Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > A Pause For Reflection.
Chapter one.
2 ReviewsFrank is a drop out. Gerard is older than him. Blah blah blah. No one even reads these.
A/n:Omg. I've never written a story on here before. Dude. Omg. I don't even know if I'm good enough. Omg. NDSNFNFGSNonofnsnONSONIN.
D: Freaking out man.
Well, anyway, the story is from Frank's point of view. Read and whatnot and tell me what you think if you want to.
Chapter one.
I stared at the lake emotionlessly, gripping the stone bench I was sat on by the lakeside.
The lake was calm and it was beautiful. It’s water flowed gently and sparkled in the sunlight; it was almost as if it was too beautiful to have had two bodies heaved out of it in the past two weeks.
The bench, on the other hand, was was cold and hard. The grey stone was beautiful to no body and comforted no soul. The green moss decorating its sides alluded to a happy welcoming that would not come. It’s coldness seeped through the fabrics of my skinny jeans and my fingerless gloves; nipping away at the skin hidden beneath.
I shuddered and placed my hands in my lap; not breaking eye contact from the surface of the water once.
Do you have a worst fear? I don’t mean like bugs or the dark or anything cliché like that; I mean the thing that chills you, just by thinking of it. The thing you despise most. The thing that you want to run from. The kind of thing that just might happen at some point in your life. Do you have one of those types of fears?
Well I have one of those fears.
My fear, as cliché as it is, is being completely alone and unloved. I fear dying alone. I fear being unloved. But, most of all, I fear the depression that this fear has caused me to fall into.
Have you ever woken up one morning and realized, Oh My God. I’m depressed? Or maybe you knew it, you just chose to bottle it away for as long as you could until you broke down completely.
Well, both happened to me.
I knew I was upset with my life, it was so obvious to me, but I didn’t think I’d be depressed. So I pushed it away. And then one day I realized just how depressed I was beginning to get, so I pushed that away as well. By now, the bottle that I was storing my emotions in was getting pretty full, and it wasn’t going to be able to contain my depression for much longer.
One day, I made the bottle overfill and it all just came spilling out at a rate which surprised even me. I couldn’t prevent it from happening. I had known that if I kept bottling my depression it would spilling out sooner or later, but I didn’t know when.
Do you know what it feels like to break down because of your depression?
Yes? No?
Well, if you don’t, let me try to describe it the best possible way I can.
You know the cold feeling you get when all the wrong pieces fit together? Like the feeling you get when you realise something is wrong, or that you have failed a test, or even something as devastating as a family member or friend passing away?
If not, it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach ten times by some invisible force and you can’t breathe. It feels like everything has been ripped out of your grip. You no longer are emotionally stable; no matter how many times you tell yourself you are.
It just.. Hurts. Allot.
Because of my breakdown, I’m known as the unstable kid. The one never speaks to anyone that he isn’t already close to. The one that dropped out of high school at sixteen because he just couldn’t handle it all. And I’m ashamed of this. I don’t want to have the label I have gained. No one would want to have the label I have gained.
I blame myself for all of this, though. If I hadn’t bottled it away, if only I had spoken to someone, I wouldn’t have broken down. I would have remained the way I used to be. But now it hurts to smile. It hurts to cry. It hurts to talk. It hurts to do anything and everything because I’m such a disappointment in life to everyone. I don’t completely blame myself for all of this, though. I also blame the lack of love I have received over the past view years.
Ever since my father and my mother divorced, my mother has practically ignored me. I don’t talk to any of my friends from school anymore because they probably don’t want to be seen with me. I haven’t spoken to my father in almost a year now. And I’m just plain lonely.
And it hurts. The loneliness hurts.
The sound of a baby crying broke the silence that I had been sitting in for at least the past hour now, and, out of automatic reaction, I turned my head to see where it was coming from.
A mother was walking with her baby in a pram along the path. She was talking to someone on the phone and trying to hush the baby as she did so.
I looked at the baby; it’s cheeks on its pale face were red and big drops of tears streamed out of its bright blue eyes as it let all the air out of his lungs in the form of a cry.
Swiftly and casually, I looked away before the mother could notice me looking at her child. I mean, seriously, who wants to see some delinquent teenage boy almost dressed in full black clothes with blood red eyeliner and piercings staring at her child?
Heaving a heavy sigh, I reached down and picked up a rock from besides my feet before throwing it into the water. I watched the water sparkle and bob as the rock hit its surface; causing a small splash that distorted any reflections in the water.
Then I scanned the water top with my eyes, all the way to the other side.
The water, no matter how beautiful and sparkly it was in the dim, grey sunlight, was muggy and had a few lily pads growing here and there towards the middle of the lake. The reflection of the grey swelled clouds above my head was as if I was staring directly up at the sky. And, by the time I was only half way through, I could already see the reflection of the tall trees on the other side of the lake.
