The Big Applesauce

Goddammit. He's always hated New York.

Johnny doesn't fully understand what's just happened, but that's nothing new, is it? He's standing in the middle of Central Park - he knows it's Central Park because he's standing on top of that big weird rock formation, all those boulders heaped on top of each other for kids to climb on while their parents pretend not to be run ragged with panic, the certainty that kid will slip and fall and die. Or don't pretend. Or don't panic. The point is it's recognizable.

The point is also he wasn't here before. Like minutes before. Seconds. Blink of an eye. He was there, out there, Seattle, Portland, LA, somewhere. Somewhere in Virginia. Doesn't matter. He loses track very easily. Maybe he lost track all the way into Manhattan.

That's not right though, is it? Doesn't seem right. Doesn't feel right.

No. Something's happened. Something wrong.

Things are different. The air is different. Tastes different. It's not just New York, no. New York has a taste and a smell but this is not it. This is not right.

"No," Johnny says. "No, no, no."

He stumbles down from the misbegotten rock pile, skids, hurtles to the ground and almost hurts himself. DOES hurt himself but it's okay. Staggers. Straightens up.

He feels different. His hands are tingling. Maybe. Unless he's making that up, too.

No, it's real. He can feel things. Hear things. There's something there. Right there. Right there next to him. Oh no, no, no.

"Don't -!" He shuts himself up before he can finish his demand, snapping himself to the left, to look at the beast that he knows is there, the one he's seen so many times before, in the nighttime, in the corner of his eye, in the pages of the book. It's the thing that haunts him. One of the things. Teeth and void and claws like knives.

It's not there. It's never there. Never when he turns to see it.

And now everything else is gone too. And maybe that's good. It was all poison anyway, a toxic ruined mess. Turn your back on everything, Johnny Truant. Your everything is bad for you, and this, this transportation, whatever this is, it is a gift horse you don't need to inspect. You're not in Kansas anymore. You are new, in living color. Your demons came with you but maybe now, with your hands that don't feel right and your senses that are heightened, maybe now you can outrun them.

"Fine," he says to the park, to the city, to the situation. "Whatever you say."

There's a hesitation, like what does he do now that he's made this declaration? Start walking seems like the thing. Before he can take a step he senses he's about to step on something. He looks down. His shoes are so dirty.

It's a rabbit. Poofy, gray, twitching its nose at him. Not very skittish, surprisingly so, he thinks. Then again he hasn't been around too many rabbits.

"Uhhh," he says. "Hi."

The rabbit is apparently content to just hang out next to his shoe.

Johnny looks around. Does this rabbit belong to someone? Scratch that, does he care? No. Motivated by something, god knows what, he leans down and scoops the rabbit up into his arms. He half expects it to start wriggling and kicking, but it seems fine with this. Okay. This is the first thing that's not wanted to get the hell away from him in a long time. It's kind of nice, actually.

"Nice to meet you to," he says. "Uh. Thumper."

First thing to pop into his head. Oh god. Is it sick to name it Thumper? It's sick, right? Definitely sick.

Whatever. Thumper is a WELL KNOWN CARTOON RABBIT. No one has to know it's also what he called the stripper he almost made it with. Almost. It'll be like an homage. Sure. That's not weird. Not weird at all.

He tucks Thumper under his arm and starts moving.


[[he's gonna wander around for a while, so feel free to approach him!]]