Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Black Parade
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Wait. This couldn't be. This place didn't exist--at least, not in real life. I mean, this hadda be all in my head.
I kept pinching myself, although I'm sure I looked like a complete jackass.
Perhaps I wasn't dead, but in a coma in a hospital somewhere living in my imagination. Yeah! Much more plausible than...actually standing in a world I created.
"Pathetic."
I jumped about four feet in the air, whirling about.
Gas mask firmly in place, frizzier hair than Ray Toro's in a rainforest on a wet day, was Mother War.
"Excuse me?" I asked, voice a bit faint.
"I said 'pathetic'. You're pathetic. You can't accept death."
Holy shit. A figment of my imagination was insulting me. "But...but I can't be..."
My arms were suddenly seized by a another pair of my creations, Fear and Revenge.
Surreal.
"Take him to the others." Mother War dipped her head in acknowledgement and turned her back on me.
"Who are the others?" I inquired of Fear.
She pursed her lips and didn't reply. Revenge did the same. Inside, my brain was tearing itself in half out of despair and confusion.
They half-dragged me through the ruined streets. The Parade wasn't running today, but it looked as though it had been mere hours ago. Streamers and footprints and the like littered the ground.
People scampered away at the sight of me. Was it because I was the one who made this place and they knew that somehow?
Jesus, I needed to stop with my delusions of grandeur.
Speaking of Jesus...
"If I'm dead, where's God?"
The two young women continued to walk, but finally, Revenge spoke.
"God is what you make of Him."
And then they shut down all speaking completely. I didn't even attempt to have a conversation. They were tight-lipped all the further while to our destination.
Huge mansion, Gothic style. I felt about two inches tall.
Straight inside. I felt even smaller with a single look at the decor. everything was such typical Gothic architecture; large and overbearing.
Into the sitting room. Some more familiar faces.
"Frankie?"
Only, it didn't quite look like the Frank Iero I knew and loved. He was...different.
No tattoos, first off. His skin was whiter than I remembered, and naked without his ink. He solemnly looked up at me. His eyes were so...so dead (I had a feeling that word would come up as a frequent in my vocabulary).
"Oh. You're not supposed to be here yet." Sorta-Frank looked at a pocket watch. "You're a couple decades early."
"Frankie, tell me I'm just crazy and that I'm just in a deep sleep or something."
Fear and Revenge departed, as if on cue.
Sorta-Frank shook his head. "I figured you'd be in denial. Though that is a good theory you have there. I'd have thought it if I were you."
A bit at a loss, I stammered for words, eventually coming out with, "This place--it can't be real. I made it up. It's just a fantasy I had."
He sighed, motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him.
"Gerard. You are dead. I'll admit, I'm surprised you're even here so soon. But the fact of the matter is that you're here."
"You're not Frank," I stated a bit stupidly.
"I am, I'm just not your Frank. And you're not my Gerard. He left when you arrived."
Dear fucking god, this was such a mind fuck. I hung my head between my knees and ground my teeth to keep from screaming.
"I know it's difficult to accept, but it's not the end of the fucking world, Gerard.
"I'm not dead!" I snapped, shot him a dirty look. Just because he resembled my Frank meant nothing--there was no mistaking mine for this guy.
*Real-World Frank*
"Gee..."
Jamia turned over to look at me. "What did you say?" she mumbled sleepily.
I blinked a bit, shaking off the sleep.
"Nothing," I told her. "Just a weird dream."
She nodded, went back to sleep.
I didn't understand. I was confused as all hell. Somehow, I felt Gerard in my dream. I swore that I heard him saying "I'm not dead" scores of times, felt his frustration and anguish. I had to be losing my mofucking mind.
Instead of fretting over it, I chalked it up to do with the shock that my best friend and favorite lover committed suicide and died in my arms.
*Gerard*
Not-Frank led me up through the mansion and to the room that would be mine.
