|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 11:20 am
'cause i love all the poison away with the boys in the band TABLE OF CONTENTSPoem, Introduction, and Rating.Self-explanitory.
(you are here)Background and Characters.^^ My inspirations, and a general explanation of things. Also gives short biographies of the major characters (hopefully without giving too much away), because they aren't the same as the lives of the bandmembers.
(post #2)News.^^ This will be updated whenever I've got news, so check back to it. I'll probably put something in the title to say that there's new news, or I'll do a new poll or something.
(post #3)How I Happened Upon The Letter.^^ Consider this a prologue of sorts.
(post #4)Chapter One.^^ And so, the adventure begins...
(post #5) (¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ (¸.•´¸¸.•¨¯`•.
Come one, come all...
The beds be soft steel counters,
the walls are damp cement.
The nurses all will hold your hand
when you leave without consent.
If the morphine doesn't kill you,
the company sure will.
By coming here you've all but moved
into your box atop the hill.
Here, we don't exaggerate,
don't put things in your head.
Truth be told: boys come in hurt,
and boys always leave here dead.
Welcome to the world of my imagination. I started this in August of this year, and have been receiving rave reviews in the We Are The Black Parade guild. After reading what this lovely reader had to say, I guess I'm doing something right. lol Here's what she had to say:System Virus Holy s**t. I kept overhearing from people *coughferriscough* that this fanfic was good, but I was all "Yeah. Sure. If you've read one fanfic you've read them all, and they're all generaly s**t at that," but I gotta say, this one's amazing. Great writers voice, great plot, great integration of the random MCR refrences, great in general. Better than any number of published books I've read. Summary: HOLYSHITWOW. *stalk*
It's gory, it's violent, there's language, and Frank talks with food in his mouth. :XP:
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 12:24 pm
'cause i love all the poison away with the boys in the band (¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ (¸.•´¸¸.•¨¯`•. Background & Characters.This is not your normal FanFic. Rather, I approached it as if the boys asked me to direct them in a movie, where all the characters coincidentally have the same names as them. So I've created a world based off of imagery in their music videos, as well as imagery I created through listening to their songs a million times. I created characters who are similar enough to them that they are easily distinguishable, but there are some very major differences.
I guess the easiest way to describe it is, I took their "characters" from their videos and made a long, drawn out story for them, that connects the videos and provides situations that could have been the inspirations for their songs.
Eventually, I want to change the names to variations on their middle names and try to get it published. That'd be pretty sweet. But until then, here are the characters, with a brief biography for each. YES, THINGS ARE VASTLY DIFFERENT. Probably the most glaring difference is that Gerard and Mikey aren't brothers, but there are others. Remember, I approached this as if they wanted to act in a movie, so the only similarity is that each of the band members plays a character by the same name.Gerard.A self-appointed misfit at the Academy, Gerard has stayed back twice due (according to the teachers) to his affection for parties and alcohol, and a stubborn penchant for doing things his way. He can be a little arrogant at times, but he is a true gentleman who takes impeccable care of the woman on his arm. He is looked up to as the ringleader in the cluster of misfits, although in the two years he's spent at the Academy, he hasn't really found a group of people he can truly connect with enough to consider them real friends. Gerard is an artist in all forms of the word - he draws constantly, sings, writes poetry and short stories, and has started sketching out an original comc series.Michael.This thin, bespeckled boy transferred from a neighboring school system to spend his high school years at the Academy. As a nervous, painfully quiet boy who is often awkward and overwhelmed, all Michael really wants is to pass under the radar and make it through freshman year in one piece. He has been through a lot in his life, but doesn't let on to it much. He is a lot stronger emotionally than he realizes; it's really just a lack of confidence that's holding him back. Michael is unbelievably punctual, a morning person who can't understand why some people aren't, and he gets all of his schoolwork done at least three days before it's due. On the side, he fiddles around on a bass guitar.Frank.Short in stature, but never short on adventures, this freshman is rarely seen without a broad, mischievious grin. Though Frank isn't the best of students, he deftly tapdances in the balanace between love and annoyance with his teachers. Frank's major fault is that, for all his mischief and prank schemes, he is incredibly naïve, and usually is quite out of the loop. On the second day of school, he was completely smitten with fellow freshman Sami Sinclaire, and has been quietly nursing an obsession over her, mostly because he can't quite figure out how best to approach her. Frank plays guitar, and would be the life of the party, were he invited to any.Helena.This lovely lady is a junior at the Academy. She is slender, pale, with dark hair and light eyes, and has been flirting on and off with Gerard since her freshman year (also his first year). A good-natured girl with a heart of gold, she is very peaceful, elegant, and ladylike, but she also enjoys a good party and good alcohol. Her temper is virtually nonexistant, but when it flares up, she has been known to go to great lengths to protect the ones she cares about. Helena is the kind of girl anyone can go to with their problems, the kind who can, and does, befriend anyone.Sarah.Not a lot is known about her life before serving as a war nurse. She is a pilot by trade, and was a WASP until an outbreak stranded her on the battlefields with no way to return home. From there, she donned the white uniform of a nurse, and has been underground for the past several months. She is thin, with features reminiscent of the classic ladies of the cinema. Sarah is extremely gentle and patient, and never refuses those under her care anything she can offer them. Her greatest fear is of losing her younger brother, especially to the army, because he is the only family she has.--MORE WILL COME.--
Okay, so there's two more major people who need their bios done - Ray and Bob - and I'm going to try to get them done today (3/2o/o7) and have them up so this page is done. Bios for other, more minnor characters, might be added, depending on how much time I have.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 12:33 pm
'cause i love all the poison away with the boys in the band (¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ (¸.•´¸¸.•¨¯`•. News.11.28.Wow! Isn't this exciting? "The Blind & The Patient" is posted in the Official MCR Guild! Yay! That qualifies as big news... up until now it's been on display in the We Are The Black Parade Guild, as well as in my journal (there's a link in my siggy).
Recently I got a LiveJournal account, so it's also up there. My username there is jauntyporkpie, so if you've got an account there, add me, please! *bambi eyes*
[/shamelessplug]12.20.Due to semi-unforseen circumstances (the end of the semester), I haven't been able to write any more because I've been busy. But never fear, intrepid readers, for the semester has ended and I am going to be on my way home in about 2 hours or so. Sometime soon, a new chapter or six shall be written, and then the REAL mysteries will unfurl... Mwahahaha.
Yours in Distortion,
ThunderKat.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 12:46 pm
'cause i love all the poison away with the boys in the band (¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ (¸.•´¸¸.•¨¯`•. How I Came Upon The Letter.A Now-Deceased Woman If I had something encouraging to say, I would say it here. Alas, I do not... lest reading of the fervent grasping at ones last fragments of life is something you would find encouraging. In the style of the few movies brought to us those long days ago at the facility, I decided one day to sit down and write out a story. A story of reconciliation and hope. It is a true story, to be sure, for no fiction could bring you the horrors within my pages. Surviving the story does not mean there are no scars. We all lost something... some more than others. I present to you this, our story, as accurately as it occurred. -S.M.A-W.
She explained to me that the names of the people involved had been changed, because it seemed that in recent years, people arose who share uncanny resemblances to the people in the story. She told me how the writer of the story changed the names, in order to connect with today's society.
