Frank's landed himself in it; he's making his own noose. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
Paperclip daisy chains; a true sign of boredom. Boredom or a case of OCD. Or maybe ADHD. Or perhaps a mixture of all three.
Which one is it in my case?
None of the above. Although I'm sure if you asked any of my teachers, especially Professor Armstretch, they'd tell you that they're convinced I have some sort of behavioural problem. I just like to call it a rebellious streak; a touch of me that makes me even more me-like. Even more unbearably unique for the grey world we live in.
Wow that sounded emo.
But back to the cause of the paperclip daisy chain that I have just fastened around my neck so that it somewhat resembles a noose. I made it because for what is quite possibly the first time in my sixteen years on this godforsaken rock, I, Frank Anthony Iero, am feeling nervous. Not just any kind of nervous though, oh no; this is the kind of nervousness that has a razor-sharp edge to it bought on by being both nervous and pissed off at the same time. Right now it feels like the metaphorical razor blade of my nervousness could split open my throat at any moment and make me start wailing like a banshee at the next living thing to pass through my line of sight.
Just like Professor Armstretch, my chemistry teacher, did last Friday. Because I managed to explode her beloved pet hamster.
Actually, explode is such a strong word; I prefer the term, 'sent skyward'. Yes, that's better. Much less barbaric-sounding. I sent Sparky the Chem Lab Hamster skyward. I don't even get why Armstretch was so pissed over it. It's not like Sparky actually died or anything; he just got a little banged-up upon re-entry.
It's not as though I did it on purpose either; it was a double-dare from Toro and, as every teenage boy knows, double-dares from your best friend can't go unanswered lest you want to be known as a goddamn pussy for the rest of forever. Besides, he'd already dyed the janitor's cat pink; sending Sparky skywards was the least I could do to retain my title of Double-Dare Champion.
It went wrong though. Not wrong enough for any actual harm to come to poor old Sparky, but wrong enough for me to get caught. Caught and sent to see the counsellor because blowing shit up is apparently a sign of mental instability.
Also because sending Sparky skywards was my second strike on Belleville High's 'three strikes and you're out' policy, the first strike was caused by setting a firework off that accidently-on-purpose crashed into the principle's shiny new Ferrari, and the school offers students the best chance they can possibly have at succeeding. So some idiot somewhere decided that I have issues that desperately need solving lest I want my future to be littered with crime and shame and filthy prostitutes.
Maybe I do have issues, I think everyone does, but I seriously doubt that speaking to some wrinkly old guy who's paid to pretend to care can help me in any conceivable way.
Which is why my paperclip daisy chain-making has not been caused by nervousness at having to see the counsellor because, for once, the school listened to me when I told them that their system for helping troubled kids sucks like a cheap whore on a Saturday night. I, as I am famed for doing, spoke my mind and it for once paid off.
Long story short, they asked me what I thought would be a better alternative to a professional counsellor and I foolishly answered with something along the lines of, 'someone who really understands because they're a little fucked-up too'. Aside from the tutting at my use of expressive language, most adults present for my little meeting with the principle seemed to think my idea revolutionary. And that pleased me, the idea that I was finally managing to change things around Belleville High for the better. For once, I was actually managing to be a student hero.
Now though, I wish I'd just kept my stupid mouth shut. Or that they'd kept their stupider ears clogged with thoughts of the price of chalk, or whatever it is teachers think about. But no; I spoke and they heard me. Two facts that equate to me being sat here on a swivel chair behind a fancy desk, with a noose made out of paperclips hanging from my neck.
Because, thanks to me, the school have started a new scheme; student-to-student counselling.
And I, Frank Iero, am their guinea pig. I don't know who I feel sorry for the most; myself or the poor bastards who wind up coming to me for their counselling sessions who will most likely come away from it more insane than they ever were without the help of a hyperactive midget with a fondness for exploding hamsters.
I swear to God, this is the last time I try to give a rodent a little excitement. It really isn't worth the trouble.
A/N: So, this is the prologue for a new chapter-fic I’m starting. I’m thinking that it’s most likely going to be a Frerard with Mikey/someone thrown in later on. I’ve got a few ideas about where this is going to go, so I’m kinda excited about this. I think I’ll most likely update every few days, maybe twice or once a week, depending on whether people like it or not. I know this is a little short, but I just really wanted to get it started; future chapters will definitely be longer (and hopefully of better quality).
Anyways, thanks for reading and please, please, please let me know what you think! :)
The next chapter should either be up tomorrow on Sunday. Thanks for the reviews so far; reviews always make me smile! :D