Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > A Derisory Tale
See Ya In Hell, Soldier
0 ReviewsF confronts that stupid picture of him...
“Asswipe, the door’s ringing.” The sushi kid tiredly says. He shouts louder from his seat on the couch. “Gerard!” He rolls his eyes as the doorbell keeps dinging. “Fucker…now I have to get up…asshole…” He mutters and opens the door.
“Hello, there!” Oh my. It’s the punk kid. The sushi kid stares blankly.
“Uhm…hi?” He says, scratching his head.
“Hi!” They stand there for a couple seconds as the punk kid points to the inside. “Can I come in?”
“…I guess…” They both walk over to the couch, the sushi kid pauses the movie as the face of Brandon Lee inhabits the screen, with his creepy crow makeup.
“I love this movie!” The punk kid shouts. The sushi kid narrows his eyes.
“You like the Crow?”
“It’s only like, the best movie ever…”
“Wow. That’s so. I like it too…why are you here?”
“Oh, right…is your brother here?”
“Somewhere…he’s always brooding…I dunno…probably in the basement…” He points to a door, painted eyes and a red smile, saying: Why so serious?
“Ah, thank you…uhm…”
“Mikey.”
“Mikey. Frank.” He shakes his hand and Mikey nods.
“Yeah...We’ve been in the same English class for three years…”
“Really? I’m just awful with my memory…anyhow, thanks Michael.”
“Mhmm. Mikey.”
“Right. Mikey.” Frank says as Mikey flops onto the couch, pressing play again. Frank walks to the door and opens it hesitantly. The screams of Eric Draven coming back from the dead illustrate exactly how Frank’s feeling right now. Mostly because the basement has blue lighting. But, he won’t show his fear. He runs down the narrow stairway to see that kid sleeping, curled up on a blue plaid couch. He kicks his stomach area.
“Argh! Liza with a Z!” the kid jumps up and groggily opens his eyes. He then pulls his legs to his chest when he realizes who exactly is there. “The hell!”
“Hi." He smiles a smile that you know is bad luck. "I just wanted to tell you what I think of this.” He pulls out the drawing...that one drawing. The artist groans. He’s totally fucked right now. Frank notices this and smiles more, turning into a grin. “Yeah.” He tears it into random sized pieces. He then throws it in the air. “Happy goddamn birthday, heart attack.”
“That took me four hours! It was my favorite in the portfolio!”
“I’ve improved it now.” Frank says, stomping on one of the pieces with his left foot, smudging the dark snow from his boot into the beautiful painting. “No one has to fucking look at it.” He glances at the artist, who is just in complete shock. “Right, so, if you want the rest back…tell me why the hell you put me in that picture.”
“I…just keep the book…I don’t want it anymore.”
“Aw, c’mon, now. Don’t be a bitter prude about this. It was all just a little misunderstanding.” He kicks the artist in the shin. Brutally hard. “And don’t you ever fucking draw me again.”
“I didn’t draw you.” The artist hisses through pain. “I painted you.” His voice is basically gasps of semi-audible words. “Why are you so goddamn mean?” It’s a good question. Frank can’t come up with an answer…well, he does, but it’s with his fits to that artist’s precious face.
“You ask too many fucking questions.” He states simply and chucks the book at the artist, who’s clutching his right eye with his left hand and his left shin with his right hand. As he leaves the basement, he hears the artist cursing loudly.
“Going so soon?” Asks…the sushi kid…Frank has forgotten his name already. He’s not looking at Frank. He’s just watching the screen and eating popcorn…which is odd, because he’s supposed to eat only sushi… Frank grins and ruffles the kid’s hair.
“Yep.” The kid pets down his hair, extremely annoyed. Mostly because it takes him three hours to make his hair perfect…of course, it is seven o’ clock and he’s bound to mess up his hair when he goes to bed…but, still! Who is this guy, barging in not remembering his name? How hard is the name ‘Mikey’? “Gotta go, kiddo. See you in school.”