"After all, artists use metaphors to expose the truth, don't they? The people's names who are used in this story are people you are familiar with. Some personally, some not. And one of them is you. That's right. You are in the most unique position out of all of us in this situation, for it is because of what you will do that I am here now to give you what you have done. If you don't understand, don't worry about it. It will all make sense eventually. I just wanted to warn you for when you are formally introduced to... well, you'll see. But-- say hello to him for me, will you?" she gave me a sad little smile, and I agreed, though I didn't really understand what she meant.
This is how she left me, with the box in my lap, and these thoughts in my head. I never saw her again in the flesh, and as I read into the many pages contained within the box, I soon learned why, and I also learned why that is such an inaccurate phrase to describe how I saw her. But I digress. I could write an entire novel on my own about my encounter with this mystery woman who delivered to me the box. But, instead, I'd much rather present to you the box's contents, so as to preserve and immortalize the people whose lives were handed over to me in the form of this story.
And so, without further adieu, I bring to the on-line community: "THE BLIND AND THE PATIENT"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 12:54 pm
Chapter One. He was brought in, much in the same way all the others were brought in. He was, however, slightly luckier than most - someone had managed to scrounge a tarpaulin. This meant that he did not arrive hauled in over a shoulder, or hanging between two slightly less-damaged boys, or carried into the facility in the most ungracious cross between "La Pieta" and a pile of wet laundry. No, he had the luck to be brought in on a tarpaulin. This meant he arrived head first at about knee-height, booted feet dragging on the damp concrete behind him. His severely bandaged head lolled from side to side almost involuntarily, as his makeshift stretcher swung between the men who were carrying him. Two hands, as pale as paper, swam up out of the darkness of his bloodstained greens toward the edges of the tarpaulin, suspended in midair in either agony or desperation. A few syllables stumbled incoherently from the bandages, and were lost. He was toted along several dank corridors full of boys in varying stages of decrepancy, all singing their part in the chorus of moans that filled the halls of the facility. They wrote their own requiem here - it was almost expected.
Although he could not hear them as he was rushed past, he had heard about the utter despondancy of places like these... how staying long enough drove men insane, how everyone said it was better taking your chances out on the field than have to be dragged down to a facility and treated. If he knew where he was, or what would happen to him over the next few months, he would have fought tooth-and-nail to get out while there was still a chance. But he did not know where he was until it was too late, nor did he possess the strength to remove himself from it, and this is probably the singular reason why the chain of events that follow were set in motion, and would eventually result in the finding of something quite beautiful: hope. This is the story of a man making peace with himself and the choices he made. And it begins the day he thought he was going to die.
The men who had brought him in stopped in a room that was quite silent. Almost all of the other boys that were brought in were dumped immediately inside the door, and then moved on down one of the halls as time went by. The stuffy silence of the room was broken by the clicking and scraping of shoes on the wet cement floor, and the few more syllables that had managed to find their muffled way out of the bandages. These, too, found the ceiling and were absorbed, never to be heard from again. He was placed, perhaps a little to firmly, on the floor. The edges of the tarpaulin were dropped with a wet slap, and he was hoisted up onto a cold metal counter.
His brain richoched off the insde of his skull, trying to register where he was, what he was doing there, why his face was burning, and whose hands were afixing his limbs down. There seemed to be millions of them - crawling all over him, cutting away at his uniform, strapping his feet down, putting something cold and wet on his arm. Only one thought made it, in completion and relatilvely intact, through his addled mind and out his mouth:
"He's... gone... gone!"
Whoever all these hands belonged to, didn't seem to notice. The bandages were ripped from his face. He screamed, or tried to, at least. It felt as if at least half of his face must have gone with the bandages; both blood and tears flooded his eyes. A light stared down at him. Some uncertain shapes registered, swirling around in the space between his blurry eyes and blurrier brain. A few times, he thought he could make out a distinctive shape, but every time he did, extra limbs would sprout out of it, or cloth was rubbed over his eyes, skewing his focus once again. His face was on fire. His breaths were coming in short gasps. He felt closer to death than he did out... there... where he watched him fall. A strange, wet hiccup erupted in the right side of his chest, and then came a sensation as close to drowning as one could be and still be firmly on dry land.
The hands very suddenly began moving in much more frantic patterns. His shirt was torn wide open and something punched him square in the chest. There was a sharp, lingering pain, and it registered that something was piercing his chest above where his lung had collapsed; a strange 'shoop-shoop' noise had replaced the drowing feeling and the short gaspy breaths. Several more needles made acquaintance with his skin, and he slipped into unconsciousness as something cold was splashed into his eys.
His was the most dignified enterance that day.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:45 am
Chapter Two.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
An eye willed itself open. "Tu-fugggun-erlaaai..." The eye closed again.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
"Whaaa ya wan' ?" he said a little louder, voice making its croaky way into consciousness. The arms followed, prying himself from the pillow. Next were the legs, swinging from under the blankets and onto the cold wood floor. He sat there for a minute, an obscene moose call issuing from the black hole which, up until recently, he had identified as his mouth.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
"Arr'right, arr'right, I'm comin'..." He shuffled across the room to the door and yanked on it. He only got as far as the three inches of chain would let him open the door. Prying his eyes open, he gaped blankly out at the skinny boy standing in the hall opposte him. They blinked at each other for a full minute.
"Well? What do you want?" he said, changing the gears in his voicebox without the clutch. The skinny boy gave a start. Though he was less than happy about being woken up, it surprised him just how much harsher it came out than he had intended.
"Uh... I'm... is this... I need... could you... uh... is this room 707?" It took him a few tries, but the skinny boy managed to get his question out. As he did so, his bag slipped off his shoulder and practically dragged him down with it. It landed with a resounding thunk on the floor. The one behind the door winced slightly. He got out of bed for this? "What's the numbers on the door say?" he said and shut the door. The skinny boy swayed slightly. The big brass numbers on the door definitely said '707'. He didn't even need to push his glasses up to read them. They had slipped down his nose when his life had fallen off his shoulder. He looked around, slightly bewildered. There wasn't anyone else in the hallway - it was still pretty early. He raised his hand to knock once more, but recoiled it at the sound of the chain being undone on the other side of the door. Tentatively, he twisted the knob; the door opened. He pushed it in slowly, looking around the tiny dorm, not sure what to expect. The boy who had answered the door was sitting on the edge of his bed, apparantly having intense negotiations with his feet as to whether or not they were going to get back under the blankets. The skinny boy watched him, head tilted to the side quizically. A nagging at his shoulder reminded him that he was slowly being submerged into the wood by the weight of his bag.
He looked over at the other bed in the room. It was a bare mattress, bearing an unpleasant-colored stain. He set the bag down on the footlocker at the end of the bed and stood there, unsure of what to do. So he closed the door. It swung much faster than he had anticipated, and it shut with a loud crack before he could stop it. The negotiations with the twisted blankets ceased.
"I'm sorry...?" said the skinny boy, "I'm just going to... you know... unpack... and stuff. I'll-I'll be quiet; I know it's kinda... early."
