My Chemical Romance is still only dreaming of stardom and musical success, living a life filled with drinking in dirty bars and fishing for gigs, when a surprise comes knocking on their door.
I was convinced to post this. I may or may not continue it, depending on the response I get.
Chapter 1: Intro
The whole club was packed with people, girls in their short skirts and guys staring at the barely clothed bodies of said girls. Loud, booming music was blaring out of the speakers all around the room as the four-member band blasted their hearts out on their instruments. The vocalist had fallen to the floor to his knees, long, greasy hair hanging on his sweaty face, screaming into the microphone he was holding. If his face had been visible, the audience would’ve seen a look of pure pain and agony as the man sang, or rather, screamed, the song in which he had gathered all of his negative feelings.
On the other side of the crowded club, by the bar stood another group of four men with bottles of beer in their hands and sour looks on their faces.
“That should be me up there!” Gerard complained with a look of clear dislike all over his features. The man singing on the stage was like a poor man's Gerard Way, at least in Gerard's own personal opinion.
“I told you when we started,” Ray sighed, shaking his head. “We should’ve gotten a manager. We can’t get shit done by ourselves at all.”
“We’ll worry about a manager after we have money,” Mikey reminded. “Right now we can barely pay for our own instruments, let alone hire a manager.”
Frank stared at the stage where the vocalist had started to grind his special place against the microphone stand. “See, Gerard, if you did that, then we’d get gigs! Or! We should get a fifth member. Yeah, a chick with really big boobs who would persuade all the club owners to give us all the gigs we want.”
The other three stared at the shorter man who got a gleaming look of pure happiness in his eyes as the little wheels in his brain started to work overtime.
“I’m going home,” Gerard announced. “You guys coming?”
“I’m gonna stay a little bit longer,” Mikey answered and remained seated while his brother and Ray stood.
“I’ll stay with him,” Frank announced and ordered another beer.
Gerard and Ray left the bar in silence. Ray was kind of the nice one of the little group, he was the one who always kept his cool. Sure, he was the biggest and scariest one, but he didn’t easily resort to violence, unlike Gerard and Frank who brawled every change they got.
“Are you okay?” Ray asked, sensing that there was a reason for his friend’s silence. While it wasn’t rare for Gerard to fall so deep into his thoughts that he barely even knew where he was, Ray had gotten to recognize when there was something bothering him. He had a different look on his face. Different from when he was simply cooking up a new song in his head or mentally drawing out his next attempt at a comic book.
“What? Oh, yeah,” Gerard answered, but after a moment of hesitating, he continued. “I was thinking. You know, maybe we should start thinking about other options.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been trying to kick start this band thing for three years, it’s obviously not working out.”
Ray glanced at his friend in disbelief. “You’re seriously thinking about giving up on the band?”
“Why not,” he said, shrugging. “I mean Mikey and Frank can still go to school, we could get jobs… Come on Ray, don’t look at me like that! In the three years we’ve been trying to get somewhere, we’ve played like ten gigs, seven of which ended in us getting booed off the stage! Three years and we’re still here, in Belleville, drinking cheap beer and stealing tuna fish and noodles from Walmart!”
Ray listened to his friend vent. He had no idea how long his friend had been harboring these thoughts, but it was alarming none the less. Gerard had dreamed of being in a band since he was a little kid, and he was always the one to keep the others’ spirits up when the others felt like giving up.
If something good didn’t happen soon, this all might really be over before it even started.
A little girl stifled the scream, but winced of the pain as her mother’s hand collided with the tear-stained cheek. She held her face with her other hand, while the other clutched on the worn Barbie doll. The bright yellow floral dress on the Barbie was just as worn as the girl's clothes. The night shirt she wore was her mother's old t-shirt, and it reached nearly to her knees. The gray shirt was ripping a bit on the side at the seams, but no one had bothered to fix it. The text on the front of the shirt had faded to nothing a long time ago.
"Now didn't I tell you to be quiet?!" the woman shouted, a cold look on her harsh features. Her messy blonde hair tied up with a scrunchie, and a green bathrobe covered her body. She wasn't an old woman, but the cigarettes had prematurely aged her skin, making her look older than she really was. She dropped back down on the couch, lifting her bare feet up on the low glass table, and she tapped the lit cigarette so that some of the ashes landed on her daughter.
The young girl still stood there, her feet freezing on the cold floor. Her arms hugged the Barbie doll close, not daring to let go of the ragged, but familiar comfort of it. Her bottom lip was pushed outwards, quivering slightly. But she'd learned not to cry a long time ago.
"You know," the woman said, her whole body shaking as she paused the speech to cough. Her voice was raspy from the smoking, and the cough was a dry one that sounded like she was about to choke. "I give and I give," she continued. "Who gave you that doll, huh? I did. Who put the clothes on your back? I did. Who cooks for you every day? I do! And what do I get for it? Nothing, you ungrateful little bastard. I get nothing. What do I have to show for all the good I do?"
The woman scoffed, and the little girl did not dare to make a sound. She only lowered her head, accepting the words as true.
"Well, what are you still standing there for?!" she suddenly demanded, raising her voice once again.
The girl's tiny feet made no sound as she crossed the trailer. She laid down on the short bench in the kitchen area, and tried to fall asleep.
Hours later she stirred from her sleep when the door to the small trailer opened. She didn't lift her head to look, but she could hear him breathe heavily. Oh, this man was no danger. She closed her eyes once again while the two adults conversed. He tried to be quiet, but mother didn't bother lowering her voice.
"Couldn't she at least get a bed to sleep on?" the man demanded to know at one point, but that was the only time when he raised his voice.
Before he left, the man came to the bench. He crouched down beside it, lifted the thin covers up to her narrow shoulders, and shortly laid a gentle hand on her head. She pretended sleep, not wanting them to know she'd heard their conversation. The man removed his hand, rose, gave one last disapproving look to the woman, and left. The woman returned to her seat on the old brown couch and lit another cigarette. The last one had burned out during the brief conversation. There she sat, counting the money the man had left for her to spend on their daughter, already excited for the trip to the pub that this money would provide for her.