Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Guilty.
Saying my goodbyes to my family was by far harder than I could have imagined. My mother’s condition is worsening by the hour. She could barely speak other than to whimper, “My boy, my son…” every few seconds before disappearing into another lapse of wailing cries.
Mikey couldn’t even find it in him to look me in the eye, and I don’t blame him. On top of being a coward, I’m a disgrace and my family deserve so much better.
Attempting to swallow the lump in my throat, I wrapped my arms around Mikey and croaked, “You’re a good kid Mikey. I’m so proud of you.” In my arms I could feel his tiny frame shake as he pulled away and joined my mother.
My father slapped me on the back, and looked down at me through teary eyes, though he tried his best to stay strong. His voice was emotionless when he spoke to me.
“You’ve really messed up kid. We’re going to miss you.”
After the huge emotional ordeal of getting into it, I find that the inside of the police car that is to transport me to the place I am about to die is surprisingly plush and comfortable. It smells of cheap leather and pine scented air-freshener, and is somehow strangely relaxing. We haven’t been driving for long before my eyelids begin to droop.
I open my eyes. I am in a car, but it’s definitely not the police car. The artificial pine scent is gone. Here the only scent is blood. As I look to my left to find the source and all the air is sucked out of my lungs. Blue eyes stare unseeing, back at me. A scream builds in my lungs. I reach for the car door but it's locked, and the lock is jammed - has always been jammed, since Rachel and I bought this car for a bargain off an old man her grampa had known in the war. Becoming aware of a strange coldness in my left hand, I see that my fingers are clasped tightly around Rachel's. Her other hand lies sprawled across her lap, inches from the bloodstained shot gun that has just fallen out of their grasp. Shaking from head to toe I reach for the gun and raise it to my ear. Car headlights flash in the rear view mirror.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" yells the policeman from his car.
I wake up to find the police car sweeping up a driveway, through pristinely landscaped gardens towards a grey concrete wall, topped by a foreboding fringe of angels hair.
This building could only be one thing. Death row.
Mikey couldn’t even find it in him to look me in the eye, and I don’t blame him. On top of being a coward, I’m a disgrace and my family deserve so much better.
Attempting to swallow the lump in my throat, I wrapped my arms around Mikey and croaked, “You’re a good kid Mikey. I’m so proud of you.” In my arms I could feel his tiny frame shake as he pulled away and joined my mother.
My father slapped me on the back, and looked down at me through teary eyes, though he tried his best to stay strong. His voice was emotionless when he spoke to me.
“You’ve really messed up kid. We’re going to miss you.”
After the huge emotional ordeal of getting into it, I find that the inside of the police car that is to transport me to the place I am about to die is surprisingly plush and comfortable. It smells of cheap leather and pine scented air-freshener, and is somehow strangely relaxing. We haven’t been driving for long before my eyelids begin to droop.
I open my eyes. I am in a car, but it’s definitely not the police car. The artificial pine scent is gone. Here the only scent is blood. As I look to my left to find the source and all the air is sucked out of my lungs. Blue eyes stare unseeing, back at me. A scream builds in my lungs. I reach for the car door but it's locked, and the lock is jammed - has always been jammed, since Rachel and I bought this car for a bargain off an old man her grampa had known in the war. Becoming aware of a strange coldness in my left hand, I see that my fingers are clasped tightly around Rachel's. Her other hand lies sprawled across her lap, inches from the bloodstained shot gun that has just fallen out of their grasp. Shaking from head to toe I reach for the gun and raise it to my ear. Car headlights flash in the rear view mirror.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" yells the policeman from his car.
I wake up to find the police car sweeping up a driveway, through pristinely landscaped gardens towards a grey concrete wall, topped by a foreboding fringe of angels hair.
This building could only be one thing. Death row.
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