Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > you can forget

you can forget

by vex93 3 reviews

a suspenseful drama involving frank ray and possibly gerard in later chapters. if i get enough reviews i might even make it frerard

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2010-01-28 - Updated: 2010-01-28 - 389 words

0Unrated
You can forget.

CHAPTER ONE


A bright burning light focused from the center of the room. Directly upon the white table, I could feel my pupils dilating from the strong reflection.
I am not crazy. How is a person supposed to relax in such a vivid environment?

The large metal door opened, and emerged a man. As the door slammed I gritted my teeth. His name was Dr. Ray Iero. He approached me slowly, and towered over me, which forced me to look into the over powering light. His eyes where am aged golden green, like mine but older looking. I could see right through him. His tone was low and his cheek did an awkward twitch when he spoke. Finally Ray sat down, opposite me, as if to interrogate me like one of his other patients. I was only in this hospital because of the fire. My mother did not survive.

My name. The famous Ray Iero asks me what my name is. As if he has never come into contact with me prior to this meeting. I spat in his face. Ray, infact is my Father. I can’t decide whether its hate, or undoubtedly a subconscious love for a father as a son, but I am torn away from this emotion because of what he has done. To you my lovable viewer; my name is Franklin, I like Frankie though, I think it suits me in a sort of contradictory manor, I think its because of the movie I watched, Donnie Darko.

Indeed, you have discovered my complex family situation. My throat is 100 degrees and I feel like I could explode into a thousand pieces, but I refrain.
All that stirs in my mind is the ugly stained smile set upon Rays face. My father, stares me down like a hunted gazelle, I have every intention of throwing a chair in his face and running away. But I don’t, I sit there in a tiny white room and with stand his stench of over polluted trademark perfume. My father was always a materialistic man. Myself on the other hand am not.

Evidently I am allowed to leave the room, after been examined, I walk out slowly, calmly; I even smile politely at the guards whose grip on my arm is becoming more and more noticeable.
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