Ray lent the back of his head against the door. "There's something beautiful about death" he thought to himself, placing out the pills on the sink in front of him. *suicide*
He'd been walking around all day, trying to think of the best way to go. He was alone. His gut wrenching fear of heights put a stop to his thoughts of a dramatic death, throwing himself off of the bridge near where the band was touring. A gun? He would most certainly be dead, but all that blood meant clearing up afterwards.... Ray wanted the least amount of pain put onto the guys as possible. Hanging himself would be too difficult, as the bus was literally the height of Frank. And believe you me, that's fucking short. So, surely overdosing would be the answer? All it wøuld look like is that he was sleeping, sleeping in the poetic tragedy which is death.
He planned it so well. Simply buy the bottles of asprin one at a time for a few weeks, and on the moment of his birthday, take them all. Because Bob was an early riser, he'd be the one to find him; Bob was strong, physically and mentally. He could take the sight of his dead best friend.
Ray's note he left behind was four words long. It said "I'm sorry. Remember me". He thought that would be best. No blaming anyone, even though it was everyone's fault. Everyone forgot the lead guitarist, that isn't right, is it? He'd been left at truckstops for hours, been left out of photo shoots because no-one remembered to wake him up, and so much more. All he was known for was his hair. People wanted to touch it, (which he personally thought was weird) and stroke it and strange and confusing shit like that.
A small beeping noise woke Ray of his reminising.
"Happy Birthday to Ray,
Happy Birthday to Ray,
Who even is Ray?
Happy Birthday to Ray."
He mumbled to himself as he started to take the asprin. He hummed songs to himself, trying not to think about what he was doing- if he did, he would surely change his mind. "We'll fly home...." he muttered, taking the final one. He crumpled up on the floor, sobbing until he physically didn't have the energy to even cry. His eyes were open but his arms and legs felt so heavy. He managed to move his arm a little, and pressed his finger against the tiny lump on his wrist. His pulse was going like crazy.
"What a peaceful way to go. Goodbye. Thank you to the people who remember me. The people who know my full name like they know Gerard Arthur Way's, or Franklin Anthony Iero Jnr's. The people who know my eye colour. The people who know I have a tattoo. I love you. I'll watch you from Hell.... So long and goodnight."
And with that last conscious thought before Ray Manuel Toro Ortiz found sleep forever.