FicWad

The first is a Frerard with no current name in which Frank is a substitute teacher that goes on a 2019 adventure with The Doctor, Gerard and Mikey. The only reason I'm not finishing this is because I didn't plan it enough for it to make sense.


The advert opens with a white gate and a cobbled path, it’s beautiful and surreal like something from a Dickensian move set without the grime (and starving children). It’s not cheap, like most of the commercials aired across the globe, and there are no actors or shouty men, just the gates opening on a small picturesque town with little thatched houses and fruit markets. There are children to the left of the screen and there’s music coming from somewhere. It’s not a song anyone knows but the melody is sweet, a little too melancholy to be a jingle, it gets stuck in your head all day, never the less.

The advert isn’t long and there are no text or overhead speakers, just the logo in the corner of the screen. It’s an emoticon of sorts, smiling passively, white against the black cobbles.

The advert airs at all times of the day, mostly in-between the big shows or before movies at the cinema, but no company has ever claimed ownership over it. Online conspiracests have considered nearly all the options; a new gaming campaign, a film teaser, a music video promotion. But, three years later and it’s still being run. Eventually, people just start accepting it into their lives, after all, the television companies have no control over whether or not the commercial is being aired, it’s being broadcasted by a third party. Pirates. And it’s not like advert is doing anyone any harm.

It just becomes a part of life, you wake up in the morning and brush your teeth, you get dressed and then you go tot work, you come home from work and watch TV, you see the advert in-between The Simpsons or Neighbours and then you have dinner and go to bed. Normal.

It’s 2019 when everything changes.

-

Frank is at school when the alarm sounds. He is not a student but boy does he feel like one half of the time. He works in part time subbing at high schools because, apparently, he has some kind of a death wish. Mostly, he teaches maths and science to poor kids in even poorer areas, though he has been known to rock out in the music rooms long after he thinks everyone has left for home. The practice rooms have great acoustics and Jamia says he’ll wake the baby if he plays at home, which is bullshit since the kid isn’t even his. Billy Jean for real.

The house though, the house is his but he’s hardly going to kick Jamia out; it’s not her fault her husband is a douche bag, he reminds himself, it’s his or the streets.

And he probably would, totally, wake the baby.

He just has to put up or shut up.

Of course, that isn’t why he’s a substitute teacher for Belleville’s most wanted and not rocking A Les Paul in a kick ass band somewhere in east Europe, that all goes back to his mother and her dreams and his tragically catholic sensibilities.

Which is a bit of a joke when looking at the Pope’s hat but whatever, it’s his life.

But back to the alarm and the classroom of jeering kids and the approaching bombs of death and destruction.

They have a system, of sorts, not vastly improved since the 80s but, apparently, the government have more important things on their hands. Well, not for much longer but soon they wont have to worry about it, anyway. The desks are made of a new brand of metal, flexible like plastic but tougher than steal and apparently heat proof. The kids are to get under the desks and then get out again once the world is in ruin. Frank has his doubts.

Controlling a room full of sixteen-year-old anarchists is difficult even in the most basic of circumstances but as a young, gay, substitute, maths teacher, in the middle of the fast approaching apocalypse, it is borderline impossible.

Frank sighs and fiddles with the chain on his neck, standing to attention in front of 12X4. “Okay guys, you know the drill! Under your desks, all of you!”

His voice barely carries over the sirens but Frank’s pretty sure they know it all anyway. With a final heaving shrug Frank climbs under his own desk, it’s built slightly differently to the students; there’s more room for his papers, confiscations, his laptop but the essential idea is the same. Hide, shut up and try not to die.

When the bomb drops it sounds a lot like a young man shouting bloody murder and slamming about in the classroom. Frank raises his head from under his desk just in time to watch two boys skid out of the classroom door. He hasn’t been at the school very long but he’s pretty sure the kids aren’t supposed to run through the corridors during a terrorist attack.

So, figuring he’s about to get fired- be it literally or metaphorically- either way, Frank hops up from his safety position and shouts something about the rest of the class staying put and then he’s off down the corridor, chasing after his two little runaways.

He spots them half way down the polished corridor, sneakers squeaking on the waxy floor, they’re moving quickly and soon both boys have disappeared behind a corner. Frank picks up speed and begins chasing after the pair. This is so, so not what he signed up for.

“Hey!” He calls, sliding round the turn the boys had taken a few seconds ago.