The Not-Gerard was apparently similar to me. His drawings and notes were arranged in a very specific way on the desk. I flicked through the papers. A few sketches shocked me.
Me, curling up in Frank's arms, cuts on my arms, him crying.
"That must've been what he saw before you replaced him."
Not-Frank had his was tilted to the side a bit, was looking at the sketch from beside me.
"You have some very big shoes to fill," Not-Frank says.
"What, you expect me to be your lover?" I sneered.
"No one said that. I'm trying to tell you of the other Gerard's purpose here."
"I'm not interested."
"They expect you to play the role."
"What fucking role, Iero?" It felt wrong to call him "Frank" so he'd have to settle with a last-name basis.
He gave me a dark look. "If you would shut the hell up, I could tell you."
I sat in Not-Gerard's chair, putting my feet up on the desk. "Proceed."
Not-Frank held my gaze. "You are responsible for what happens to the people here. They are drab and dead inside. They have no souls. They are temporary stand-ins until the true dead arrive."
Intrigued, I picked up a pen and nibbled on the end. "So I do what, act as their clown? Doodle up some comics books to give their lives meaning?"
"Gerard's job was to make this place as easy to get through as possible."
"What do you mean, 'get through'?"
"This isn't the only realm of the afterlife. This is the purgatory of sorts. This is where the doubles of the living dwell until the living die. Once dead, they zombie around here for a while until they are Judged and can pass on to the next level."
"Which is...?"
He shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. I'm only a stand-in. Your Frank isn't due to arrive for a very long time."
Disappointment. My heart sunk. I tossed the pen back to the desk. "So...explain again?"
"You organize the Parade every two days, follow the instructions on who dies, and listen to what Mama says. She's better at guiding than me. That's her job--bringing the souls to the Parade." Not-Frank turned to leave.
I called after him, "So that's it?"
He looked over his shoulder. "It's also your night to cook. I did it yesterday."
alrighty, E's chapter. Probably crap compared to Chloe's but meh. I did what I could. We've got very different writing styles. Anyways, rate and review, por favour.
--E
I kept pinching myself, although I'm sure I looked like a complete jackass.
Perhaps I wasn't dead, but in a coma in a hospital somewhere living in my imagination. Yeah! Much more plausible than...actually standing in a world I created.
"Pathetic."
I jumped about four feet in the air, whirling about.
Gas mask firmly in place, frizzier hair than Ray Toro's in a rainforest on a wet day, was Mother War.
"Excuse me?" I asked, voice a bit faint.
"I said 'pathetic'. You're pathetic. You can't accept death."
Holy shit. A figment of my imagination was insulting me. "But...but I can't be..."
My arms were suddenly seized by a another pair of my creations, Fear and Revenge.
Surreal.
"Take him to the others." Mother War dipped her head in acknowledgement and turned her back on me.
"Who are the others?" I inquired of Fear.
She pursed her lips and didn't reply. Revenge did the same. Inside, my brain was tearing itself in half out of despair and confusion.
They half-dragged me through the ruined streets. The Parade wasn't running today, but it looked as though it had been mere hours ago. Streamers and footprints and the like littered the ground.
People scampered away at the sight of me. Was it because I was the one who made this place and they knew that somehow?
Jesus, I needed to stop with my delusions of grandeur.
Speaking of Jesus...
"If I'm dead, where's God?"
The two young women continued to walk, but finally, Revenge spoke.
"God is what you make of Him."
And then they shut down all speaking completely. I didn't even attempt to have a conversation. They were tight-lipped all the further while to our destination.
Huge mansion, Gothic style. I felt about two inches tall.
Straight inside. I felt even smaller with a single look at the decor. everything was such typical Gothic architecture; large and overbearing.
Into the sitting room. Some more familiar faces.
"Frankie?"
Only, it didn't quite look like the Frank Iero I knew and loved. He was...different.
