Ian's Insanity (Ianthony)

-Chapter 11

The alarm on my phone wakes me up. It’s so loud that I get a headache again. Any sudden movements make it worse. There’s no doubt that I’m hung-over.

As I open my eyes, the light blinds me. How am I going to go down town like this?

I take some more painkillers. Hopefully I’ll be okay in an hour. Until then, I’ll make a list of things I need to do today.

Do I need groceries?

I check the fridge. It’s bare, apart from a jar of pickles. I check the use by date. One year ago. Okay, they’re going in the trash.

I need groceries.

I need to register my car. I write that on my list as well, so I don’t forget.

Should I go to the job agency? Well, I’m only going to be here for about a year, so I think I’ll continue my welfare payments.

 I go over to the sink and drink from the tap. It turns out that if you don’t have something to distract yourself with; the aftertaste from the painkillers becomes really obvious and annoying.

I lay on the lounge. I’m starting to feel a little better.

I go on twitter on my Iphone.  It’s been a day since I actually talked to my fans.

Everyone seems to love that I don’t just advertise Smosh.com anymore. That I actually interact with them. I am too. I’ve really missed everyone. Knowing that everyone missed me as well is a great feeling. I actually mean something to a few people.

Before I know it, it’s getting on 11am. I have to be in town for my appointment in an hour.

 I shower and dress in my jeans and shirt. The jeans are loose and the t-shirt is baggy. How much weight have I actually lost?

I put on my belt. It’s been so long since I’ve used one, since I was starting to get a little chubby.

And now I’m so skinny that I can see my bones. I like being like this; at least I don’t look like a human potato.

I catch the 10:35 bus into town. As I’m sit on the seat next to a man (who looks like he’s homeless, and drunk), he turns to me.

“Got any spare change, sir?” He says, pulling a tin can out of his pocket and waving it in my face.

“No, sorry.” I say, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I scoot away from him.

“That wasn’t a question!” He says in a scary tone of voice. He pulls out a gun, and holds it to my chest. A few people in the back rows scream, and one gets out their phone (to possibly call the police).

As I go to get my wallet, the guy shoots me. I collapse onto the seat in front of me, which is conveniently empty.

Everything goes black.