One of them looks back briefly, he was definitely just in Frank’s class, hedgehog hair and thick glasses, but the other just tugs on his sleeve to hurry him up and they disappear into the gym. Frank curses under his breath and starts sprinting; there are no shelters in there.

He smashes through the gym doors and into a very unexpected room. It’s a lot bigger than the fitness suite for one thing and there are no exercise machines that Frank recognises. Frank blinks and sucks in a deep breath. “Uhh,” he says and does a 360 spin. He’s surrounded by electronics, and buttons and leavers. None of it makes any sense.

The boys spin around and gape at Frank with wide hazel eyes.

“What,” Frank starts, “Wha?”

“Oh, who’s he?” Asks a voice, Frank’s eyes sweep over the buzzing room until they land on a frowning figure leaning over one of the many balconies, he has a square jaw and raggedy hair. He’s wearing a suit jacket and bowtie.

“Mr Iero,” the mousy kid from Frank’s class replies, he sounds just as freaked out as Frank, chewing tightly on his bottom lip. “My math teacher.”

Bowtie flips around to stare at the kid, “Why did you bring your maths teacher?”

“I didn’t.”

“He chased us,” says the elder boy, Frank looks at him now for the first time, he’s too old to be a student but he’s definitely not a teacher. He’s pale with wide brown eyes and dark hair and Frank feels the attraction like a punch in the gut.

“We’re in the middle of an air raid. Uh, they’re not allowed to leave the classroom.” Frank supplies helpfully. He’s still not sure why they’re not all dead.

“You have to go.” Says the elder boy, his face is tight and pinched.

“Um.” Says Frank. “Okay?” he takes a tentative step back towards the door he came through. The room shifts dramatically, knocking Frank off his feet and into one of the metal bars standing as scaffolding a few feet away.

“Too late now!” Calls bowtie, flicking switches and hitting buttons. “Welcome aboard, Mr Iero!”

This next one I sort of hate. For one it's in first person plus I made Frank a top. Like WTF? Frank was touched funny as a kid and then kidnaps Gee. Idek.

Needed. That’s how it feels; like you and no one else could ever be as crucial to their survival as you are now. Like without you being here, being you, doing what you do the world would stop turning and your skin would melt like acid onto the ground. Like they love you more than a Vicar loves a month of Sundays, like you are more desired than the open sky to a speckled hen. And at that point the feeling is entirely mutual. You want them, need them like the Sahara needs rain but for those few moments, it’s okay to let them know that. Let them know that without them you wouldn’t want to breath, live a second longer. But like all good things, that small amount of bliss blinding you during an orgasm, must come to an end. From then on it’s weird to feel that way, impossible to tell your partner those feelings though you’re both thinking the same thing. It’s time to move on, try again, hope for something, anything new.

So, that’s what I do; find ‘em, screw ‘em, then screw ‘em over, repeat. I guess you could call me heartless, or a man whore, whatever floats your boat. I’ve probably heard worse under the covers. And above.

It’s what I have to do to survive.

The first time I had sex was when I was 13 in the dead of night down some grotty alley way, I don’t remember much just that it was cold and he assumed I wouldn’t understand. I did understand though, I knew what he was doing, even though he told me it was ‘okay’ and that I had ‘best be quiet’ I knew that neither statement was true. Still, I tried to believe him after all he was the adult and me the child so he should have been right. That and he was supposed to care for me, he was my first love and most painful heartbreak.

Lionel, his name was, 17 and beautiful, long blonde hair and tanned Hollywood skin, blue eyes and dimples. Always laughing always joking, always there for me when everyone else had decided that I wasn’t worth their time. So how on earth was I supposed to know that my knight in shining armour, the platinum winged angel was going to betray me in such a way? I guess any sain adult could have looked at us for a few mere seconds and known, but there were no adults that cared enough to protect me. Our friendship wasn’t normal and I know that now, but back then, well, he was my first friend, I had nothing to compare to. So I passed no judgment.

And Lionel was good to me for the majority of the time; he met me at the school gates and bought me ice cream on our way to the park where we played soccer and threw rocks at the ducks. Some days he brought his guitar and played the songs he had written for me, those were the best days I was always amazed by the way his fingers moved, the sounds they made. He tried teaching me a bit and I had wanted to learn more but he became interested in different things.

He started taking me shopping buying me all sorts of clothes; snug fit jeans and tight t-shirts I remember thinking I was so cool because none of the other kids dressed like I did.

