Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I can't understand.
Chapter one: don't understand.
5 ReviewsKiss my wrists, my neck.
So, hey guys. :)
As you can tell I just got really melancholy and horrible and wrote this, because I'm a delightful human being. :)
But, I hope you like it and give it a shot. Don't knock it till you try it, right? :D
-Amberxo
PS: I was considering making this into a fully-blown story? How would you like that? Would you read it? I have some ideas and there'd be some cool twists. :)
Mikey blinked heavily, eyes drooping as he glowered at the luminous laptop screen. The harshness of the light at 1:00am made his eyes water and tired skin glow, but that didn't stop him from reading and rereading his old email: Frank's email from October 31st 2001 -- his birthday.
It was like any other day, but Mikey had gotten ready to go around Frank's with his brother and give the lively boy some presents, wish him happy birthday, and fulfill their plans of an all-night movie marathon of all the best horror flicks, and scaring little kids who went Trick-or-Treating. But that didn't happen.
Mikey used to be very self-sufficient. And it so happened, that the previous week, he had entered a competition to win a new bass guitar and was nervously awaiting the results. So he had checked his email.
He didn't find the results of the competition - he had won, but he never found that out. Mikey was simply staring at one, little email.
Frank Iero: subject: I'm sorry.
And in it? A suicide note. Frank's suicide note.
Mikey had to stifle another sob as Gerard stirred in the bed on the other side of the gloomy room, mumbling in his sleep. With long, lanky, trembling fingers, the boy quickly closed the laptop lid and brought his knees to his chest.
Long ago he had escaped his Depression over the death of Frank.. and, well, other things that he didn't like to think about.
But removing the death of his best friend and boyfriend and lover and first time was, well, a hard thing to do. Almost impossible. No, not almost impossible. It was impossible. But everyone expected him to do it. Everyone wanted him to do it, told him to. Shouted and bellowed and instructed and encouraged him to do it. Their words were like a blow horn to the ear; like a flame to skin; like a knife to the heart. None of them new Frank as well as Mikey did, they couldn't understand.
Frank was Mikey's first everything. First friend, first lover, first boyfriend, first best friend. His best friend and boyfriend and an amazing spirit. Amazing person, beautiful person. He could cheer Mikey up wherever and whenever. He could laugh at anything, love anything. His laugh was like honey, with a soft silkiness that left Mikey almost entranced. The boy had him - hook, line and sinker.
But he took his own life. Died on his birthday.
Mikey never understood why, but since that day, there had always been an absence in him. Something missing. He felt a presence of what was, but nothing to fill the void. He felt nothing but emptiness and sorrow. He loved Frank so much, still did. So much it hurt.
He'd cry. He'd cry and cry and cry till he was broken. And not just broken, stamped on and obliterated, exterminated, murdered. Till he was shaking and red and sobbing, a mess of a man, a lesser being, a simple shadow of what he was: a shadow.
So, when he sobbed and cried and wished, he was the shadow of a shadow. Invisible.
Mikey was nothing anymore - he wasn't even a Way. The family had fallen apart as Mikey fell because no one could take it; he wasn't a person. He wouldn't let go, try move on. They comforted and comforted and sympathized until their hearts went raw, but it got to the point they couldn't take it. They fell like weights, dropped like dead birds. They started shouting, telling Mikey he should be over Frank after all these years, telling him he should at least be able to speak.
Because Mikey? Mikey hadn't spoke in about 10 years. 10 long years since he found Frank dead.
And no one understood.
"Mikey?!" Gerard asked, fumbling with his covers and sitting up straight, eyes red from where he must have rubbed them. "It's like four in the morning."
And it was, Mikey didn't realize. Time often got away from him like that, escaped his clutches.
Mikey shrugged at his brother, who was sighing and frowning and glaring all at once. "You read his letter again, didn't you?" he asked, exasperated. This was the 3rd time this week; Gerard was starting to think Mikey did it every night, and he simply woke up occasionally.
"You need to stop doing this!" he growled. "He's gone, Mikey. I'm sorry but we can't change that. It's been 10 years, how haven't you found some closure by now?! I can't believe you still can't understand that wherever he is he's happier because he.."
Mikey's eyes, raw, red, swollen, glassy and empty stared at his brother, unblinking. He wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't.
But, he tuned in just in time to hear "He chose to leave you! He didn't want to be with you, be here! Don't you get it? Please try move on! You haven't even spoken for years!"
And it hurt.
No, it stung. It slayed and slashed and burned and obliterated the remains of Mikey's tenebrous heart. Pushed him to the edge. No one had ever said something so harsh, so sharp, so coarse, so mean, so sickening, so horrible and scarring and.. and true.
Something so true.
"It's pathetic," Gerard spat. If he wasn't still half-asleep, he probably would've thought twice about what he was saying and who he was saying this to: something mentally scarring and guilt-inducing, and saying it to his mute and depressed brother, who had tried to commit suicide more times than anyone could count.
But everyone always found him in time and he always survived because of it.
"You're pathetic," he continued. "Now get over him and let me fucking sleep."
And then, Gerard turned over, leaving Mikey still and lifeless, unblinking and throbbing.
Mikey simply put the laptop on the floor and lay back in his bed, covers to his shoulders. He wasn't crying. He couldn't cry anymore. He couldn't feel anymore.
But he could hear and he could be damaged further. And what Gerard had just said, it drove him to loathe everyone and everything and anything. Himself, his family, his room, his music, his life, this world, dogs, Frank, bunnies, cute fucking stuff that everyone fucking likes and-
Mikey burst into silent, racking sobs and let his mind fall limp once more.
He didn't hate all that stuff. He couldn't ever. He simply despised himself and his life. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Gerard was right.
