Nov 14, 2022 10:39 pm
Let's take a step back to the night before this phone call...
As he drew, Johnny felt something weird, like a rush of energy from the journal. It was not the first time he had felt it, but never was the sensation stronger than in the heart of this summer night. He held his breath, focusing on the wind-like feeling moving his hair - flapping the strands still long, but barely moving the short stubby ends mutilated by Chet.
His hatred for Chet, reflected in those odious eyes on the page, surged within him like an unstoppable tide. He had to stop his hand from adding more lines, from darkening more shaded areas.
The moment he did that, a charcoal-dark tendril of energy extended from the page with a fizzing sound! The tendril shot towards the edge of the room, with a finality of direction that meant it knew exactly where to go. A powerful, accusing finger of blackness in search of a target.
But then, it slowed down and froze, in a motion that made Johnny think of a jet of water released with great pressure, but that freezes for an extreme drop in temperature. The tendril stayed crystallized in mid air like a mirage, then dissolved into thin dust.
Johnny remembered to breathe. Was it Chet, that the strange energy had sought and failed to find? What would have happened, if Chet had been within reach of the tendril? And did Johnny cause the energy to shoot out?
Johnny had felt before, and now knew with the certainty of unwavering belief, that Edd's journal held great power. A power that he had to learn to tap into, to channel and mold.
Johnny says:
Midnight. The importance of the time struck Johnny and he rolled over in bed and pulled out the grandfather's journal from under his mattress and a charcoal pencil from the nightstand. He flipped past the sketch of him, Alana and Logan in the backyard. He felt a pang at the innocence of the sketch before flipping to a fresh page and started sketching a new picture. This one all harsh with thick lines; the blocky outline of Chet's face scrawled onto the age-yellowed page. He paid special attention to the hate-filled, callous eyes, the dark streaks of black under them from the broken nose Johnny had given him and the dislocated and swollen nose between them.His hatred for Chet, reflected in those odious eyes on the page, surged within him like an unstoppable tide. He had to stop his hand from adding more lines, from darkening more shaded areas.
The moment he did that, a charcoal-dark tendril of energy extended from the page with a fizzing sound! The tendril shot towards the edge of the room, with a finality of direction that meant it knew exactly where to go. A powerful, accusing finger of blackness in search of a target.
But then, it slowed down and froze, in a motion that made Johnny think of a jet of water released with great pressure, but that freezes for an extreme drop in temperature. The tendril stayed crystallized in mid air like a mirage, then dissolved into thin dust.
Johnny remembered to breathe. Was it Chet, that the strange energy had sought and failed to find? What would have happened, if Chet had been within reach of the tendril? And did Johnny cause the energy to shoot out?
Johnny had felt before, and now knew with the certainty of unwavering belief, that Edd's journal held great power. A power that he had to learn to tap into, to channel and mold.
