Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > A Living Dance Upon Dead Minds
[A/N]: Okayz well I fixed the chapter, so I hope you all will read it again, to get a taste of the new one, the old one just moved like WILDFIRE. Review, thanks. Oh and to EVERYONE who reviewed before, you made my day. XP
He tucked his legs underneath the blanket that slowly entwined its way around himself. Rough patches brushed his skin as he buried himself farther into the blanket. This was his sanctuary, his place to sit and think.
Flurries fell down from the heavens just outside the window, and he watched them apprehensively knowing that tomorrow they would be turned into slush. /Tomorrow always brought the worst there was to offer today/, he thought to himself bitterly. Moist fog began to grow as he muttered to himself, fuck.
"No, you open it."
"Why would I open it?"
Commotion from outside began to distract him as he desperately tried to sketch the scene below his window. Rubbing his thumb across the drawing to fix the hard outline, he decided to give up and open the door. The clear pathway from his bedroom window to the door eerily went straight through giving anyone access to kill him viciously at night, and that's how he liked to sleep, knowing that any second an insane patient could come barreling through ready to stab him.
Thick, heavy boots pushed against the wooden panels as Gerard made his way to the door. Scuffing the boards as he didn't bother to lift up his feet to walk.
His only best friends stood out there waiting patiently, as if they knew he'd come to the door sooner or later. "Gerard, finally. Usually you only take a few seconds," his brother Mikey said while ushering himself in. Stepping on Gerard's feet as he walked in, leaving a very wet imprint on Gerard's shoe.
Sighing, Gerard shook his head, and opened the door wider. Like a sidekick Mikey's boyfriend, Bob, followed suit. Shaking their jackets out, they made their way over to the worn couch. Their presence was like one of a gnat. There, but not wanted.
**
Isabelle stood up, reached over the small bedside table and grabbed her camera. Children playing in the snow was the perfect shot for the new SPIN spread, all they needed to do was use photoshop and it could instantly become children playing in blood. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched the kids throw snow, and God-knows-what at each other, reminiscing of the days when she herself was down there throwing snow at the boy-next-door.
The window in her room lied in a dead pathway to the door, as if beckoning to her when she had a bad day to just run right through and fall to her death on the streets on New York. Worn wood panels were beginning to peel, and she frowned. Three people lived in this house, and only she walked this way-there was no way that the panels became that worn after a few years. Scuff marks were deeply embedded into the panels, only making her frown worse as she stared at them, she had never worn boots, only tennis shoes and the occasional pair of heels.
"I need to get out of this apartment, damn snow." she muttered, gathering up her camera and shoving it into a desk drawer.
Dark, hazy skies lay around Manhattan trying to kill the spirits of most. Surprisingly that just heightened the sense that Frank, Isabelle's roommate, was destined to do something productive. It wasn't a surprise that something productive was playing detective and bombarding Ray, their other roommate, with questions on his last night whereabouts.
"So? Who were you with last night? That brunette slut?"
"Frank if I wanted a brunette slut, I would have called your mom a long time ago,"
"Who were you with then?"
"Your dad.' Ray replied cooly, avoiding all eye contact with Frank.
"You had sex with my dad?"
"No."
Ray stood up and poured more coffee until his mug, then deciding to leave the room and go read. Eagerly, Frank followed hoping to get more from him.
**
He tucked his legs underneath the blanket that slowly entwined its way around himself. Rough patches brushed his skin as he buried himself farther into the blanket. This was his sanctuary, his place to sit and think.
Flurries fell down from the heavens just outside the window, and he watched them apprehensively knowing that tomorrow they would be turned into slush. /Tomorrow always brought the worst there was to offer today/, he thought to himself bitterly. Moist fog began to grow as he muttered to himself, fuck.
"No, you open it."
"Why would I open it?"
Commotion from outside began to distract him as he desperately tried to sketch the scene below his window. Rubbing his thumb across the drawing to fix the hard outline, he decided to give up and open the door. The clear pathway from his bedroom window to the door eerily went straight through giving anyone access to kill him viciously at night, and that's how he liked to sleep, knowing that any second an insane patient could come barreling through ready to stab him.
Thick, heavy boots pushed against the wooden panels as Gerard made his way to the door. Scuffing the boards as he didn't bother to lift up his feet to walk.
His only best friends stood out there waiting patiently, as if they knew he'd come to the door sooner or later. "Gerard, finally. Usually you only take a few seconds," his brother Mikey said while ushering himself in. Stepping on Gerard's feet as he walked in, leaving a very wet imprint on Gerard's shoe.
Sighing, Gerard shook his head, and opened the door wider. Like a sidekick Mikey's boyfriend, Bob, followed suit. Shaking their jackets out, they made their way over to the worn couch. Their presence was like one of a gnat. There, but not wanted.
**
Isabelle stood up, reached over the small bedside table and grabbed her camera. Children playing in the snow was the perfect shot for the new SPIN spread, all they needed to do was use photoshop and it could instantly become children playing in blood. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched the kids throw snow, and God-knows-what at each other, reminiscing of the days when she herself was down there throwing snow at the boy-next-door.
The window in her room lied in a dead pathway to the door, as if beckoning to her when she had a bad day to just run right through and fall to her death on the streets on New York. Worn wood panels were beginning to peel, and she frowned. Three people lived in this house, and only she walked this way-there was no way that the panels became that worn after a few years. Scuff marks were deeply embedded into the panels, only making her frown worse as she stared at them, she had never worn boots, only tennis shoes and the occasional pair of heels.
"I need to get out of this apartment, damn snow." she muttered, gathering up her camera and shoving it into a desk drawer.
Dark, hazy skies lay around Manhattan trying to kill the spirits of most. Surprisingly that just heightened the sense that Frank, Isabelle's roommate, was destined to do something productive. It wasn't a surprise that something productive was playing detective and bombarding Ray, their other roommate, with questions on his last night whereabouts.
"So? Who were you with last night? That brunette slut?"
"Frank if I wanted a brunette slut, I would have called your mom a long time ago,"
"Who were you with then?"
"Your dad.' Ray replied cooly, avoiding all eye contact with Frank.
"You had sex with my dad?"
"No."
Ray stood up and poured more coffee until his mug, then deciding to leave the room and go read. Eagerly, Frank followed hoping to get more from him.
**
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