No tattoos, first off. His skin was whiter than I remembered, and naked without his ink. He solemnly looked up at me. His eyes were so...so dead (I had a feeling that word would come up as a frequent in my vocabulary).
"Oh. You're not supposed to be here yet." Sorta-Frank looked at a pocket watch. "You're a couple decades early."
"Frankie, tell me I'm just crazy and that I'm just in a deep sleep or something."
Fear and Revenge departed, as if on cue.
Sorta-Frank shook his head. "I figured you'd be in denial. Though that is a good theory you have there. I'd have thought it if I were you."
A bit at a loss, I stammered for words, eventually coming out with, "This place--it can't be real. I made it up. It's just a fantasy I had."
He sighed, motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him.
"Gerard. You are dead. I'll admit, I'm surprised you're even here so soon. But the fact of the matter is that you're here."
"You're not Frank," I stated a bit stupidly.
"I am, I'm just not your Frank. And you're not my Gerard. He left when you arrived."
Dear fucking god, this was such a mind fuck. I hung my head between my knees and ground my teeth to keep from screaming.
"I know it's difficult to accept, but it's not the end of the fucking world, Gerard.
"I'm not dead!" I snapped, shot him a dirty look. Just because he resembled my Frank meant nothing--there was no mistaking mine for this guy.
*Real-World Frank*
"Gee..."
Jamia turned over to look at me. "What did you say?" she mumbled sleepily.
I blinked a bit, shaking off the sleep.
"Nothing," I told her. "Just a weird dream."
She nodded, went back to sleep.
I didn't understand. I was confused as all hell. Somehow, I felt Gerard in my dream. I swore that I heard him saying "I'm not dead" scores of times, felt his frustration and anguish. I had to be losing my mofucking mind.
Instead of fretting over it, I chalked it up to do with the shock that my best friend and favorite lover committed suicide and died in my arms.
*Gerard*
Not-Frank led me up through the mansion and to the room that would be mine.
The Not-Gerard was apparently similar to me. His drawings and notes were arranged in a very specific way on the desk. I flicked through the papers. A few sketches shocked me.
Me, curling up in Frank's arms, cuts on my arms, him crying.
"That must've been what he saw before you replaced him."
Not-Frank had his was tilted to the side a bit, was looking at the sketch from beside me.
"You have some very big shoes to fill," Not-Frank says.
"What, you expect me to be your lover?" I sneered.
"No one said that. I'm trying to tell you of the other Gerard's purpose here."
"I'm not interested."
"They expect you to play the role."
"What fucking role, Iero?" It felt wrong to call him "Frank" so he'd have to settle with a last-name basis.
He gave me a dark look. "If you would shut the hell up, I could tell you."
I sat in Not-Gerard's chair, putting my feet up on the desk. "Proceed."
Not-Frank held my gaze. "You are responsible for what happens to the people here. They are drab and dead inside. They have no souls. They are temporary stand-ins until the true dead arrive."
Intrigued, I picked up a pen and nibbled on the end. "So I do what, act as their clown? Doodle up some comics books to give their lives meaning?"
"Gerard's job was to make this place as easy to get through as possible."
"What do you mean, 'get through'?"
"This isn't the only realm of the afterlife. This is the purgatory of sorts. This is where the doubles of the living dwell until the living die. Once dead, they zombie around here for a while until they are Judged and can pass on to the next level."
"Which is...?"
He shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. I'm only a stand-in. Your Frank isn't due to arrive for a very long time."
Disappointment. My heart sunk. I tossed the pen back to the desk. "So...explain again?"
"You organize the Parade every two days, follow the instructions on who dies, and listen to what Mama says. She's better at guiding than me. That's her job--bringing the souls to the Parade." Not-Frank turned to leave.
I called after him, "So that's it?"
He looked over his shoulder. "It's also your night to cook. I did it yesterday."
alrighty, E's chapter. Probably crap compared to Chloe's but meh. I did what I could. We've got very different writing styles. Anyways, rate and review, por favour.
--E
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