Title: The Path Of Blood: Ripped
Author: Luna "Tic" Vee
Feedback: Druidess@msn.com
Rating: This chapter is an R
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Jay/scimitar
Series/Sequel: 1 of (most likely) 4
Warnings: Lots of blood here, murder, cursing God, suicidal
tendencies, Jay torture, GoneBob, homicidal Jay, and overuse of
ellipses
Spoilers: None
Archive: Sureness.
Disclaimer: I own diddly squat. Jay and Silent Bob are property of
Kevin Smith, View Askew, Miramax, and the Martians that live in
Scott Mosier's left ear.
Summary: Bob left Jay. Jay goes insane. Jay becomes homicidal. 
Fresh from a slay, Jay goes over his post-kill tradition and memories
swim.
Notes: Woohoo! Inspired by way too much Johnny The Homicidal
Maniac lately. Oh how I love the thought of homicidal Jay. Don't
worry, it'll have a happy ending... I hope.
***

"...but it became too much to bear. Everything you ever said to 
me... 
Barbs shredding my armour. I couldn't take it any longer. Taking
such pain for so long...from the one you love. It's just inhuman. 
Please, Jay, if you have any shred of human in you, you'll listen to
this. Learn to open up. Bring down your shields sometimes. Not
everybody is out there to hurt you or rape your sweet ass. And it is
sweet... I just hope that when you do find that special someone, you
don't hurt them like you hurt me. I'm sorry Jay, I love you, and I'll
miss you. I may see you again, I don't know. But I'll carry you in 
my
heart forever. Goodbye. --Bob"

Jay clutched the tattered and worn note in his cold hands. The note
from so long ago. The blood stained, shredded, tear stained, old
note. The only semblance of his beloved left. The only little
momento he had left of the love he'd let slip away so long ago. He
read it over and over. Three times at least. The page long goodbye
note that his other half, his soulmate, his Bob, had left behind when
he left him. Left him because he was too stupid and selfish to 
realize
what he had right in front of his face. So many years ago...

Jay stood over the bloody remains of some street punk, crimson
staining his striped, monochrome shirt. He'd probably have to get a
new one. As per usual with these types of struggles. New blood from
this victim still wet on his hands, delicate shaking fingertips held 
the
note which broke his heart and his mind. The delicate, old, blood
stained shred of memory.

Slow, salty tears slipped from Jay's well-worn tear ducts, washing a
few droplets of red from his cheeks. His insomnia-reddened
chocolate eyes closed slowly as he choked back memories, tears,
and bile, all of which threatened to come flooding out. He bent his
neck foreward in shame as he crouched down and ran his fingers
through the now quite large puddle of blood around the street rat's
body. He turned the note around, showing the fingerprints of old. 
Bloody fingerprints. Evidence of previous kills. He kept track on 
the
note, somehow as if he were proving to Bob how much he meant to
him. How many he'd slain just to show his dedication. Jay had
always said he would kill for Bob. Now, he was.

Jay pressed his middle finger to the paper in a blank spot, a thing of
which he was running out of, and folded the still wet note up, 
placing it
into his boot. Jay removed his scimitar from the fallen junkie. He
placed the knife into its sheath on his hip, and crouched down,
scanning the area for the quickest escape. His eyes darted back and
forth, as he sniffed the blood and weed-scented air, as if to pick up
the scent of any intruders that may come. Slowly, he crept, still
half-crouched, into the nearest alley way, where he climbed the fire
escape to the roof. From there it was a simple game of hop-scotch
from rooftop to rooftop until he left the urban area...

The edge of the burbs, somewhere between suburban closeness and
rural distance. Jay's small shack stood there. House number 737. 
Sure, he had neighbors, but they weren't very nosy. One look at him
and they learned to fear him and respect his privacy. So Jay was free
to do what he wanted in him home...

Stepping inside, Jay took in the scent of dried blood and incense. He
noticed that he'd left his incense burning, and quickly tamped out the
still-burning stick, through there wasn't much left to it. Jay had 
started
to like incense, but only a certain kind. Peppermint. It reminded 
him
vaguely of Bob. Christmas, when Bob was always, always sucking on
a candy cane or something of the sort. Bob had always loved those
damn things... It also reminded him of the one Christmas, with the
mistletoe, and when he'd slapped Bob for trying to get a kiss from
him... How sad and shocked and genuinely hurt Bob had looked
while Jay cussed him out about being "some kind of fuckin' sick fag". 
And the tears started again...

Click. Click. Click. Jay's metal-tipped boots made a clink with 
each
step he took across the wooden floor. Headed for the kitchen to get
himself a popsicle. A strawberry popsicle. Bob always loved that
kind...

The couch. The old, cushy, black beast that he and Bob had shared
for so long. The couch they sat on every night to watch TV. The
couch they slept on regularly. The couch they'd kissed on...

Jay screamed and threw the finished popsicle stick aside, curling
himself up into a little black and blue ball, his hair, previously in 
a
ponytail for the night's activities, now loose, fell around him in 
deep
blue waves, the semi-demi-long spikes atop tilting foreward a slight
degree. Between heaving sobs from his small, extremely pale frame,
came laughter. Deranged laughter. The kind of laughter you hear
when walking by an asylum. Jay threw his head back and chortled
loudly, arms still wrapped around his knees.

"That's it, isn't it? YOU HATE ME, DON'T YOU? I WAS USELESS,
AND I CUSSED TO YER FACE, SO YOU HATE ME, DON'T YOU?! 
WELL? WELL OH MIGHTY FUCKIN' ALL POWERFUL
CUNTRAG?! DO YOU? IF YOU HATE ME SO MUCH, KILL ME AN'
SEND ME TO HELL NOW! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! I DON'T
CARE! JUST KILL ME AND GET IT OVER WITH!" Jay screamed
upwards, presumably toward where he estimated Heaven to be.

Jay whipped out his scimitar and held it to his wrist. "HERE, I'LL
HELP YOU ALONG!" he screeched, pressing just lightly, ready to free
his own essence from his lonely shell.

"WELL? SHOW ME A SIGN! HAVE ONE OF YOUR DICKLESS
FLYBOYS COME DOWN HERE AND STOP ME! Or do you really
want me to..." Jay's voice pittered out into a quiet whisper as sobs
shook his body. He cast his gaze down to his wrist, and the blade
against it. "God dammit..." he sobbed out, as he dropped the scimitar
and curled up again. "Every fuckin' time it's the same... Why can't 
I
die?" he whispered to no one in particular. "It's because I'm too
pathetic to die," he answered himself.

***

Funfunfun.

Haryuu No Hanekata,
~Luna "Tic" Vee