Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Patrick's story
Chapter one.
2 reviewsRated R for swearing. Dramatic, I suppose. First person POV. Why does Patrick want his life to end? And does it really end, or does something keep him living? Read to find out.
0Unrated
A/N: Hey guys! I'm baaaaack! For a bit, anyway. Haha. Well, here's a story from Patrick's POV. I don't own anything, anyone or any place in this story. If I happen to, then I will tell you, but so far, I don't. This chapter is kind of a filler/intro/to hook you in type chapter. Tell me how you like it pleeeaase. ^^
Okay, so I just reposted this because it kept messing up and apparently updating it from your phone is a stupid idea 'cause it messes it up royally.
The night winds swirled around my body. It sent a chill down my spine as I looked down from where I was standing. That was a long way down… but this is definitely what I wanted. My life sucked. My life has always sucked. Everyone thinks I’m so confident and I’m always smiling and happy. Fuck that. No. I’m not. Nobody can see. Nobody can understand. If you don’t want to read, then go ahead and stop. See if I care. I won’t fucking care, now will I? I’m not here to please anyone. These are just my final thoughts. So screw you if you don’t like them.
Oh, we haven’t been introduced. Well hello, my name is Patrick. I bet you know my band. Everyone does. That’s an exaggeration, I’m sure not everyone does. But we’re popular. So fucking popular. I don’t want it. I never wanted it. Sure, the money’s great. It’s freakin’ awesome to see the crowd singing along with a song you made. Or helped make, anyway. But I don’t want to be known. I don’t want all that. Whatever, this is besides the point. You wanted a story, so I’ll give you one.
I’m Patrick Stump, and this is my fucking bland as hell, annoying sob story. If you don’t want to read it, then stop right now. Don’t you dare read another fucking word. I don’t want anyone to know. But I can’t stop. I’ll be dead in a minute, so what’s the point in keeping this all to myself? At least the world will know that I meant it when I wanted to be dead.
By the way, this isn’t one of those stories that’s going to take you through each stage of my life. Keep that in mind. Hell no. I don’t want to relive every minute of my life again. Screw that. High school ended, my career took off, life started. Whoop-de-fucking-do. And this isn’t a love story. I’m not killing myself because Pete fucking Wentz doesn’t love me, boo-hoo, I’ll go cry in a corner. No. We’re friends. Nothing more, nothing less, you sick minded freaks.
Alright, well, let’s get this stupid story on the road so I can jump…
My life has always been shitty from the start. It’s like god, or whatever being out there reins over this stupid world, damned me from the start. But whatever.
So, I survive through school, I get into a band and we take off. We get huge, everything is going great. Seemingly, anyway. Years pass, we get tired. It’s the same fucking thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. It’s like reading the same line over and over and over. Or doing the same thing over and over and over. It’s so fucking BLAND.
Okay, so we go on hiatus. Sounds like a good idea, right? Hahahahahaha, WRONG. Way fucking wrong. It was supposed to last for, like, maybe a year or two. Well, get this, it didn’t. It lasted for SIX. Holy shit. Six years. Six fucking years of me sitting on my ass trying to piece together my life and what to do with myself. Six boring years of waking up and going to bed. Six years of trying to get a girlfriend who likes me for me and not because I’m the fucking singer in Fall Out Boy. Six years… six fucking years…
Oh, and get this, no contact from any of my friends. Apparently they’re all too busy. Most of them are still on tour by this point, or they forgot about poor little Patrick. Everybody forgets about poor little Patrick. Stupid little Patrick is more like it. Andy and Joe are busy. They’re just gone. Disappeared from the face of the earth, or so it seems. We all cheated the dumbass paparazzi. And Pete? Some best friend he is. I don’t hear from him for six years.
So I get a call after six LOOONNNGGG ass years. And guess whose voice I hear on the other end? That’s right. Pete motherfuckin’ Wentz. That call didn’t end well.
Hey, so how'd you like it? I'm adamant that I shall finish this story. I promise. ^^ Hey, I got an idea. How about you review mah story, and I'll not only put up the next chapter, but I'll also give you a treat. -holds out treat basket- ^^
Okay, so I just reposted this because it kept messing up and apparently updating it from your phone is a stupid idea 'cause it messes it up royally.
The night winds swirled around my body. It sent a chill down my spine as I looked down from where I was standing. That was a long way down… but this is definitely what I wanted. My life sucked. My life has always sucked. Everyone thinks I’m so confident and I’m always smiling and happy. Fuck that. No. I’m not. Nobody can see. Nobody can understand. If you don’t want to read, then go ahead and stop. See if I care. I won’t fucking care, now will I? I’m not here to please anyone. These are just my final thoughts. So screw you if you don’t like them.
Oh, we haven’t been introduced. Well hello, my name is Patrick. I bet you know my band. Everyone does. That’s an exaggeration, I’m sure not everyone does. But we’re popular. So fucking popular. I don’t want it. I never wanted it. Sure, the money’s great. It’s freakin’ awesome to see the crowd singing along with a song you made. Or helped make, anyway. But I don’t want to be known. I don’t want all that. Whatever, this is besides the point. You wanted a story, so I’ll give you one.
I’m Patrick Stump, and this is my fucking bland as hell, annoying sob story. If you don’t want to read it, then stop right now. Don’t you dare read another fucking word. I don’t want anyone to know. But I can’t stop. I’ll be dead in a minute, so what’s the point in keeping this all to myself? At least the world will know that I meant it when I wanted to be dead.
By the way, this isn’t one of those stories that’s going to take you through each stage of my life. Keep that in mind. Hell no. I don’t want to relive every minute of my life again. Screw that. High school ended, my career took off, life started. Whoop-de-fucking-do. And this isn’t a love story. I’m not killing myself because Pete fucking Wentz doesn’t love me, boo-hoo, I’ll go cry in a corner. No. We’re friends. Nothing more, nothing less, you sick minded freaks.
Alright, well, let’s get this stupid story on the road so I can jump…
My life has always been shitty from the start. It’s like god, or whatever being out there reins over this stupid world, damned me from the start. But whatever.
So, I survive through school, I get into a band and we take off. We get huge, everything is going great. Seemingly, anyway. Years pass, we get tired. It’s the same fucking thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. It’s like reading the same line over and over and over. Or doing the same thing over and over and over. It’s so fucking BLAND.
Okay, so we go on hiatus. Sounds like a good idea, right? Hahahahahaha, WRONG. Way fucking wrong. It was supposed to last for, like, maybe a year or two. Well, get this, it didn’t. It lasted for SIX. Holy shit. Six years. Six fucking years of me sitting on my ass trying to piece together my life and what to do with myself. Six boring years of waking up and going to bed. Six years of trying to get a girlfriend who likes me for me and not because I’m the fucking singer in Fall Out Boy. Six years… six fucking years…
Oh, and get this, no contact from any of my friends. Apparently they’re all too busy. Most of them are still on tour by this point, or they forgot about poor little Patrick. Everybody forgets about poor little Patrick. Stupid little Patrick is more like it. Andy and Joe are busy. They’re just gone. Disappeared from the face of the earth, or so it seems. We all cheated the dumbass paparazzi. And Pete? Some best friend he is. I don’t hear from him for six years.
So I get a call after six LOOONNNGGG ass years. And guess whose voice I hear on the other end? That’s right. Pete motherfuckin’ Wentz. That call didn’t end well.
Hey, so how'd you like it? I'm adamant that I shall finish this story. I promise. ^^ Hey, I got an idea. How about you review mah story, and I'll not only put up the next chapter, but I'll also give you a treat. -holds out treat basket- ^^
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