The dark-haired boy looked at him. I give up... I give up. Okay, ya pretty boy, I'm awake now. What the hell do you want? His thoughts ran along this course as he replanted his feet on the floor. He was awake now, which meant that the espresso IV kicked in somewhere in the back of his head, and his brain revved up to 1000 rpms. On a sudden whim, he decided to see how fast his new roommate would pick up on things. Despite the glasses and awkward stance usually reserved for the painfully intelligent, he didn't seem very bright.
"That isn't what you think it is, kid. It ain't piss. It's - Whatcher name?"
"It isn't? What?"
"I said, whatcher name, kid?"
"Oh. Michael."
"Michael?! Mlechhh... We'll need to fix that. It's duck sauce, Michael. Mike. Mikey. Hmm, Mikey... yeah. You like it?"
"Duck sauce? Not really."
"No, ya moron-"
"Mikey's fine. Actually, kids at my old school used to call me that. It's fine."
"Nice to meet ya, Mikey. I'm Gerard. Guess I don't have to ask if you're new."
Mikey's shoulders relaxed, and he breathed a little easier as he recovered from the initial shock of Gerard's rapidfire and nearly schizophrenic way of addressing him. As he spoke, he loosened up a little bit, although he wasn't sure if Gerard really liked him. He looked older, by a few years, but this wing housed only freshman, as far as he knew.
"No, I guess you don't. I just got in last night. Transfered from Heightstown."
"And now you're here at good ol' Pencey Prep." Gerard said through a sideways smile.
Mikey looked up at the window - all of the windows he had passed in the building had leading near the top that spelled out "The Pennsfield Preparatory Academy" with the school crest. It was backwards, so that it could be read from the outside. He mused for a minute about whether it was intentional that it was repeated on every window- so that no one would forget the name of the school, perhaps?
"Errr... yeah. Here I am. So... do they call you Gerry or something?"
"No." The smile dropped from Gerard's face. Mikey's eyes widened sligtly and he tensed up again. "No, they do not call me 'Gerry-or-something'. Not Gerry, not Gee, not Gee-Man, not any of that s**t. My name is Gerard. Ya got it?"
Mikey nodded slightly. After another awkward moment or two, he began unpacking his school things. Duck sauce, my a**... he thought as he dropped a pile of blue and grey uniforms onto the mattress with particular distaste. He shot a glance over his shoulder at his new roommate, who was working furiously at something on the back of his neck, and not paying much attention to him. Mikey sighed. It was going to be a long year.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:47 am
Chapter Three.
He awoke from a disorienting series of flashing images and a lot of yelling, to a soft click-click-click. He recognized the sound to be that of nurses' shoes, which surprised him. That he would make that kind of a connection was odd, especially since he was back for another year at prep school. They had a nurse, but she usually made very different sounds than click-click-click, and they usually involved Dr. Grayson, the creepy chemistry teacher. And the only time he'd ever been in the hospital was when he'd been in that fight with - what was his name again? - and ended up with several stitches in his lip, internal bleeding, and several other bruises and contusions. He didn't remember any nurses even being there. As a matter of fact, all he distinctly remembered about that adventure was being alone in his bed... for minutes that dragged into hours, and hours that dragged into lifetimes.
Yet somehow, this clicking, which was slowly getting louder, registered as being a pair of nurse's shoes on a hard floor. This also struck him as odd - Pency Prep's floors were wood, and most of them had given way to dead spots, except for the library and a few places in the cafeteria. He tried to open his eyes, but discovered something textile prevented this. His whole body felt like it was made of lead. Summoning strength, he slowly lifted an arm and his pale hand clumsily explored the gauze above his face.
After a few minutes of this, he decided it was not a blanket, as he originally percieved, but something attached to his face that probably had a good reason for being there. Almost his whole head had been covered, like his nose, which he had tried to breath through and discovered that, too, was impossible. He took a few deep breaths through his mouth, inhaling the musty air. His throat was dry and scratchy, and he coughed. This triggered a shooting pain in the right side of his chest. He then remembered that something had been stuck into him after he felt like he was drowning. Was it still there? He couldn't tell, and decided he didn't really want to know, either.
He dropped his hand back above his head and it met cold metal. He was on a counter of some kind that probably was not originally meant to accomodate a body. He was cold. He felt strangely naked. He dragged his other hand over to his torso, and touched skin - something he was not expecting in the least. The needle in his elbow prevented further exploration with that hand. As near as he could tell, he still had his pants on. Or, the right leg of them, anyway. His left leg was achy and felt more like lead than the rest of him combined. He tried to move his toes and was greeted with a shooting pain.
The clicking noise drew very near and then stopped. Two willowy hands wound themselves around the forearm above his head. They were colder than the metal on which he lay, yet much, much softer. He resisted as best he could out of sheer surprise, but his strength seemed to extend little past remaining conscious. As the hands repositioned his arm at his side, a female voice floated through the gauze.
"You need to remain immoble in order for your lung to heal properly, and you need to recover."
The voice was of a fairly high pitch, quiet, and his brain combined this with the small hands to produce a picture of a very vulnerable little girl. This somehow didn't make much sense to him. He supposed it was the words she said (what little girl did he know that spoke like that?), or the dull sensation that he was in some kind of hospital. Or dead. Was he dead? He couldn't tell. He didn't feel quite alive, yet he was feeling... did the dead feel? He was struck by an idea. A rather obvious one, came the immediate afterthought. He would ask this disembodied voice.
"Do the dead feel?"
His voice made the familiar gear-shift into audibility as best it could through the fluid in his lungs. There was a pause in which he strained to hear any sound of this mysterious "little girl" in the nurse's shoes. Finally, her voice met his ears again.
"Why ask me? I'm not."
"Dead?"
She offered a noncommittal "Hmm." that only just registered as an agreement. Breathing, he noticed, was something of an undertakng, and so he concentrated on this for a few moments while the cold hands changed the needle in his arm.
"Am I?" he managed, finally.
"You're not that lucky."
With that, the clicking of the shoes began again, receding as he contemplated what she said. They stopped a fairly good distance from him, it seemed... it was hard to tell with this gauze over his ears. From much farther away came moans of pain. Thoughts aligned in his head, and he suddenly knew exactly where he was. He was in one of those facilities he'd heard about. Where boys like him went in injured and came out dead. Dead... like.... oh, no.... he's gone! He's gone!! No...! Panic had only just secured its grip on him, when his IV kicked in and he sank once again into unconsciousness.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:48 am
Chapter Four.
November drafts settled between the walls of Pency Prep, resulting in a slew of headcolds among the students. Thanksgiving drew near, and most rooms could be found vacated for the long weekend. Such was not the case of 707. Both boys had decided to stay at school over the holiday. On a particularly cold and quiet evening, Mikey sat up on his bed, reading a book for his British Literature class. Gerard stood in front of the lone mirror, adjusting the tie hanging crookedly off his neck. He could barely conceal how badly his hands were shaking. From the radio unit in the corner, the "bleak-pop" tunes of Morrissey loudly filled the room. The Smiths were the first band on both of their "favorites" lists, something that, mutually, was quite a relief.
"So, where are you going?" Mikey asked idly over the music.
"What?"
"I said, 'Where are you going?' " he repeated.
"Helena's." replied Gerard as the tie finally lay straight. "She's having a party-thing. God, I'm so ******** nervous..." He ran a comb through his long dark hair.
"There'll be alcohol, I suppose?" said Mikey.