“Mhmm…if you remember.” He mumbles, facing the screen. Frank laughs and walks out the door.
“Bye, sushi boy!”
“Hello, there!” Oh my. It’s the punk kid. The sushi kid stares blankly.
“Uhm…hi?” He says, scratching his head.
“Hi!” They stand there for a couple seconds as the punk kid points to the inside. “Can I come in?”
“…I guess…” They both walk over to the couch, the sushi kid pauses the movie as the face of Brandon Lee inhabits the screen, with his creepy crow makeup.
“I love this movie!” The punk kid shouts. The sushi kid narrows his eyes.
“You like the Crow?”
“It’s only like, the best movie ever…”
“Wow. That’s so. I like it too…why are you here?”
“Oh, right…is your brother here?”
“Somewhere…he’s always brooding…I dunno…probably in the basement…” He points to a door, painted eyes and a red smile, saying: Why so serious?
“Ah, thank you…uhm…”
“Mikey.”
“Mikey. Frank.” He shakes his hand and Mikey nods.
“Yeah...We’ve been in the same English class for three years…”
“Really? I’m just awful with my memory…anyhow, thanks Michael.”
“Mhmm. Mikey.”
“Right. Mikey.” Frank says as Mikey flops onto the couch, pressing play again. Frank walks to the door and opens it hesitantly. The screams of Eric Draven coming back from the dead illustrate exactly how Frank’s feeling right now. Mostly because the basement has blue lighting. But, he won’t show his fear. He runs down the narrow stairway to see that kid sleeping, curled up on a blue plaid couch. He kicks his stomach area.
“Argh! Liza with a Z!” the kid jumps up and groggily opens his eyes. He then pulls his legs to his chest when he realizes who exactly is there. “The hell!”
“Hi." He smiles a smile that you know is bad luck. "I just wanted to tell you what I think of this.” He pulls out the drawing...that one drawing. The artist groans. He’s totally fucked right now. Frank notices this and smiles more, turning into a grin. “Yeah.” He tears it into random sized pieces. He then throws it in the air. “Happy goddamn birthday, heart attack.”
“That took me four hours! It was my favorite in the portfolio!”
“I’ve improved it now.” Frank says, stomping on one of the pieces with his left foot, smudging the dark snow from his boot into the beautiful painting. “No one has to fucking look at it.” He glances at the artist, who is just in complete shock. “Right, so, if you want the rest back…tell me why the hell you put me in that picture.”
“I…just keep the book…I don’t want it anymore.”
“Aw, c’mon, now. Don’t be a bitter prude about this. It was all just a little misunderstanding.” He kicks the artist in the shin. Brutally hard. “And don’t you ever fucking draw me again.”
“I didn’t draw you.” The artist hisses through pain. “I painted you.” His voice is basically gasps of semi-audible words. “Why are you so goddamn mean?” It’s a good question. Frank can’t come up with an answer…well, he does, but it’s with his fits to that artist’s precious face.
“You ask too many fucking questions.” He states simply and chucks the book at the artist, who’s clutching his right eye with his left hand and his left shin with his right hand. As he leaves the basement, he hears the artist cursing loudly.
“Going so soon?” Asks…the sushi kid…Frank has forgotten his name already. He’s not looking at Frank. He’s just watching the screen and eating popcorn…which is odd, because he’s supposed to eat only sushi… Frank grins and ruffles the kid’s hair.
“Yep.” The kid pets down his hair, extremely annoyed. Mostly because it takes him three hours to make his hair perfect…of course, it is seven o’ clock and he’s bound to mess up his hair when he goes to bed…but, still! Who is this guy, barging in not remembering his name? How hard is the name ‘Mikey’? “Gotta go, kiddo. See you in school.”
“Mhmm…if you remember.” He mumbles, facing the screen. Frank laughs and walks out the door.
“Bye, sushi boy!”
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