He was pathetic. And that was all he'd ever be to anyone ever again.
Pathetic.
As you can tell I just got really melancholy and horrible and wrote this, because I'm a delightful human being. :)
But, I hope you like it and give it a shot. Don't knock it till you try it, right? :D
-Amberxo
PS: I was considering making this into a fully-blown story? How would you like that? Would you read it? I have some ideas and there'd be some cool twists. :)
Mikey blinked heavily, eyes drooping as he glowered at the luminous laptop screen. The harshness of the light at 1:00am made his eyes water and tired skin glow, but that didn't stop him from reading and rereading his old email: Frank's email from October 31st 2001 -- his birthday.
It was like any other day, but Mikey had gotten ready to go around Frank's with his brother and give the lively boy some presents, wish him happy birthday, and fulfill their plans of an all-night movie marathon of all the best horror flicks, and scaring little kids who went Trick-or-Treating. But that didn't happen.
Mikey used to be very self-sufficient. And it so happened, that the previous week, he had entered a competition to win a new bass guitar and was nervously awaiting the results. So he had checked his email.
He didn't find the results of the competition - he had won, but he never found that out. Mikey was simply staring at one, little email.
Frank Iero: subject: I'm sorry.
And in it? A suicide note. Frank's suicide note.
Mikey had to stifle another sob as Gerard stirred in the bed on the other side of the gloomy room, mumbling in his sleep. With long, lanky, trembling fingers, the boy quickly closed the laptop lid and brought his knees to his chest.
Long ago he had escaped his Depression over the death of Frank.. and, well, other things that he didn't like to think about.
But removing the death of his best friend and boyfriend and lover and first time was, well, a hard thing to do. Almost impossible. No, not almost impossible. It was impossible. But everyone expected him to do it. Everyone wanted him to do it, told him to. Shouted and bellowed and instructed and encouraged him to do it. Their words were like a blow horn to the ear; like a flame to skin; like a knife to the heart. None of them new Frank as well as Mikey did, they couldn't understand.
Frank was Mikey's first everything. First friend, first lover, first boyfriend, first best friend. His best friend and boyfriend and an amazing spirit. Amazing person, beautiful person. He could cheer Mikey up wherever and whenever. He could laugh at anything, love anything. His laugh was like honey, with a soft silkiness that left Mikey almost entranced. The boy had him - hook, line and sinker.
But he took his own life. Died on his birthday.
Mikey never understood why, but since that day, there had always been an absence in him. Something missing. He felt a presence of what was, but nothing to fill the void. He felt nothing but emptiness and sorrow. He loved Frank so much, still did. So much it hurt.
He'd cry. He'd cry and cry and cry till he was broken. And not just broken, stamped on and obliterated, exterminated, murdered. Till he was shaking and red and sobbing, a mess of a man, a lesser being, a simple shadow of what he was: a shadow.
So, when he sobbed and cried and wished, he was the shadow of a shadow. Invisible.
Mikey was nothing anymore - he wasn't even a Way. The family had fallen apart as Mikey fell because no one could take it; he wasn't a person. He wouldn't let go, try move on. They comforted and comforted and sympathized until their hearts went raw, but it got to the point they couldn't take it. They fell like weights, dropped like dead birds. They started shouting, telling Mikey he should be over Frank after all these years, telling him he should at least be able to speak.
Because Mikey? Mikey hadn't spoke in about 10 years. 10 long years since he found Frank dead.
And no one understood.
"Mikey?!" Gerard asked, fumbling with his covers and sitting up straight, eyes red from where he must have rubbed them. "It's like four in the morning."
And it was, Mikey didn't realize. Time often got away from him like that, escaped his clutches.
Mikey shrugged at his brother, who was sighing and frowning and glaring all at once. "You read his letter again, didn't you?" he asked, exasperated. This was the 3rd time this week; Gerard was starting to think Mikey did it every night, and he simply woke up occasionally.
"You need to stop doing this!" he growled. "He's gone, Mikey. I'm sorry but we can't change that. It's been 10 years, how haven't you found some closure by now?! I can't believe you still can't understand that wherever he is he's happier because he.."
Mikey's eyes, raw, red, swollen, glassy and empty stared at his brother, unblinking. He wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't.
But, he tuned in just in time to hear "He chose to leave you! He didn't want to be with you, be here! Don't you get it? Please try move on! You haven't even spoken for years!"
And it hurt.
No, it stung. It slayed and slashed and burned and obliterated the remains of Mikey's tenebrous heart. Pushed him to the edge. No one had ever said something so harsh, so sharp, so coarse, so mean, so sickening, so horrible and scarring and.. and true.
Something so true.
"It's pathetic," Gerard spat. If he wasn't still half-asleep, he probably would've thought twice about what he was saying and who he was saying this to: something mentally scarring and guilt-inducing, and saying it to his mute and depressed brother, who had tried to commit suicide more times than anyone could count.
But everyone always found him in time and he always survived because of it.
"You're pathetic," he continued. "Now get over him and let me fucking sleep."
And then, Gerard turned over, leaving Mikey still and lifeless, unblinking and throbbing.
Mikey simply put the laptop on the floor and lay back in his bed, covers to his shoulders. He wasn't crying. He couldn't cry anymore. He couldn't feel anymore.
But he could hear and he could be damaged further. And what Gerard had just said, it drove him to loathe everyone and everything and anything. Himself, his family, his room, his music, his life, this world, dogs, Frank, bunnies, cute fucking stuff that everyone fucking likes and-
Mikey burst into silent, racking sobs and let his mind fall limp once more.
He didn't hate all that stuff. He couldn't ever. He simply despised himself and his life. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Gerard was right.
He was pathetic. And that was all he'd ever be to anyone ever again.
Pathetic.
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