Gerard paused for a second, then resumed the frantic grooming of his hair. "Look," he said, turning to Mikey and waving the comb at him, "Just because I had a hangover and was a hardass when I met you - and that was partly your fault, by the way, 'cause you showed up at, like, eight in the ******** morning - but, just 'cause I was seriously hung over then, and my drinking habits are what the teachers say is what's keeping me back these last few years, doesn't mean I'm going to drink at Helena's tonight."
The two boys stared at each other for a minute, Gerard brandishing his comb like a sword; Mikey wearing a blank expression with his eyebrows slightly raised. They held straight faces as long as they could, but soon dissolved into raucous laughter. The tension between them had only really lasted a day or two. They balanced each other well - Mikey would be embarrassed to even think most of what came flying unabashadly from Gerard's mouth. Gerard's visual aids, when explaining things, looked straight out of Frank Miller or Alan Lee's studio; Mikey's usually ended up looking like a "hangman" war.
After a last reassurance that he wouldn't drink, and a lot of physical pushing on Mikey's part, Gerard finally left for the "party-thing" at Helena's. Mikey watched him, through their windows, walk across the darkening lawn and shook his head. One of the few introverted points of Gerard's personality centered around this mystery girl. Somehow he had, at one point, convinced Gerard to draw a picture of her, after listening to an hour and a half-long analysis of a two-minute conversation they'd had in the library between classes. The portrait now stood vigil in the top desk drawer. Mikey pulled it out of Gerard's desk and took a good look at the face staring back at him. She is very pretty, he thought. I can see why he likes her so much. I hope he's just... himself tonight, and says one of those lines of his and then I'll get to hear all about it 'til Christmas.
Mikey put the drawing of Helena back in its place in Gerard's drawer. He turned around, surveying the room, and trying to decide what to do. His eyes fell on the mirror. There was that thin, bespeckled face he hid behind. He sighed. Why didn't he have any talents? He couldn't draw, didn't even want to know what kind of a singing voice he had (if he had one at all), hated sports, wasn't bright enough to be one of "the smart kids", wasn't very attractive... He ran through the full list in his head, coming to the conclusion that he was just this thin, extraordinarily awkward kid with glasses, whose sole redeeming attribute was that he could kind of play bass guitar. Not well enough to be in a band or anything - just well enough to tell people that he could play.
There was a very sudden bang on the door, which made Mikey jump. Something heavy had evidentally used his door as a crashmat. Tentatively, he opened the door. It swung open as far as the chain lock would allow, with the weight of the two people pressed against it. They seemed very intent on pressing out every last air bubble between them. Mikey stood there, wondering how it always managed to happen to him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. The couple didn't notice. Over top of their heads, Mikey saw the outline of Carla Russ, that very attractive and very intelligent girl from his chemistry class. She was walking his way, staring disgustedly at Mikey's new door decorations. His throat tightened. Tearing an entire chapter from Gerard's book, he toook a deep breath and undid the chain lock.
The door flew inward, and the couple seperated as they tumbled to the floor. The girl screamed, and so did Carla. Mikey hurridly tore his glasses off and threw them down the space between his bed and the wall. There were a few seconds of confusion, but then he and Carla descended on the fallen students, unaware the other was doing the same.
Profuse apologies were made, mostly by Mikey, who blamed the whole fiasco on the fact that he couldn't find his glasses. Though they were blurry, he did make out the faces of the couple: it was Sonny and Coleen. They were freshmen, too, and were unofficially going for the record for "Most Time Spent Physically Attached To One's Significant Other". They moved on down the hall in the general direction of Sonny's room as Mikey squinted after them.
"What's the problem? Can't see?" came a voice at his shoulder. Carla! He'd completely forgotten about her, and she was the reason he'd caused this whole nonsense to begin with. He felt his throat tighten again, on this time it was accompanied by a burning sensation around the tops of his ears.
"Err... yeah. I, uh... can't find my glasses." he muttered.
"Would you like some help looking for them? Where was the last place you remember wearing them? And don't say "my face", 'cause that's just cheeky."
"Err..."
"Not very articulate, are we? Oh, well. I bet they woke you up or something, right? Sure would've woken me up if this was my room."
"Were." Mikey's brain, or the grammatically-inclined part of it, anyway, snapped to attention.
"Excuse me?"
"If this were my room. You said 'was' instead."
Carla mulled this over for a second, smiling. "You know? You're right. Thanks."
"Anytime." He was feeling a little more relaxed now, but still had no idea where he was going with this.
"So..." Carla started slowly, "Do you... need help finding your glasses or... are you ok?"
The lightbulb in Mikey's brain shorted out the fuse box. Drawing himself up out of his slouch to his full height, he responded with more confidence in his gut than he'd ever felt in his life up until now. "Yeah. Sure. Do you mind? I mean, I'd be fine, and it is kind of late - I hate to ask you to stay out this late on my account, except I can't really... well... see. I can't see what I'm looking for, so that kinda makes things, hehe, difficult, you know?"
"Aww! Hey, no problem." she said as she followed him into his room.
Mikey shot a silent prayer of thanks - first, up to the ceiling, and then out the window to Gerard - as he and Carla scoured the dorm for his "missing" glasses.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:51 am
Chapter Five, Part One. "So, how long did you two spend finding your glasses?" Gerard insinuated over yet another cup of coffee. He sat crosslegged on his bed, twitching slightly from both the caffiene and the surge of good news that was quickly filling the tiny dorm. It was the Monday night after Thanksgiving, and Monday nights were "Boys' Nights" in their room. It meant coffee and Stewart's and Cracker Jacks and calling out a pizza and plain, good ol' guy time. Mikey sat on the floor, leaning against his bed with a smug look on his face. He'd taken immense pride in recounting every last detail of the adventures last Tuesday night.
Sonny's short-statured, dark-haired roommate, Frank, straddled Mikey's chair backwards and munched on his 3rd slice of pizza. He giggled from under his oversized sweatshirt's hood as Mikey's eyebrows flashed up and down a few times and took a long swig of Stewart's finest in response to Gerard's question.
"Long enough." was all he said.
The two other boys let out a chorus of catcalls, and when the laughter subsided, Mikey spoke up agian.
"Gerard, you've been twitching like that since Helena's party - what the hell is going on?!"
A wide, lopsided grin spread across Gerard's face, and Frank jerked his head around to stare quizically at him. Gerard had kept mum about the party, so news that there had even been one had yet to reach Frank's ears.
"Well!" said Gerard with an almost rehearsed flourish, "Wouldn't you like to know."
"Aw, c'maah..." Frank chimed in between mouthfuls of pizza, "Maa-kaa tor ufs hifs so-ree."
Gerard and Mikey looked in utter bewilderment from each other to Frank, who casually gnawed his way through the lump of cheese and pepperoni in his mouth. "I think he said 'Mikey told us his story', but I'm not really fluent in Pizza, so don't quote me." said Mikey after a pause. " And I must say, I agree. I told you about how I got to actually talk to Carla--"
"Woah, woah, woah, little man. You didn't just talk to Carla. You ******** got a date with Carla. There's a world of difference there." Gerard cut in.
"Yeah. But I don't want to sound greedy. She's amazing. I don't want to jinx anything..." Mikey mumbled into the bottle of Stewart's he was still nursing.
