Unknown

Just for a note. I have no idea where this is going.











A soft groan. The rustle of a heavy blanket falling gracelessly to the floor.  Another annoyed groan.

Although the blinds had been pulled down the night before, the brightly shining morning sun still filled the small room with any gap hat it could get though.

Blond spikes stood out sharply from the blood red sheets on the bed as the occupant rolled over onto his back to face the ceiling. He turned his head to the left for a moment to look at the alarm clock on the night stand. With an irritated sign, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking around him.  Chaos.  Complete, unruly Chaos.  Boxes everywhere, who knew where anything was.

But this was his new life. No parents. No sisters. No support. And for once No Killer knowing where he was. Bart sat up and moved to get out of his bed, He hadn't realized how much there was to pulling one together until he actually had did it on his own.  Of course his father wouldn't have wanted to stay and help, but that hardly surprised him after all these years.  But today he had the whole day to himse4lf to get unpacked and tomorrow he'd start the very first day of his job. Applying for a job in a different town had turned out to be a lot easier then he had intisipated. Of course, they had never heard of "El Barto" or the rest of his reputation.  It was one of the reasons that he left Springfield. To get away from everyone. Everyone. Including Sideshow Bob. Crazy bastard. Bart hadn't seen him since the time he stole Walt's face and tried to kill him at Five Corners. But that was over 10 years ago.
Pushing the rest of the bedding away from him he got out of bed and padded his way into the small kitchenette area of his apartment. Most of his kitchen boxes still sat on the counter. Bart frowned at this and went back to the bedroom and rummaged the a box of clothes before he picked out a pair of shorts and a graphic tee. As he headed back to the kitchen, Bart snapped his fingers, side stepping into the entrance to get his pocket knife from his coat before going back into the kitchen. He was thankful to his mother (and his father pocketbook) for the small table and chair set he had been given as a moving gift, since he didn't have anything of the sort. He pulled out a chair and sat down, before grabbing a box marked "kitchen" on it and ripping though the tape with his pocket knife. Duck tape and knifes. It was funny how it still made him flinch.  Every time he heard the sound of it he always though of him. And of Walt Warren, The poor guy. Had a nice face though, for a guy anyways.  Bart shivered, but then shook it off as he began unpacking his kitchen items.

Soon most of the boxes were empty, the contents removed. Bart wiped his brow, and blew his bangs out of his eyes. It had been a long day,  but everything was unpacked. Finally.  But the day was gone. Bart looked at the clock on the microwave. 6:38pm. The day was almost over.

Bart set the frying pan in the sink and set down at the table with his small supper. Half was though his supper, the door rang.
"Hmm? I wonder who that could be?" Bart asked himself quietly, as he pushed himself away from the table. No one but his parents knew where he had moved to. Not even Milhouse. Maybe it was a friendly neighbour? After all he was in an apartment building. He looked though the viewer in the door, but he couldn't seen any one though it. Bart took of the chain lock and opened the door.

"Hi?"
"Well, Hello Bart," Bart stiffened at the voice, his grip tighting on the nob. "It's funny seeing you here in this quaint little apartment building. I never expected to meet you...like this," Bart took a step back into the apartment.
"Sideshow Bob!" Bart yelled, before he tried to slam the door shut. Bob's overly large feet got in the way of the door.
"Now Bart, don't be so immature. I've been out of prison for 6 years now. I don't even think I've seen you once since then. I'm merely the welcoming you to the building," Bob finished as he pushed the door open,  Bart's fingers slipping from the doorknob. "And now I'll be on my way. Have a good evening Bart," Bob turned, and walked towards the elevator.  Bart quickly slammed the door shut and locked the chain lock. He pressed his back to the door and slid down it, as he pressed his palm against his forehead.
"I'll never escape this shit," he muttered.  "When will this end?" Bart got up,  and shook the nervousness out of him. He glanced at the supper on the table.  He made a noise as he walked over to the table and picked up the plate. He walked over to the garbage and dumped the rest of his supper into it, then set the dishes onto the counter.  Bart looked at the clock again.  7:12PM.  He went to his room and dropped onto his bed. "Let's call it a night,"