The first time he kissed me was a week before the alley, we were sitting cross-legged on my bunk bed working our way through a packet of harribos and playing word disassociation when I asked him. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” he had laughed and shook his golden hair from his face so that he could look fondly at me.

“Sure I have Frankie, what makes you ask?”

“There’s this um girl” I told him a blush threatened to sweep over my pale skin “And I like her a lot, but well she’s already kissed people and I uh…” I trailed off as Lionel cupped my face delicately forcing my north set eyes to look up at his bright shining ones.

“You want me to teach you?” I nodded.

The first kiss didn’t come with any fireworks or other bright summersaulting explosives but it did come as a shock. It was only a peck a brief moment of his lips not being there, then being there, then going away again.

“See wasn’t that easy?” he laughed tucking a piece of stray hair behind my ear; it was far too long but Lionel said he liked it like that, made me look cute, like a girl.

I nodded “Yeah.”

Lionel had kissed me more and more over the next week, he started holding my hand and taking me to places past dark so that I could meet his friends; said he wanted to show me off. I didn’t know what that had meant but I was happy to go with him anywhere he wanted me to.

We had been out late on the night of the ally he told me it was a shortcut, it was a dead-end.

Like I said, I don’t remember much apart from it really fucking hurting and it didn’t seem to stop for hours, then when it finally did he left me alone bleeding on the floor. I never saw Lionel again.

On that night I had every lilac curtain of innocence and confusion ripped from me so that the real crimson light of the world could flood into my sore eyes. I adjusted to be the person I needed to be for me to survive.

Well, that makes it sound all a little sudden and unforgiving but I did try and have girlfriends, boyfriends it just never worked out. It was so much easier to be attached to no one but be loved by everyone.

And that’s what I was; loved by everyone, loved being in it’s most physical form but that’s what I wanted and so did everyone else. I was a hot piece of ass and at the top of everyone’s lists. Everyone’s but Gerard’s.

I met Gerard a few weeks ago he was sitting alone at the bar looking like a beautifully tragic, failing artist. His mop like hair hung limp over his ivory skin, his eyes were hidden and his long slender fingers were wrapped round a beer as he drummed them against the glass.

The bar was full and sensual music flooded out the speaker systems so that the teens could rock passionately against one another, for the time being I was not one of those teens but the night was young.

We made eyes for a little while and he threw me few lopsided grins, he was chewing gum. After a while I decided to go over to him, whispering in his ear I ran my left hand down his spine. “Hi, ‘m Frank” I grinned my voice low and husky from smoke.

He had cocked an eyebrow at me and chewed slightly on his lip. “Hello. Gerard.”

“Wanna dance?”

“No, I have to go”

And with that he had gotten up and left the bar, though that was not the last time I saw him. Every Wednesday he was there, propped up on the wooden stool, a drink always in his hand, though he never drank it.

I waited a while before I tried again so as not to look to eager but the truth was there was something fascinating about him, I was hooked to his sent and he had said less than ten words to me. I started to think maybe it was because he had dismissed me so, it made him a challenge, a prize. But the more I watched him the more deeply I fell into this pit of emotions.

He was beautiful, I knew that in all honesty it was the soul reason I had pulled him out of the crowd. He wasn’t too skinny, baby fat still sat on his high cheeks and love handles spilled out of his too small t-shirt but he was toned with strong thighs and lean arms strikingly pale against the black clad of his t-shirt.

After a hour I had started to work up a pattern, I would take a sip of my drink, glance over to the grinding teens then whilst turning my head back to the bar I would catch I glimpse of the solemn artist, his drink though firm in his grip; untouched, his callous hair midnight in the dark room. I must have repeated this sequence at least ten times before I noticed.

From under his hair, hazel eyes glimmered, sparkling against the black and fixed directly onto me. At first I panicked unsure of what to do, it was an unusual feeling for me; Frank Iero, lady killer and professional flirt but for whatever reason his hazel grasp had me sweating. After a few swallows I regained composure and managed to give a coy wink earning a crooked smile to form on his thin lips.

This was when I decided to make a second attempt at a move, sauntering across the smoky bar I started to focus in on his features; upturned nose, and pink slippery lips, icy skin framed and cut by thick black hair.

“Hello again” I greeted him, taking the stool beside his own.

“Hi” He nodded lazily barely brushing away the spider-locks from his eyes before his hand is wrapped back around the full glass of gin and tonic.

I let out a frustrated sigh and then tried out a more forward approach. “Want to get out of here?”

“I’m waiting for someone” He sighed a sigh similar to my own and made a point of looking away.