"Dude, you'll do fine. At least she knows you exist and there's pretty effin' good chances that you'll start seriously going out with her." Frank had managed to swallow most of the pizza and had decided to speak in english again.
"Uh oh, is that a little emo I see coming into the conversation?" said Gerard in mock surprise.
Frank just blushed and lowered his head so that his hood obscured his face. Mikey shot a warning look at Gerard, who shot back a look that read "What? What did I do?"
"Frankie, what is it?" Mikey asked, taking a slice of pizza for himself.
"Nothing..." he sighed. "Just that... nah, forget it."
"No, really. What is it? We're not gonna laugh at you." Mikey shot another warning look at Gerard, who threw up his hands in exasperation. Frank felt his entire face and down the back of his neck burning. He waited a minute, but since the topic didn't change, he sighed again and decided to just get it over with. Without picking up his head, he took a deep breath and spoke.
"It's Sami." There was longer-than-necessary pause. Frank tipped his head up enough to catch two expectant looks from his friends, and sighed again. He really didn't want to talk about this, but at the same time, he figured if anyone could help him out, it would be these two guys. "I can't stop thinking about her. And I really think it's getting to be one of those 'obsessive' things, because I realized that I know way too much information about her - like way too much. Like, her locker combination. Her schedule. Where she usually sits for lunch. GAH, I saw her in the hallway that second day of classes, and I just died. I'm freaking addicted to that girl! I seriously cannot stop obsessing over her."
There was another long pause, in which Mikey had begun to organize some form of a comforting response in his mind, but his train of thought was interrupted as Frank unexpectedly spoke up again.
"God, it sounds so stupid and cliched, but she really doesn't know that I exist. Sometimes, I'll be sitting there in the hallway and she'll smile at me, and it's the best feeling in the world... until her friend who was standing next to me goes up and gives her a hug. I mean, I tried. I honestly tried to say someting that would make her be all 'Aww, you're so cute' and whatnot and like me, but it didn't work. I had the whole thing planned out since the day I first saw her. And it took the better part of a month until the perfect moment came up. She was standing by her locker, pretty much alone, so I walked up to her and I bit her."
"You WHAT?!" exclaimed Mikey and Gerard simultaneously.
"I bit her! Just on the ear! Not hard or anything, and --shut up, I did it for a reason. God, what kind of freak do you think I am?! Wait, no. Don't answer that. Anyway, I bit her and she was like 'What are you doing!?', and I was like 'Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just taking a bite out of crime.', and she was like 'WHAT?!?!', and then I was like 'Well, it's gotta be illegal to look that good!' ...And ever since then she's been acting like she doesn't even know that I exist."
"Well..." started Mikey after a moment. "I think... um..."
"I think you need to do something to get her to notice you, Frank. In a good way. Biting a girl is a... tad random and probably not the best way to get her to talk to you, let alone win her heart." said Gerard, slowly coming out of a pensive reverie. "You said you know her locker combo, right?"
"Yeah," said Frank, hurridly adding "Is that weird?"
"Not in the least." replied Gerard, per usual and not missing a beat. "Here's an idea. Come up with something - a poem, a picture, a something, and put it in her locker. She's bound to see it because she uses her locker every day, no?" Frank nodded. "So do something that will make her notice you, be intrigued by you. Do it like a mystery - a, a whatchamacallit... a secret admirer. Lead her on a little bit - trust a pro at this, Frank. It's okay to lead a lady on, if you do it in the right general direction, don't intend to harm her, and don't do it for too long."
"Yeah, but--" cut in Frank before he had the rest of the sentence planned out, so he waited a second while his brain caught up with his mouth. "Yeah, but I don't know how to do that. I don't know "intriguing". See, you can pull it off and it works for you because you've got that kind of vampire, gothy-gentleman, like Phantom of the Opera kind of thing going on. What've I got?"
"I dunno." said Mikey as he bit into the now quite cold pizza. "Surprise us. No, wait. Take that back. Surprise her."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2006 3:53 am
Chapter Five, Part Two.
Mikey ran across the courtyard, messenger bag slapping his thigh painfully on the off steps, looking left and right over the faces of those he passed. Finally, he spotted Gerard eating a sandwich on a little bench and ran over to him. Out of breath, chest heaving, he somehow managed to get across that Frank was about to do something incredibly stupid and that they had to go now.
Abandoning their bookbags and lunches, the two boys ran for the nearest door. They took the stairs two and three at a time, dodging students and teachers, making their way up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, Gerard froze, and Mikey, who had fallen behind, crashed into him. He followed Gerard's gaze over to the lockers in the wall of the landing, and then to Sami, arms laden with books, making her way to them. She was about three feet from her locker when everything seemed to segue into slow-motion. Gerard and Mikey stood there, breathing hard and fighting their somersaulting stomachs, watching her hand inch closer and closer to the combination lock.
She turned the lock, entering the combination, and lifted the latch. Mikey's stomach shot clear through to his brain. Gerard managed to get a barely audible "Don't.." out before it did.
With a bang, the door to her locker flew open, and the Hobbit-sized form of Frank Iero came shooting out at the unexpecting girl. "HI!!!!" he bellowed. She let out a shriek that probably could have been heard in the next county, and jumped, sending her books flying. People stopped and stared as she ran down the stairs, looking back over her shoulder in sheer terror. Frank stepped out of the locker and closed the door with his foot. He straightened his tie as he walked in the opposite direction, a seemingly perfectly nonchalant expression on his face, but Gerard and Mikey both recognized the smouldering defeat he was trying so hard to conceal.
Watching him stalk off momentarily suspended the reality of what they had just witnessed. It was so ridiculously absurd. The two boys stood there motionless on the landing, catching their breath, and still staring vacantly in disbelief after Frank.
"Did you just see...?"
"Yeah. Did he really...?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Good to know you saw it, too."
"Likewise."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 6:32 pm
This is really good. No --awesome.
I love your writing.
Can't wait to read more...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 8:35 pm
Chapter Six.
As he awoke to another in a series of percussive headaches, he decide that he might as well get used to them because no one would do anything about them if he spoke up. He cleared his throat, triggering a painful coughing fit.
"Would you like some water?" She was nearby.
He managed to gasp out a "Yes" between great heaving coughs. The equipment protruding from his chest continued its monotonous 'shoop-shoop, shoop-shoop' that made things all the more problematic, as if he wasn't having enough difficulty with the coughing. He could feel a lot of liquid in his lungs... he probably had pnumonia or something, or would be feeling it soon enough. This stupid contraption pressed heavily on his already sore chest, and it was attached to him in ways he'd rather not know about. He had no concept of how to break the machine's repetitions, let alone what it even looked like. It seemed like a wonderful device for normal breathing, but it could not think on its own, or react to its host, so it continued to force the lung to operate at a regulated pace, even though he was coughing. He couldn't catch his breath at all.
Very suddenly, one of those small cold hands of hers pressed firmly down onto his chest. There was as sickening twist on the apparatus, and suddenly he could breathe again. The 'shoops' ceased, but the hissing that underscored it continued. It took him a moment to realize that they were longer, and uneven. They moved in rhythm with his own efforts to quell the coughing.
"There." she said, removing her hand from his chest. "I think that's better, now isn't it? Breathe. Shhh... shhh... just breathe. They always set these contraptions too high. More of you boys die just coughing in your sleep than you do from wounds and operations."
