Welcome to Bikini Bottom

Jack is brushing his teeth meticulously in his 6 by 6 bathroom when the meteor hits.

The window of his skinny-jeans tight bathroom overlooks the small scrap of empty land behind the apartment building frequently used by drugees as a rendezvous point and panicking accidental-murderers as a makeshift graveyard. There’s a strange keening sound like a dying whale with throat cancer from outside and when Jack looks out the window, he’s temporarily blinded by a bright flash of eerie green light.

It’s fine. Jack doesn’t need his eyes anyways. He’s been training for this day ever since he was a little fawn. He turns towards the sink and cautiously feels his way until he finds the tap and rinses out his mouth.

Jack splashes water on his face, and by the time he towels off and looks in the mirror, his eyesight is mostly back. He tuts in regret. He’d been planning to ninja out in his living room and bother Fred downstairs, but life isn’t always fair, he supposes.

He’s a little curious about the green flash bomb that went off outside so he sticks his head out the window and looks down at the empty lot. Black smoke rises from a large crater in the center of the land, and Jack’s pretty sure whatever blew up incinerated just about 70% of the unidenfied corpses rotting in the ground. He sniffs in disappointment. He’d been looking forward to a zombie invasion. He even has his kitchen stocked with canned food that won’t expire for thirty years and hid three shotguns and a hunting rifle in a false compartment in his closet.

Oh, well. There are enough dead people in the world to go around, he supposes. And the lot will fill up again soon enough.

Jack retrieves Mr. Rogers from where he’s perched on the kitchen counter and snuggles up with the teddy bear in his bed and lets sleep take over.

He smiles wide and dreams of barricading his apartment with plastic chairs and picking off his undead neighbors outside from his bathroom window with his rifle.

Fred… Fred… FRED!!!

Fred wakes in a start. “What the effing hell?” He listens for the annoying sounds of Jack singing Chicago in the shower again, but there was no screeching. Brows furrowing, Fred cautiously gets off the bed, tiptoeing across his flat and wincing when he steps on a creaky floorboard. Nervously, Fred looks around. Complete silence. “What the hell woke me up, then?” Fred mutters.

FRED!!!!

Fred whips around, his body tensed, nostrils flared, and a low growl starting from deep in his throat. Yoohoo! Freddie-boy! Come out and play! The voice calls out faintly from the hall. “Well he asked for it,” Fred snarls, and strides out the door. Looking around, Fred doesn’t see a thing. Freddie! I thought you were tough! Turns out you’re nothing but a pup. Tsk! The voice echoed down the hall. Fred looked around nervously. What if the neighbours come out to see what was causing such a loud racket? Suddenly, a flower put flew towards his head. Fred ducked, but that didn’t stop the broom that literally swept him off his feet.

Snarls ripping from his chest, Fred lowered himself into a crouch. “So you’re a motherfucking telepath,” he growled. I wouldn’t sound so sure about yourself, Freddie-boy. Why don’t you come over here and play? The voice was closer now, calling out teasingly/ Fred looked around. There was still no one around, no one peeking out of their windows out of curiosity. “What the hell are you playing at…?” he muttered between gritted teeth. Not coming? Surely the DAREDEVIL isn’t scared of a little voice… God, that voice was getting on Fred’s nerves. It sounded like it’s just around the corner. On the lookout for more flying objects, Fred makes his way down the hall, and quickly turns the corner, lips pulled back into a snarl.  As he registers what he sees, Fred relaxes and leans against the wall, a smirk plastering itself on his face.

It was just a little boy, no more than 12 years old, floating in midair. “You know it’s not good for you to just be floating around. What if somebody sees you?” Fred scolds. The boy smiles wider, “Nobody will see me unless I want them to.” The boy grins cheekily, immediately tap-dancing on Fred’s nerves again. “Oh you arrogant little bastard…” Fred grumbles.

The boy grins wickedly and another flower pot comes flying at Fred. He manages to catch it, mere milliseconds before it would have hit his head. “Hey!! Watch it!” Fred yells angrily. The boy shushes him mockingly, “Hush little daredevil, otherwise people might come out to investigate.”

As if on cue, an old Asian man, looking around 80 years of age, comes hobbling out of his suite. Fred stares in shock, not sure whether to dash back into his apartment, or stand like a statue and hope the old man doesn’t notice. Before Fred can even decide, the man pulls down his saggy yellowing underwear and decides to relieve himself in the tulips that Inida had so lovingly planted.