“Liar, you’re in here all the time you’re not meeting anyone,” I snapped, even though it’s useless, he wasn’t interested meeting someone or not.

To my surprise he laughed, a little hiccup of a giggle and a light touch on my hand. “Maybe not, but I still can’t leave with you.” He told me shaking his head a little as he did.

“Why not?” I pouted, not understanding why I was being rejected for the first time in my teenaged life.

“You’re too young.” He told me simply, for the first time taking a sip of the glassy drink in his hand.

“How do you know?” I asked, he didn't look much older than me, I’d say twenty at the most and that would be pushing it.

“How old are you?”

“18.”

He laughed again and tucked a piece of pitch hair behind his ear, clucking his tongue as he did. “Good bye Frank” he said before leaving the bar once again.

-

Two weeks more of watching, waiting and planning and I had found out just how I was going to get Gerard. I hadn’t told anyone, not that I really had anyone to tell other than Ray who has always refused to talk about my love life.

It was a simple plan, really, though not entirely legal, but the law didn't seem to matter anymore, nothing but getting Gerard mattered then.

I wait outside the bar wondering if Gerard has noticed my absents tonight, I never tried talking to him again, though I knew he’d seen me watching every Wednesday. I'd soon given up on trying to hide my peering eyes. I found a part of myself hoping that he’d noticed, that maybe he even missed my prying brown abases.

Half an hour passed and I’m about to call it a night before I loose all my fingers to the bitter cold when the door flings open.

He sauntered out, wrapped tightly in a leather jacket and a purple scarf. His dishevelled hair was quickly whipped up in a whirlwind of cold air and I saw him grit his nicotine teeth as he braced the December night.

I moved stealthily my heart finding it hard to keep pace with my feet, leaping and bounding over the cracks of the grey slab pavement. I counted down in my head as I neared Gerard, the numbers elongating and stuttering as they got closer to the solitary digit.

Three two one.

And with that I lifted up the blunt block of stone in my hand and smashed it down over the black crows feet hair, knocking him out and into my arms.

-

By the time Gerard woke up it was near dawn and light trickled through the office block style blinds attempting to shield my room from the burning sun. Gerard is tied to the bed, his hands strapped above him and his mouth gagged. I still can’t bring myself to believe I’ve done it even though I’d planned it, even though I wanted him more than I wanted to breath, I never thought I’d take myself this far.

Not that I regretted it, or at least not whilst he was unconscious; hair spread angelically, a halo of black against my crisp white pillow. He looked peaceful; lips relaxed and parted slightly allowing shallow breaths to escape his lungs, any creases or wrinkles previously possessing his chalky skin have been smoothed out by sleeps caring fingers. I could have sat and watch him sleep all day, never regretting any of the lost time.

He stirred.

I climbed onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jolt it too much and wake him prematurely. Gerard’s eyes fluttered a little and I could see them move around under his lids. A couple of minutes later and the hazelnut orbs were on full show.

He blinked twice, frowning. Obviously confused of his whereabouts, he searched around the near empty room until his eyes rested upon me.

“Morning sunshine” I greeted him with a small smile.

“Frank?” he blinked again, as if the quick snap would jolt him back into a reality that actually made sense. “Where am I?” He asked once he’d realised that his method was having no effect.

“My place.” I told him moving more onto the plush bed so that I could look into his eyes and run a hand up his naked side.

“Why?” His voice was calm. I puzzled for a moment, perplexed by choice of question.

I climb atop of him as I answer, straddling his waist. “So that you can keep me company, of course.” I smiled tucking a piece of midnight hair behind his ear.

“You’re mad.” He stated, though no malice hit his vocal chords as the words slipped from his lips.

“As a hatter.” I grinned before leaning down to kiss his lips.


Another first person story that I started and quickly decided I hated. Actually, I have another version of this written that's a lot better and you will hopefully be seeing on New years but it has an entirely different storyline. Also Dale is an actual place in Wales, not just in LOTR. Basically, Frank is a drug addict that destroyed his own life.

It’s not the bitter kind of cold that normally shrouds the gum littered streets but, a new kind of damp cold, the kind of cold that makes your bones ache and your hair feel wet even though there’s no rain in the air. The days seemed to drag on with this kind of grey seamless weather all the time now and though there must have been a point in which birds meant more than a pretty young girl to the people of Dale the only wildlife left in the dull aching cold is the vermin drunks that litter the pub’s curbs.

