of her in confusion. "Why aren't you two struggling? They usually struggle, you know, if I didn't knock 'em out cold… No matter!" Not even leaving the couple an opportunity to answer, she charged forward, drew her butterfly knife up in the air, and plunged it down through Mrs. C.'s shoulder. Johnny's mother let out a piercing scream as she dropped to the ground in pain. Blood seeped from the fresh wound.

Johnny bit his lip to keep himself from screaming. Tears began to roll down his pale cheeks. He longed to be there by his mother's side and help her, but he was an obedient child and stayed put.

Mr. C. rushed down to his wife's side and wrapped his arms around her, careful not to touch her wound. He looked up at the girl, who was laughing maniacally. "Monster!" he yelled. Her expression contorted to one of fury. The grip on her jagged knife tightened and she took deep, heavy breaths.

"Monster?" she hissed. "You call me a monster?" She pierced the knife into his chest, aiming for his heart. Mr. C. gasped and squeezed his eyes shut from the tremendous pain. His knees grew weak, but he remained standing up. He drew in short, jagged breaths. "Try being me for one day, and you will realize that I am not the monster in this mother fucking story!" The young teen grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it down his torso. He let out a hoarse cry before collapsing to the ground. Mrs. C. screamed for her husband, who now lay lifeless before her in a pool of his own blood.

The tears that rolled down Johnny's cheeks came down harder. His thin body trembled violently and his heart ached for his father. He wondered greatly why she was doing this to his parents. They had done nothing wrong, and she had acknowledged that. So what was her true reason for this unforgivable act?

The girl turned her head to look down at Mrs. C. "I'm sorry about your husband," she said. "I shouldn't have allowed that mere comment to get to me like that; I have heard it many times in the past."

Mrs. C. shook her head. "Are you really sorry?" she whispered. "You killed him so mercilessly."

"I assure you that I am. I am also sorry for your death, as well."

Mrs. C. looked up in horror just as the girl pulled the butterfly knife out from her shoulder. She cried out in pain, but the scream was cut off by the knife slitting her throat, cutting off her air supply. Crimson fluid spurted out from the wound. Her body went limp and collapsed to the ground next to her husband.

"Well, they're dead now," the girl muttered as she cleaned the knife with her shirt. She reached down and pulled her jagged knife out of Mr. C.'s corpse. After slipping the still bloodied knife into her boot, she walked out of the room for a brief moment and walked back in carrying a metal bucket. She knelt down by the corpses and set the bucket next to her. Gingerly, she pulled Mrs. C.'s body onto her lap and tilted the bucket so that her blood would seep into it.

Johnny let go of the bed skirt; he had had enough. He closed his eyes and began to sob silently. The young boy could not believe that he had witnessed his parents' murder. They had just had a splendid afternoon drawing and drinking hot chocolate.

"That should do it," the girl said aloud. Johnny lifted the bed skirt to see the girl walk out of the room with a bucket filled with blood in one hand and the butterfly knife in the other. He remained under the bed until he heard the front door close.

Slowly, he crawled out from under the bed to the lurid scene. He felt his hand touch something warm. Looking down at his hand, he realized it was blood. Taking a deep breath, he ignored the blood and crawled forward until he was in between his parents.

His parents were as pale as the moon and as still as statues. Johnny glanced at his father, who was in a pool of his own blood. His blue-black hair was caked with his the crimson liquid. His glasses, whose lenses had drops of blood on them, were slipping from his face. The sight of his open chest cavity made Johnny nauseous, so he turned his head away from his father and looked at his mother. The blood from her throat was seeping onto her wavy, chocolate brown hair. Her cerulean eyes were open, lifeless yet showing tremendous horror. They reminded Johnny of beautifully crafted glass orbs.

A sob escaped from inside Johnny. Tears rushed down his cheeks. A seven year old Johnny C. was now an orphan.


Better, no? For those of you who have read the now deleted chapters, did you recognize the murder? Just another reason why I like this chapter better than the original. I hope you enjoyed this update. REVIEW! Review or I will send Alucard to get you! If you've read Hellsing, you know who I'm talking about.