Fred stares, wide-eyed, as the old man shakes himself dry, and then finally opens his eyes. “What? This isn’t the toilet…” The old man seems confused, looking around, and then spots Fred, who is too engrossed in the destruction of Inida’s flowers to notice until the old man calls out to him. “Hey sonny boy! Wouldja mind helping me pull my trousers up? I can’t bend down that far.” Fred’s dazed look quickly turns from amusement unto disgust. Too afraid to speak to the old man, Fred simply nods and inches closer to the man. Using two fingers, Fred pulls the damp piece of cloth slowly up the old man’s bottom, and shudders as the old man smiles a toothy grin as thanks. ‘I might have to burn these fingers off after this…’ Fred thinks to himself.

As the old man trots back into his apartment, Fred whips around, half expecting another flower pot to come flying at his head. But there’s no one there… “What…?” Fred mutters obscene swear words under his breath as he thinks, ‘That was all a dream… All a dream… All a-‘. Fred notices the wet tips of his fingers where he had to drag the old man’s wet underwear up for him. Suppressing a gag reflex, Fred runs back into his apartment bathroom, slamming the door, and scrubs his fingers until he’s sure that the top three layers of contaminated skin are swirling down the drain.

“The next time I see someone I don’t know, I’m running,” Fred furiously thinks to himself. Feeling sorry for himself, and even worse for the tulips, Fred sighs and turns on the treadmill. There’s no way he can sleep after all that anyways. He might as well run a few more miles. 

ahahaha XD

I know I said that I’d write a lot, but I didn’t. Ed Cutilley is a supposed to be a spoof of Edward Cullen. Heh.

Inida wakes up to something dropping on her face. She opens her eyes to more stuff falling on her face. She looks up and realizes that a new hole is being drilled into the ceiling by her upstairs neighbour. What the fa… Why do all run-down places have such weird people… She is about to go back to bed when she realizes that she needs to go to the washroom. She gets out of bed and is greeted by a lovely crisping sound. Obviously I didn’t go to bed with enough water in my system. She looks down and sees herself completely shrivelled up from dehydration. Not shocked by the sight, she grabs the water bottle from her bed-side drawer and pours it on herself. She notices the slight change in her appearance and decides that she’s going to need a lot more water. She gets up, goes to the window and opens the blinds. She looks out the window to determine the time since she didn’t own a clock anywhere in the room and she wasn’t sure where her cellphone was. 
From the busy streets and with the sun at that 35 degree angle, she guesses it is around 7:00 AM or so. Then she hears water going through the pipes somewhere below her and believes someone is probably taking a shower. With the sound of water, she realizes that she had to go pee immediately and thought she might as well took her shower.
Inida does her business then walked to the shower. She stands under the falling water and places her finger against the shower opening. She begins to absorb all the water from the pipes and feels herself becoming a lot less wrinkly. 
She walks out of the shower and inspects herself in the mirror. The water regeneration is looking a lot better today. No wrinkles. She shifts into her water form and looks at her water level. Completely charged with water, she shifts back into her human form and goes to get dressed.
Heading back into her bedroom, she looks at her ceiling with frustration. The ceiling was already pretty gross, now I have a hole too… She grabs an orange t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans and gets changed. She walks to the corner of her room where she stashes her boxes of water bottles from when she gets them for cheap and took 5 water bottles. She places those in her bag, grabs her keys, slips on her flip-flops and heads out the door. Just as she locks her door, she hears crashing and clinging sounds from upstairs and decides not to think about it. 
She heads for the stairwell to the diner room on the ground floor. As she walks into the diner room, she sees the “lovely” group of people who are fighting over a slice of bread. Great… Just like any other day in this craphole…   

Jack wakes at 4:37AM from a two hour nap. He likes to blame his irregular sleeping pattern on the fact that deer are nocturnal, but he’s seen more than enough other weredeer to know that he’s the odd one out. Chupacabra irritably swishes her tail at Jack’s face from his pillow for disturbing her beauty slumber, but Jack only needs to stroke her head to appease her. He saunters into the kitchen with morning swagger and opens a can of spam pork, eating the meat raw with a spoon. His stomach rumbles with approval and he moves into the bathroom for his ritual shower. He turns on the tap and decides to start the day off with “If you Leave Me Now”, a Chicago classic. After steaming himself like a Chinese dumpling, Jack gets out of the shower, all the hot water used up for the day. “Chupie?” he calls into his empty apartment, but he receives no answer but for the loud squeaking of the running machine next door. She’s probably gone down the fire escape into the apartment below. No one lives there now, but eventually he’ll have to get her to break that habit. He refills her bowl of water and leaves an unopened can of tuna and a can opener on the table. Chupacabra’s a smart cat. She’ll know how to open it. Jack looks at the mirror by the front door before he leaves, and puts on his most intimidating face. It’s so intimidating that he’d wet his pants if that face in the mirror weren’t his. Satisfied, he struts out the door, whipping his leather jacket over his shoulder.