The small town had been in a drought lately but the soft padding of long awaited rain finally begins to fall waking up the dreary citizens and reminding them that life can always get worse. The town isn’t really a town- it’s not big enough to be and there is half the number of people living here than there are in some of the other smaller villages along to coast. Everyone is old and aged by the sea air most of the houses belong to old fishermen and their wives though the port was lost just over two years ago now in a storm (the few small projects to re-build it were abandoned a few months back and now only a few orange cones and left over dried cement mark the construction site).

There are a few bigger houses up on the hill by the lighthouse but they’re mainly holiday homes owned by people in the city. There’s two pubs, a fish ‘n’ chip shop owned by a man with no thumbs, a surf shop and a convenience store on the high street, along with a few desperate charity shops mainly selling picture books and old smelly clothing. Just outside the town is the local high school and primary compact together, the nearest collage is ten fields and two towns over.

There aren’t many children, at the school in each year there are only fifty-three students content on isolating themselves further by joining cliques and sticking with one or two friends.

I’m a little old for school though, anyway. To them I’m nothing but an old man in an old cottage rotting and wearing away like the few remaining bricks of the old port. I’m so weak now, even more so than before and even then I was a state. All skin and bones, shaking fingers and twitchy eyes.

I can see why they sent me here, now; the town and me are one and the same. Empty, cold and craving something more. We’re weak.

That was the first thing they taught us, at the clinic. At the start of the very first meeting; we are all weak. None of us are stronger than our addictions; we are all tiny in comparison to our drugs. I can remember Gerard saying similar things back when he was battling his vices after Japan. I’ll tell you something though, that kind of information does little for troupe moral.

Still, I listened and I nodded and I repeated back, “I am weak, I am not stronger than my drug.” and I believed it.

My drug, in case you were wondering, was a big boy, lethal right down to the tip of the needle. Junk. And lots of it. Yeah, I can see that now, there was no way I could have beat heroin, it was too strong, me too weak. And when I look at it that way, from this angle, it’s easier for me to forgive myself for letting it win.

What did the Eagles say? They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast. And what a beast it was compared to what some of the others were in there for.

Fucking pussies. Hooked to their pain pills and whiskey bottles. One woman was even addicted to that shit they put in Chinese food. It was stupid to think a support group like that could help me. I was a big fish in a fucking puddle.

And look! There’s another advantage for our boy. I never stood a chance, when you look at it like that. Nah, I was doomed from the start.

Course, I had the infamous G Way on my team for a little while but the trouble was, he was weak too, as a former addict. And well the trouble with former addicts is that no one’s really a former addict, are they? The craving stays with you till the day you die. I know that much, I’m forty-three and what I wouldn’t give for a hit, trouble is there isn’t so much as a round of pot out here. Just school children and holiday homes, all empty and growing damp.

I’m digressing terribly, I know, it’s a habit of mine. Where was I? The war, the early days.

You see, it’s not like we didn’t try, but fight as we might (that rhymed!) it was like two ants Vs an Elephant. Gerard might have gotten away but I was doomed from the start.

Three days into this crazy war, a blood bath really, and I was already a prisoner of it. That’s the thing with junk; it’s fast, a speedy little bastard and a creeper too. You don’t realize you’re addicted till you try and get away.

See, what it is, it’s easy to forget about heroin for a few days, as long as you know it will be there when you need it. That’s why it’s so easy to fake giving up, you really think you’ve done it yourself but then, well then one more hit wont hurt will it? And there you are; jacking up your arm ready for another go.

It was easier just to give into it, into my temptations, in the long run. And that’s the truth of it. I know that and it’s fine, you can’t blame me, really.

My beast and me are friends now, anyway. He’s strong for me.

Trouble is, he aint so sweet to me when I send him far away. He’s away nearly all the time round here, too. I can’t drive nor can I afford him much anymore. England’s one of his last stops, so half of what you can get here is watered down to hell. Though, I suppose it’s not really water. Whatever it is, it sucks.

And I don’t even live in England, they didn’t even trust me enough to hack it there, no I live in Wales now. And I will tell you, that was a long way to fall.

This one was going to be like a- Five Times Gerard Refused to Sleep With One Of His Students... And the one time eh didn't, kind of deals. But laziness prevented me from writing shameless porn so you just get this bit.

Gerard is late. Gerard is late and it’s his second day and he’s going to die. Or at the very least a waggy finger from the new head. Either way, Gerard would really, really like the traffic lights to change yesterday. He so, so, so, so does not need to loose this job, yet here he is sitting in traffic still twenty minutes away from the school.