"That's encouraging." he wheezed as he gulped in as much air as he could.
"Hmm, I thought you'd say that." she replied. He figured she must be squeezing some kind of bellows or sometthing of the like, because the skin around the machinery kept being jerked around slightly. "Is this normal for you? Breathing, I mean. You seem to be calming down considerably."
"Yah."
"All right, well this will hurt a little..." She gave the apparatus another jerky twist, but as the pain subsided, the 'shoop-shoop' returned in regular, measured breaths. Except, now they were longer, more comfortable, and he didn't feel short of air.
"About that water?" he asked.
"Right here. Open?"
He parted his lips and the edge of something cold and metal rested sideways against the corner of his mouth. Her free hand cupped the nape of his neck, causing the hairs there to prickle away from his skin. Gently, she lifted his head until the liquid could be poured into his mouth. He swallowed the cupful. There was a bitter metallic aftertaste, but it was water, and it was greatly appreciated.
After returning his head to the countertop, he heard her put the cup down somwhere to his left.
"Nurse?"
"Yes?"
"No, no. Are you a nurse?"
"Yes."
"Tell me then." He took a breath. "Is it bad?"
"Is what bad?" There were sounds of equipment and things being moved around. From the clinking and clattering, he determined he must be in a room full of metallic surfaces.
"Me! My injuries! What's wrong with me? I want the full report." He was getting a little angry now, but the tension in his chest prevented him raising his voice too much.
"No, you don't. Trust me."
He panicked slightly, remembering that time in his senior 20th Century Civ class when they watched All Quiet on the Western Front... disturbing, distorted images of all the kids that had their legs amputated filled his head. "Am I in one piece?" his voice squeaked slightly.
"Do you consider 'in one piece' having a shattered kneecap, a collapsed lung, grenade and shell burns on the head, face, and arm, and what could - and probably will - develop into double pnumonia? Not to mention various bruises and contusions, a couple of sprains, lacerations from said grenade-and-shell shrapnel and something wrong with the eyes the doctors haven't identified yet."
He was sure she didn't say it to be mean, cruel, or to shock him. Well, he hoped he was sure, in any case. However, a whimpery sort of agonized moan escaped his lips before he could check it. Well, at least nothing was missing... except a lot of blood. No limbs were unaccounted for, and it didn't sound like they were going to go anywhere without the rest of him anytime soon.
After taking a moment to calm down, he raised his right hand as far as his strength and the IV would let him. "Nurse? I'm Gerard. Gerard Way."
"Pleasure to be formally introduced." she responded, taking his hand lightly.
"I'd like to know your name."
"My name is Sarah Ashcroft."
Ashcroft? He thought, dropping his hand. Mikey...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 8:41 pm
Chapter Seven, Part One.
The room was silent, as well it should be, considering the time wasn't quite yet six AM. Mikey sat fully and sharply dressed at his desk, scratching numbers onto a page for his algebra class later that morning. He couldn't concentrate at all. Where was Gerard? He hadn't been home all night. He had said something about Helena, but he wasn't really sure what. It didn't even matter now. As he wrote out another problem, fists pounding on the door and a frantic cry of "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikey! Mikey, open the door!!!" caused his "7" to grow a tail and look more like a "Z". He really had to do something about his nerves; he couldn't keep jumping like this. He ran over to the door and looked through the peephole. He'd trained himself to do that ever since the incident with Sonny and Coleen last year.
Sure enough, there was Gerard, leaning against the door, panting, hair all mussed up - moreso than usual. His face was sweaty and he looked so... grimy. Mikey undid the chainlock with shaking fingers, and flung open the door. Gerard spilled into the room, leaning heavily on him.
"Mikey! Mikey, oh... oh, thank God... thank God you're here!"
"What the hell happened to you?!" asked Mikey. Between great heaving breaths, he got something of an answer:
"I've done something really... I'm.. stupid..." he stammered out.
"You did something stupid?"
"Ya... really..... stupid... he's gonna... he's gonna... oh, God, he's coming!" Gerard panicked, his knees collapsing under him as he scrabbled for handgrips on the door and the side of Mikey's face, much to his chagrin. Mikey threw Gerard's arm across his shoulder and helped his horrified roommate across to his bed, where he collapsed with an all-encompassing "Aaaauughhhhh!!!" Mikey fixed his glasses and straightened his blazer, and took a good look at his roommate. He looked more a mess sprawled out there than he did standing in the doorway. There were grass stains all over his shirt, buttons were missing, the leg of his pants was torn, knuckles were bleeding. His knee was swelling up rapidly and was turning an ugly sort of plum - something had collided messily with the joint. No wonder he could hardly stand without Mikey's support. Where the hell had he been? He must have done something seriously stupid to end up looking like this. Gerard grasped at Mikey's hand, catching it in a deathgrip.
"Mikey... Mikey... he's coming... he's coming and he's gonna kill me..."
Mikey didn't know who this "he" was, but he didn't really care. If someone was coming after Gerard, it probably meant trouble for him as well. Gerard, although he was bigger than Mikey, wasn't all that athletic. As a matter of fact, the only thing he'd ever actually excelled at in gym class was croquet, and that's not exactly something that's going to earn a varsity letter. After reclaiming his hand, Mikey crossed the room to close the door, but before he could, he heard a voice bellowing down the hallway.
"Where the ******** are you?!"
Mikey froze. He knew the voice, and he knew Gerard knew the voice, and it was definitly a voice that neither of them wanted to know. It was the voice of Antoine Wilcox, the biggest guy on the football team. He wasn't all that bright, but he was tough. Nobody would mess with him, which only fed his planet-sized ego. There was a running debate among the underclassmen as to which he would use to crush a victim first: the fist or the ego.
From his bed, Gerard's voice raised in fear, "Close the door... close the door, Mikey! Don't let him in!"
Mikey tried, he really did. But something checked him in his place. He didn't know what to do. He knew he needed to close the door, but his body was just not responding. He looked toward the direction of the voice. Dominating the hallway, he seemed to be walking in slow motion, like an executioner of sorts. The few students in the hallway parted as he made his way to room 707. Mikey still stood just inside the doorway, frozen. Gerard still lay on his bed, screaming "Close the door! Mikey, for God's sake, close the door!" But he couldn't. He was too busy looking behind the massive form of Antoine. Trailing behind him, looking almost as bad as Gerard, was Helena.
Her hair was messed up, she had grass stains on her arms and knees. She didn't even look like she was wearing clothes - it looked more like a nightgown or a kind of black slip. She was running on bleeding bare feet after Antoine, screaming at the top of her lungs: "Leave him alone! You leave him alone! It's my choice!"
Suddenly, everything clicked, and with a sickening lurch, Mikey realized that the door was not closing. He knew it was hell for both of them, but he also knew there was no way that he could stop it.
"Mikey... Mikey, please! Close the door! Close the door!!"
But Mikey just stood there, feeling dazed. He spoke slowly, almost dream-like, "It's Helena. I can't do it... I can't do it because it's Helena." Gerard sat up very suddenly.
"Helena!" He screamed out her name again, "Helena! Hurry!"
"No, no," said Mikey, "She's behind him. She'll never get here in time. She won't get here before him."