I’ve never been on the other side of the lake. Going over there is a thought that never really seemed to cross my mind. Well, that and I’m too lazy to walk around to the other side.
My eyes settled on a wooden bench on the other side of the lake. Well, maybe not exactly the wooden bench, but instead the man sitting on the wooden bench.
He was pale, very pale; that’s one of the very few things I could tell about him from this distance.
He looked like he was wearing black skinny jeans, I think. He had one leg crossed over the other and resting in his lap was some sort of book. A drawing book of some sort, maybe? He did look like he was sketching in it. His shaggy black hair reminded me of my favourite teddy bear from when I was four. It was messy and probably needed to be washed and brushed, but, in some way, it seemed fine the way it was. It continuously fell in his face every time he would reach for something, so he was continuously flicking it out of his face.
Sitting beside him was some sort of bag and sitting on top of the bag was a drink; a coffee, maybe? I don’t know.
I felt like a creep, staring at this man from across the lake. But that didn’t stop me from wondering; What was he drawing?
I mean, art isn’t my thing. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t interest me.
Maybe he’s an artist? That would be cool. Wait, no it wouldn’t. Some artists are stuck up and just plain rude to everyone they meet. Come to think of it, artists aren’t very nice people.
I hope he’s not an artist.
The man then looked up from his book as if he had sensed someone else’s eyes on him and caught me staring at him. I couldn’t see his facial expressions because of his curtain of black hair, but it was pretty obvious that he was now staring straight back at me.
My cheeks heated up from embarrassment and I clasped my hands together, squeezing them together tightly as I looked down to my worn out converses. The faded and torn black fabrics seemed like the most interesting thing right now, because, well, anything was better than looking back at that man in shame.
Knowing this like I knew my name, I still looked back to him nevertheless behind my dyed black fringe.
The man was now packing his stuff up.
I watched as he shoved his book into the bag and then zipped it up. He pulled its single black strap over his head and positioned it by his waist before picking up his drink and drinking some as he turned around. The man seemed to be staring at the water now as he drank, and then his eyes landed on me. My cheeks, once again, flared up which made me kind of glad that he was on the other side of the lake from me. If he was any closer he would have been able to tell that I was basically drowning in my embarrassment.
Adjusting his shoulder bag strap one last time, he smiled at me.
Well it looked like he was smiling at me.
I looked over my shoulder awkwardly to check if there was anyone behind me; there was no one. And when I turned back to the man he was shaking his head and looking at the ground. He looked like he was chuckling softly as he turned around.
A/N: asjfb sdig bBIRBAIB nbRIB EF *is still freaking out*
D: Freaking out man.
Well, anyway, the story is from Frank's point of view. Read and whatnot and tell me what you think if you want to.
Chapter one.
I stared at the lake emotionlessly, gripping the stone bench I was sat on by the lakeside.
The lake was calm and it was beautiful. It’s water flowed gently and sparkled in the sunlight; it was almost as if it was too beautiful to have had two bodies heaved out of it in the past two weeks.
The bench, on the other hand, was was cold and hard. The grey stone was beautiful to no body and comforted no soul. The green moss decorating its sides alluded to a happy welcoming that would not come. It’s coldness seeped through the fabrics of my skinny jeans and my fingerless gloves; nipping away at the skin hidden beneath.
I shuddered and placed my hands in my lap; not breaking eye contact from the surface of the water once.
Do you have a worst fear? I don’t mean like bugs or the dark or anything cliché like that; I mean the thing that chills you, just by thinking of it. The thing you despise most. The thing that you want to run from. The kind of thing that just might happen at some point in your life. Do you have one of those types of fears?
Well I have one of those fears.
My fear, as cliché as it is, is being completely alone and unloved. I fear dying alone. I fear being unloved. But, most of all, I fear the depression that this fear has caused me to fall into.
Have you ever woken up one morning and realized, Oh My God. I’m depressed? Or maybe you knew it, you just chose to bottle it away for as long as you could until you broke down completely.
Well, both happened to me.
I knew I was upset with my life, it was so obvious to me, but I didn’t think I’d be depressed. So I pushed it away. And then one day I realized just how depressed I was beginning to get, so I pushed that away as well. By now, the bottle that I was storing my emotions in was getting pretty full, and it wasn’t going to be able to contain my depression for much longer.
One day, I made the bottle overfill and it all just came spilling out at a rate which surprised even me. I couldn’t prevent it from happening. I had known that if I kept bottling my depression it would spilling out sooner or later, but I didn’t know when.
Do you know what it feels like to break down because of your depression?
Yes? No?
Well, if you don’t, let me try to describe it the best possible way I can.
You know the cold feeling you get when all the wrong pieces fit together? Like the feeling you get when you realise something is wrong, or that you have failed a test, or even something as devastating as a family member or friend passing away?