Everything outside the car is grey, from the cloudy winter sky right down to the worn pavement, sitting way to stationary underneath Gerard’s car wheels. It would be quicker to walk at this rate. Eventually and inevitably though, he pulls into his new space- at least a mile away from the school, thanks for that Croquet Team- and slides out of the car.

First period with his juniors. They’re not the worst, a second set, at least, and they’re far less obnoxious than the Jocks in his freshman class but they’re also not his favourite. Gerard doesn’t actually have a favourite, every group has some kind of fatal floor.

He bursts in the door two minutes after the bell rings and tries not to look as though he just ran through the rain to be here on time. He’s not sure how much of a good job he does.

He teaches History. Mostly foreign when he gets his own way but, of course, he has to throw in a whole load of American too even though there aren’t any castles or dungeons or anything even a little bit romantic. Gerard doesn’t hate teaching, he just hates the curriculum.

He plonks his books down on his desk, now sopping from the rain, brilliant, and pulls out a couple of worksheets from the second draw down in his desk. They should at least keep the kids occupied for a half hour, that will be long enough for him to plan his next lesson.

Everything is fine until he sees him. Sitting front and centre in a tight t-shirt and even tighter jeans. Gerard doesn’t remember seeing him in yesterdays lesson. He’s sure he would have remembered seeing a face like that. The kid catches his eye and quirks an eyebrow, hair tumbling over his cheeks. Gerard swallows and carries on handing out the papers.

A zombie apocalypse story that I started then instantly deleted.It was kind of GxZ but not at the same time. Mostly Gen.


Ring a ring a roses
A pocket full of posies
A tissue and tissue
We all fall down

The mother sings to her child in a voice that is no longer hers, it cackles and breaks causing the infant in her bruised arms to wail more, tiny face crumpled and red.

Baby is scared thinks the mother cradling her child closely to her chest “Don’t be scared now no one’s gonna get you.” She mumbles, her mouth no longer able to create the sounds, syllables, words she needs; everything is a screech or a grunt now.

Instead, she holds her baby closer to her battered, bleeding body till it stops crying. That’s right no one’s gonna touch her baby, people is always asking they all wanna see her, they all wanna hurt her but not anymore no one’s gonna touch her baby. My baby, my baby, my baby. She thinks, rocking back and forth, the infant still tucked up tightly within her purple arms.

A tissue, a tissue, we all fall down.

She starts her song again though her focus is no longer on the limp child pressed against her chest, instead her eyes follow a fly darting around the small room, it buzzes and flaps creating noise everywhere, the noise hurts the mother’s brain.

“Shut up fly!” Her words don’t form properly and some get stuck in her tight throat but the fly must understand because it comes to a stop on her arm.

The mother tilts her head slightly watching the little black thing tread along her deteriorating skin fly want to hurt my baby she thinks and whacks it, breaking it’s little fly bones.

Everything breaks now days.

It hadn’t always been that way though, no before it was different, everything was clear and strong. The mother was strong she could do lots of things like running and playing, lots of playing but not games, no, something else.

The word has slipped her mind for now but maybe it will come back later. She picks up the fly and eats it quickly before anyone can steel it from her, there’s no one here now but she doesn’t know when they will come back.

Come back to steel from her, to try and take her baby. They used to pretend like they liked her, used to all be friends but now they never let her join in, she never plays anymore just sits with her baby.

Now they want to steal that from her too. But they wont want my baby if baby is broken whispers a thought in her swollen skull, If baby is broken then no one is gonna want to steel it from you. the mother doesn’t know why she didn’t think of this before.

Baby isn’t nearly as much fun if it’s broken. She agrees with the good idea.

She squeezes her baby until she feels a crack. She can’t tell if it’s her or the baby that’s broken. She squeezes again, this time until she is sure the baby has broken.

That’s better, she thinks, No one is gonna wanna steel my baby now.

-

The following events take place in the not too distant future after a freak virus hit the United states following the ‘infinity jab’: a new trial drug designed to keep the human body alive forever. The story follows the lives of the 0.6 % the few that decided against receiving the drug for various reasons, please bare in mind that the actions of this small percentage in now way reflect the United States as a whole each acted against the law on their own accord.

So that's it! Hope you enjoyed Updates on both GBA and Bodysnatcher will be up over the holdays. OH and possibly something for Venus this weekend. Whattttt???