Gerard reflects on the past, why his brother died, and how he can prevent more pain and suffering. (A/N: message we all need to hear!!!)
Bj, I love you and I hope that this is never you girly! Remember that I'm always here!
Anyway, read this. Like it don't like it. I don't really care. Don't hate on me for it, I'm just passing on the message in my screwed up way :) Stay Beautiful, Keep It Ugly!
Mr. Gerard Way sat in front of a silent classroom, the day before trimester exams. Every student had all of their attention on him, because he was about to say goodbye to his brother’s class. They had been his favorite class, and his most painful. Mikey’s empty chair still reminded him of the beginning of the trimester, when the party…
“You guys have been a great group”, Mr. Way said, “Great people, amazing artists, and smart people. But, today is the day for me to say goodbye. As my good-bye, I have a story.”
Mom and Dad are out of town this weekend, and Gerard is at his girlfriend’s as he usually is during the weekends. Meaning, that I have the house to myself. It’s definitely party time. I’ve invited all of my friends and told them to invite everyone that they know. There are now so many people in this house that you can barely move. I don’t know many of them, and someone has the Misfits CD I borrowed from Frank blaring in Mom’s stereo so loud that I could barely think. People mosh, drink, make-out, sneak into quiet places (ewww…), while others pass out already. The party is going well, or at least I think it is, until this girl and a group of her friends come up to me.
“I think we’re going to go Mikey, lame party.”
“The party has just begun guys, stay a little bit longer!” I plead, not sure why really, but I do.
“We’ll stay for like… another half-hour. But this better get good” The girls walk away, and I’m not sure how to make this more exciting… until my thoughts drift to my father’s gun in its case upstairs….
The old shotgun livens things up… for about 5 minutes. What do I do now? Then, another idea comes to mind, one I would never have a chance to regret.
Quickly, I pull out the extra bullets and spin the magazine, closing it without looking. I turn off the music, and people start yelling at me to turn it back on.
“Hey guys,” I call to the crowd, “Who wants to watch me play Russian Roulette?” the crows cheers –my friends too- and I smile. I press the barrel to my temple and things start to sink in as the cool metal touches my skin.
There is a 1/6 chance that I will die. These could be my last few seconds breathing. There is a 5/6 chance that I will live, and a 100% I will live if I walk away now. If I put down the gun and add another insult to the list. I’d be a coward; I don’t need that added to the list of things people call me.
Emo, Faggot, Go and fucking Die, Why would anyone want a stupid fuck like you around?, how has someone not killed you for your stupidity yet?
I can’t just chicken out with the entire school here though, and that’s exactly who seems to be here. Somehow, I find a way to squeeze the trigger.
I’m still alive.
The students sat silently, listening to the rest of Gerard’s tale.
“My brother almost killed himself that night, and I believe that if he hadn’t been so popular that next Monday, Mikey wouldn’t have been so easily convinced to do it again that next Friday night, Then the next, and the next. The fourth time he did it, Michael James Way took his last breath. He died playing a stupid and dangerous game with death.
“I just hope that you realize that I’m not just talking about a game of Russian Roulette here. I’m talking about things you may come into contact with everyday. Maybe it’s something you do yourself, or maybe it’s a family member.” I went silent for a moment, choking back tears.
“Maybe it’s drugs, alcohol, maybe you self-injure. I don’t know, But I do know that you can’t do these things. Maybe there’s only a 1/20 chance you’ll be addicted, maybe there’s a 1/100 or a 1/1000 chance. But all that is needed is the smallest percentage for something to happen, and it will happen to you.
“you guys are a good group, and I hope that I never have to hear from one of my colleagues in the teacher’s lounge something like ‘Did you hear what so and so did?’ After that, everyone will say the same sort of things.
‘He was going to college’
‘She had so much going for her’
“This happens once every 5 or 6 years. Someone has to do this sort of thing, and the entire school is affected. Everyone knows, everyone hurts. Then everyone graduates, and we all have to learn about it again.
“Please don’t be that one that we have to learn from. Tell this story to the incoming freshman next year. Spread the word.
“Don’t be that guy.
“Don’t be my… my brother”
Gerard wiped the tears off of this face that he hadn’t realized he’d cried and went back to his desk. The class was eerily silent.
Maybe they would listen to Gerard.
Listen to him, like Mikey did not.