If not, it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach ten times by some invisible force and you can’t breathe. It feels like everything has been ripped out of your grip. You no longer are emotionally stable; no matter how many times you tell yourself you are.
It just.. Hurts. Allot.
Because of my breakdown, I’m known as the unstable kid. The one never speaks to anyone that he isn’t already close to. The one that dropped out of high school at sixteen because he just couldn’t handle it all. And I’m ashamed of this. I don’t want to have the label I have gained. No one would want to have the label I have gained.
I blame myself for all of this, though. If I hadn’t bottled it away, if only I had spoken to someone, I wouldn’t have broken down. I would have remained the way I used to be. But now it hurts to smile. It hurts to cry. It hurts to talk. It hurts to do anything and everything because I’m such a disappointment in life to everyone. I don’t completely blame myself for all of this, though. I also blame the lack of love I have received over the past view years.
Ever since my father and my mother divorced, my mother has practically ignored me. I don’t talk to any of my friends from school anymore because they probably don’t want to be seen with me. I haven’t spoken to my father in almost a year now. And I’m just plain lonely.
And it hurts. The loneliness hurts.
The sound of a baby crying broke the silence that I had been sitting in for at least the past hour now, and, out of automatic reaction, I turned my head to see where it was coming from.
A mother was walking with her baby in a pram along the path. She was talking to someone on the phone and trying to hush the baby as she did so.
I looked at the baby; it’s cheeks on its pale face were red and big drops of tears streamed out of its bright blue eyes as it let all the air out of his lungs in the form of a cry.
Swiftly and casually, I looked away before the mother could notice me looking at her child. I mean, seriously, who wants to see some delinquent teenage boy almost dressed in full black clothes with blood red eyeliner and piercings staring at her child?
Heaving a heavy sigh, I reached down and picked up a rock from besides my feet before throwing it into the water. I watched the water sparkle and bob as the rock hit its surface; causing a small splash that distorted any reflections in the water.
Then I scanned the water top with my eyes, all the way to the other side.
The water, no matter how beautiful and sparkly it was in the dim, grey sunlight, was muggy and had a few lily pads growing here and there towards the middle of the lake. The reflection of the grey swelled clouds above my head was as if I was staring directly up at the sky. And, by the time I was only half way through, I could already see the reflection of the tall trees on the other side of the lake.
I’ve never been on the other side of the lake. Going over there is a thought that never really seemed to cross my mind. Well, that and I’m too lazy to walk around to the other side.
My eyes settled on a wooden bench on the other side of the lake. Well, maybe not exactly the wooden bench, but instead the man sitting on the wooden bench.
He was pale, very pale; that’s one of the very few things I could tell about him from this distance.
He looked like he was wearing black skinny jeans, I think. He had one leg crossed over the other and resting in his lap was some sort of book. A drawing book of some sort, maybe? He did look like he was sketching in it. His shaggy black hair reminded me of my favourite teddy bear from when I was four. It was messy and probably needed to be washed and brushed, but, in some way, it seemed fine the way it was. It continuously fell in his face every time he would reach for something, so he was continuously flicking it out of his face.
Sitting beside him was some sort of bag and sitting on top of the bag was a drink; a coffee, maybe? I don’t know.
I felt like a creep, staring at this man from across the lake. But that didn’t stop me from wondering; What was he drawing?
I mean, art isn’t my thing. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t interest me.
Maybe he’s an artist? That would be cool. Wait, no it wouldn’t. Some artists are stuck up and just plain rude to everyone they meet. Come to think of it, artists aren’t very nice people.
I hope he’s not an artist.
The man then looked up from his book as if he had sensed someone else’s eyes on him and caught me staring at him. I couldn’t see his facial expressions because of his curtain of black hair, but it was pretty obvious that he was now staring straight back at me.
My cheeks heated up from embarrassment and I clasped my hands together, squeezing them together tightly as I looked down to my worn out converses. The faded and torn black fabrics seemed like the most interesting thing right now, because, well, anything was better than looking back at that man in shame.
Knowing this like I knew my name, I still looked back to him nevertheless behind my dyed black fringe.
The man was now packing his stuff up.
I watched as he shoved his book into the bag and then zipped it up. He pulled its single black strap over his head and positioned it by his waist before picking up his drink and drinking some as he turned around. The man seemed to be staring at the water now as he drank, and then his eyes landed on me. My cheeks, once again, flared up which made me kind of glad that he was on the other side of the lake from me. If he was any closer he would have been able to tell that I was basically drowning in my embarrassment.
Adjusting his shoulder bag strap one last time, he smiled at me.
Well it looked like he was smiling at me.
I looked over my shoulder awkwardly to check if there was anyone behind me; there was no one. And when I turned back to the man he was shaking his head and looking at the ground. He looked like he was chuckling softly as he turned around.
A/N: asjfb sdig bBIRBAIB nbRIB EF *is still freaking out*
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