Gerard closed his eyes and sighed, resigning himself. Mikey stood there, watching him. He looked from Gerard to the towering form of Antoine. Something was going to happen, it was going to happen soon, and he was going to get caught right in the middle of it. He didn't really know how this all started, but he had a fairly good idea. And still, all he could do was stand there, listening to Gerard pleading with him to close and lock the door, and watching the hulking mass come down the hallway towards him, and the girl, clad in black, trailing after him, trying to stop him. Helena grabbed onto the back of his jersey, yanking on it, pulling, even pulling on other students that were coming groggily out of their rooms for help... but no one moved.
She screamed fruitlessly, "Let him go! Leave him alone! It's my choice! My choice! If you're going to hit anyone, you might as well hit me!"
Mikey's throat tightened. Somewhere at the other end of the hallway, he heard Carla and Frank scream, "Helena, no! Stop! Helena!" Antoine stopped. He turned around slowly to face the tiny frame of Helena. She stood her ground, shaking. Adrenaline? Anticipation? Fear? Mikey couldn't tell. She was out of breath. She looked a mess. And he knew that he was going to hit her. Mikey closed his eyes. There was a resounding slap, and then he heard a body crumple to the floor. Several students gasped. He heard Carla from the back of the crowd, and running footsteps he guessed belonged to her and Frank. Gerard let loose an anguished battle cry. The monster standing over the fallen girl opened his mouth. There was a low disgusted growl, "Serves you right. It serves you ******** right." A couple of seconds later, Mikey opened his eyes again, and immediately wished he hadn't, for there he was. The massive 6'5", 275 pound football player, standing eighteen inches from him.
It was the last thing he remembered before he woke up, sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed. His head hurt, specifically near his temple, and his nose. He probably had a black eye or something from the glasses. He licked his lips and tasted blood. Great... a bloody nose. Then he remembered everything that had happend. He jerked his head around. Gerard's bed was empty; the sheets were strewn everywhere. The entire room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Chairs upturned, notebooks, papers, drawers pulled out. How had such a huge fight happened without him knowing? And why hadn't anyone woken him up or moved him? He stood up tentatively, his head swimming, and he noticed there were bloody fingerprints on the doorjam. He walked through to the hallway and put his hands overtop them, and immediately recoiled. Gerard had been dragged from the roo. Dragged. Bleeding, broken, he had fought to the last, clinging with every ounce of strength to the wood. But Antoine was too strong for him. Where the hell was he?
Mikey ran through the hallways, stopping every person he saw, asking them: Had they seen the fight? What had happened? Where were they? Who won? Well, he didn't really need to ask that. He knew who won... and it wasn't Gerard. But, he felt like asking anyway. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he looked up to him so much, that he thought there might be a slight chance... No. There was just hope.
Nobody seemed to know where it had ended. They all just said, "I don't know, I don't know. It was bad - really bad."
The first familiar face he ran into was Carla's, who was on her way back to the infirmary. She told him that she had to hurry back to take care of Helena, but that she'd be ok. When Mikey asked about Gerard, she just stood there, twisting her hair around her fingers, not really knowing what to say.
"I saw them. He dragged him out of the room, I-- " She lowered her voice, addressing Mikey's tie tack, "I've never seen Gerard that way before. I mean, what if he really hurt him? Just look at what he did to you."
Instinctively, Mikey put his arms around her, caressing her head. He whispered, "Shh, shh. It's ok. Tell me. I need to know. I need to find them. I need to find Gerard. You need to tell me, ok? You need to tell me everything you saw."
Carla sighed, recomposing herself, and then she spoke up again.
"He went into the room. He hit you, but nobody dared even to go in. I screamed, but it didn't matter. Frank pulled me aside. He said, 'Mikey's all right. He'll be ok. Trust me. It's just Gerard he wants.' I kinda blew up on him. I said, 'Why aren't you in there helping him?' Frank just kinda looked at me. He said, 'Ok. The difference between him and me is over a foot and a hundred pounds. Gerard doesn't... Look. My help in there fighting with him, wouldn't be help. My help is going to be following them so that when he finally does let Gerard go, I'm going to take him to the hospital.' At that point, he helped me take Helena down to the nurse's. She was unconcious, and the whole side of her face was swelling up, so we brought her down. After that, I only know what I heard. I'm sorry."
She lookd up at Mikey with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mikey, really. I don't know. I'm trying to do every- I- I just... can't--"
"Hush. It's ok. It's ok. You did what you could. Do you know anyone who saw the whole thing?"
"Well, sure." she said, "Lots of people did. And even if they didn't, everyone still knows what happened. Pretty much in accurate detail. You know how things like this spread, unfortunate as it is."
"Hmmm. That's true." said Mikey, "It is unfortunate."
They stood ther in silence for a moment. Carla licked a tissue she had in her bag and helped Mikey clean some of the dried blood off his face.
"Where's Frank?" he asked suddenly. "Did he go yet?"
"I don't know," she answered, "I don't know where he is. I've been with Helena. He helped me carry her down to the nurse's, but he left right away to follow after Gerard. I've been taking care of her. I'm on my way back now. I went to our room to get her some real clothes for her to change into. I've got to get back to her. I'd help you, but--"
"No, no. It's ok." Mikey cut in, "You need to stay with her. Take care of her. She's your roommate. I'll go take care of mine."
Carla touched his face gently. "Ok, but... be careful, ok? You never know."
"Don't worry," he said, pushing her hair back and smiling, "I will be. I'll be careful."
"Good. At least you've got a head on your shoulders."
They embraced tightly. Mikey gave her an awkward sort of a kiss on her forhead, and they went their seperate ways.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 8:42 pm
Chapter Seven, Part Two.
Mikey ran back upstairs to Frank's room, but he wasn't there. He remembered that his room had a view overlooking the courtyard, and that was as good a place as any to search. Mikey jumped up onto Frank's bed and looked out. He scanned the area once, twice, three times over... and he almost missed the foot and pant leg sticking out between a bush and a stone wall.
"Gerard!" he blurted out. He jumped off the bed and sprinted out, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. He found the place where Gerard was lying easily; they hung out there occasionally in the warmer months. It was in a pretty quiet corner of the courtyard. He had either been put there by Antoine after the fight, or he had somehow managed to escape and just collapse there.
Either way, he looked an absolute wreck. His shirt was bloodstained, and he was doubled over in the fetal position. His knuckles were swollen and the skin was broken. There was a large rip in the side of his shirt. Through it, Mikey saw a large and very ugly bruise. It looked bad enough that there might even be internal bleeding. He was lying there, breathing heavily, convulsing slightly. Little moans of pain escaped him, whether he was aware of them or not.
Mikey rolled him over onto his back and stared dumbfounded. Everything between Gerard's nose and shoulders was covered in blood. He couldn't tell where the wound began and where it ended. He thought it might be somewhere around his mouth, because he couldn't really talk, and that seemed to be where most of the blood was coming from.
"Gerard! Gerard, can you hear me? Answer me! Answer me, dammit, it's Mikey! Are you all right? Gerard, talk to me!"
But he didn't get a response. All he got was a weird moan, wimpering, cries of pain... and then coughing. It took a second for Mikey to realize that the blood must be going back into his thoat. He quickly hoisted Gerard up into a sitting position and bent him over so that he could spit out the blood, which he did with great gusto.
