(no subject)
Johnny was back home. Staring at his wall of clippings and warnings, and it was just after Stillson had become Vice President.
He turned around, and now he was in the room with Janus again. (Janus who since died).
An epic tale born of victory and penned in blood.
There was another man, hooded, standing near him, but only visible to Johnny. The next prophet, the man lost to a coma like Johnny, and he was staring balefully back, holding up the magazine with Johnny's picture on it. 'Will this man destroy the world?' as the headline. They were standing in ashes. Washington burning around them.
And then Johnny's own future blind self, stepping across the blackened Mall.
"Are you really sure you stopped it? What about JJ? Stillson's alive."
But he was irrelevant. He was dead now, or might as well be.
Johnny had pulled the trigger.
He's now up in the balcony again, aiming the rifle and shooting at Stillson behind the podium. Again, the politician panicked, and held up a child to cower behind.
Johnny had stopped firing, but it didn't matter, the men were shooting at him again. He was falling toward the railing, and could faintly see a man smiling darkly as he aimed to weaken the railing further. And something about that smile, made pain flare in Johnny's head, the tumor that could still kill him.
He couldn't focus on him, didn't know him, but it didn't matter as he started to convulse.
He was falling.
He turned around, and now he was in the room with Janus again. (Janus who since died).
An epic tale born of victory and penned in blood.
There was another man, hooded, standing near him, but only visible to Johnny. The next prophet, the man lost to a coma like Johnny, and he was staring balefully back, holding up the magazine with Johnny's picture on it. 'Will this man destroy the world?' as the headline. They were standing in ashes. Washington burning around them.
And then Johnny's own future blind self, stepping across the blackened Mall.
"Are you really sure you stopped it? What about JJ? Stillson's alive."
But he was irrelevant. He was dead now, or might as well be.
Johnny had pulled the trigger.
He's now up in the balcony again, aiming the rifle and shooting at Stillson behind the podium. Again, the politician panicked, and held up a child to cower behind.
Johnny had stopped firing, but it didn't matter, the men were shooting at him again. He was falling toward the railing, and could faintly see a man smiling darkly as he aimed to weaken the railing further. And something about that smile, made pain flare in Johnny's head, the tumor that could still kill him.
He couldn't focus on him, didn't know him, but it didn't matter as he started to convulse.
He was falling.