Keeping a hand on the back of Gerard's neck, Mikey straightened up as best he could and frantically looked around for a friendly face. Not too far away, he spotted Frank, who came running over.
"Frank! What the hell happened?"
Frank just looked down. "Whaddaya think happened?"
They looked at each other for a minute, then Mikey spoke up. "Look, we need to get him out of here."
"Don't worry," said Frank, "I already called an ambulance. Well, ok, I didn't call it, but a couple of the teachers did. They saw it. He's gonna be ok. They're on their way now." It was at this point, as he squatted down next to his friends, that Frank first noticed Gerard's face, the torn lip. "What the hell is that?" His voice shook. "Mikey, I... I'm not that good around... blood."
"You don't have to be." said Mikey. "Because you can go and tell the other people. Get the rest of the gang together, all right? Get Carla, get Helena; make sure they're all right. Go lock up our room, ok? I'm gonna go with him."
"No! I'm not gonna leave you guys alone here. I'm gonna stick around. I'll go with you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure, Mike. He's my friend. Even though he gave me s**t advice about getting Sami, he's still my friend. And I'm gonna help him."
"How'd this all start anyway? Why was Antoine so pissed at him? Pissed enough to do this to him?" asked Mikey.
"Well, he didn't do it alone, trust me. He got four or five of his friends to help him."
"A guy that big? What's he need backup for?!"
"Beats me. But he had four or five guys with him, and they all contributed to this wonderful new look Gerard's sporting. I wouldn't worry too much about Antoine, though. Plenty of people saw it, and it's not like he's ashamed to admit he did it. He'll be on a chain gang or something by the time this all settles down." said Frank.
"Ha ha, yeah, that'd be pretty nice." Mikey laughed wryly. "But, Frank - how this started...?"
"Well, you know how Gerard went out last night?"
"Yeah, kinda think I do. He's only my roomie."
"Right. Anyway. He went out last night, and he went to Helena's. When he was there, he... had a little bit to drink. So did she, mind you. Did you know she lives pretty close to Antoine? Yeah. He's just, like, up the street or something. Anyway... Somehow, they ended up in his backyard. Yeah. And if Antione wasn't such a hardass, there might actually be a pretty decent story to this. A whole lot less bloody, for one thing. As it stands, not only is Antoine a complete and utter egotistical hardass, but he also has an unbelievable crush on Helena."
Mikey snorted. "Humf. Coincidences. Aren't they lovely."
"Yeah," said Frank, laughing a little, "it's almost like it's a soap opera or one of those stupid fan fictions or something. Except we're just, like, nobodys."
"Yeah. But keep going. What happened next?"
"Welllllllllllllll..." Frank bit his lip. "There really isn't much left, that I know of, anyway. And I heard it from Helena. Antoine was more drunk then they were. Apparantly he was having a small party, and it was just breaking up when he found them outside. He got out a croquet set... and interrupted their little... hooplah."
"That's putting it very, very nicely." said Mikey. "I can only imagine what was going on."
"Actually, judging by how they both look, probably not that much. And, I mean, you know Gerard - he was probably leading her around in the woods reciting poetry or something." said Frank.
"While drunk." Mikey offered flatly. "Sorry, devil's advocate."
Frank paused, thinking. "Err, yeah. Well, you know how he is. He can do that. Psht, and then he tells me to go 'make Sami notice me.' Right. Well, on that note, do you think a year is long enough to wait?"
Mikey didn't answer. It was almost a year to the day of the infamous "Locker Incident" and, surprisingly, Frankie hadn't done anything since then to win Sami's heart. She even had begun to talk to him, once in a while. They were extremely, extremely casual friends. Acquaintances, even. Sami and Mikey were casual friends. And they would be closer, were the two of them not painfully quiet. The fact that they interacted at all, really, was mostly because she and Carla were close. Mikey was very happy with how things were going between him and Carla. Though neither of them had officially asked the other to go steady, they went on dates together, and had even kissed a couple of times. Everyone around them in their cluster of friends considered them "official," but Mikey didn't pay much attention to it. "Official," in his book, meant an engagement ring.
As Frank recounted the final details of the manic escape from Antoine's yard to the school, they heard running footsteps. Official-looking people descended upon the boys, and Mikey and Frank backed away to let them take care of Gerard. One of them shouted over his shoulder at them.
"You two. You know this kid?"
"Yeah." said Mikey. "He's my, uh... He's my roommate."
"He's a really good friend of mine." Frank chimed in.
The EMT went back to work, apparantly not listening, but a minute later, he grabbed Mikey by the arm and dragged him along as they brought Gerard on a stretcher out of the courtyard and to the ambulance. Mikey said a hasty goodbye to Frank, and tossed him the key to his room, reminding him to lock it up for him. The EMT started asking him questions as soon as Frank left.
"Do you know if he has any allergies?"
"Uh... no."
"How 'bout to any medications or anything?"
"Not that I know of. Why?"
"Just routine questions, kid. He on any medications?"
"Uh... n- yeah. He's on something. What the hell... what is the name of that? Dammit..." he mumbled under his breath. "I don't remember the name of it, but he's on some antidepressant. I don't know what it is, though. Sorry."
"Antidepressant, ok." said the medic absently, "So. What happened to him?"
"He got in a fight, and he lost."
Mikey fell silent. They had reached the ambulance. The EMTs piled Gerard in, and the driver hopped in, too. The guy who had been talking to him spoke up again as he got in the back.
"You coming, or what?"
"Oh." said Mikey. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I better do that."
The big guy reached out his hand and pulled Mikey into the back of the ambulance and slammed the door. They were off. Sirens sounded. And then the doctors descended on Gerard's body. Mikey sat in the corner, horrified. He had never really been to a hospital before, and he had never seen anyone so badly beat up. He wondered where Antoine and his gang ended up. Mikey hoped that the teachers or somebody had caught him, because he didn't want to have to go after him on his own. He'd always looked up to Gerard as someone who would keep him safe. He was intelligent, strong... well, strong enough. He wasn't afraid of anything. Maybe that's why he looked up to him so much. In any event, Mikey knew he could never in a million years take on those guys by himself. He could start forming a plan, but Gerard would have a better idea.
So he spent the ride in silence. He spent the time in the emergency room in silence. He spent the time it took for the hospital to assign him a room, and the transfer from the ER to his room, and the time it took to get Gerard settled into the bed, in silence. When the doctors left, Mikey pulled a chair to the side of the bed. He sat there for at least an hour, maybe two. He couldn't tell. He just sat there in silence, watching his friend breathe in and out. Somehow he managed to do this without any considerable effort, considering the amount of sutures and bandaging around his mouth. He'd torn his lip all right, and pretty badly at that. Mikey wondered if that lopsided grin of his would be the same as he leaned back in his chair, waiting for Gerard to wake up.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2006 2:27 pm
It's really good. You're writing is amazing. I've heard a lot of people say that they're going to change & publish their fanfics, but I seriously think that you should with this one. It's super realistic. I don't completely get what's going on when he's with the nurse and stuff, but I'm sure once the stories over it'll be really awesome....
Like when I read I Am the Cheese... Although I read that in fifth grade so I didn't really get it completely then... I should read that book again. xp
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
