Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Our Time Is Running Out
Gerard hid the packages of dried meat and some cans with chunky soups on the inside of his coat, where a practical pocket was placed. He had also bought a candy bar as a small treat for himself.
One thing Gerard couldn't understand was why people still were using money as payment. It wasn't practical since there were basically no workers who could earn the money by their jobs. Instead, the banks gave small amounts of money to every single person that came and asked for it one time each week.
All you had to do was to say your name to the person working at the bank and he, or she, would then draw a thick line over your name on a huge list to confirm that you already got money once that week. Then the person working there would give you the money.
Gerard knew that he had to be discrete about the fact that he was carrying something eatable, or people would flock around him like vultures and steal his food. If he was unlucky they would probably try to steal his clothes and wound him too.
The last part scared Gerard. He hadn't waited 30 years to stumble right before the finish-line and get himself killed just two months before the big day.
Gerard walked quickly towards the old apartment which was his sanctuary. The wind was full of flakes of ashes which whipped the dark haired man in the face. He squinted his eyes and pursed his lips together to avoid getting anything in his mouth or eyes.
He passed a big fire on his way back to the apartment. The fire was fully alive, its long arms licked the dark sky like greedy tongues. The heat coming from the fire was familiar and made Gerard relax and slow his pace down.
A couple of people sat in front of the fire.
Their dirty faces were turned to the red flames. One of them, a young female with long tangled hair, had her arms stretched out towards the fire which was quite understandable since it was a chilly day. Gerard didn't stop to look at the fire for more than a couple of minutes before he started walking again.
The food he carried felt like ticking bombs underneath his coat. Every time he walked past people on the street he started sweating and panicking, believing that they knew what he was hiding. In fact the most suspect thing was probably Gerard's bewildered and worried gaze.
When he finally reached the big building with his apartment on the second floor, he sighed with relief. He opened the front door with its joints singing on their last verse.
The sight meeting him made him freeze. On the floor right next to the stairs leading to Gerard's place a man laid curled up to the wall in a small puddle of his own blood.
One thing Gerard couldn't understand was why people still were using money as payment. It wasn't practical since there were basically no workers who could earn the money by their jobs. Instead, the banks gave small amounts of money to every single person that came and asked for it one time each week.
All you had to do was to say your name to the person working at the bank and he, or she, would then draw a thick line over your name on a huge list to confirm that you already got money once that week. Then the person working there would give you the money.
Gerard knew that he had to be discrete about the fact that he was carrying something eatable, or people would flock around him like vultures and steal his food. If he was unlucky they would probably try to steal his clothes and wound him too.
The last part scared Gerard. He hadn't waited 30 years to stumble right before the finish-line and get himself killed just two months before the big day.
Gerard walked quickly towards the old apartment which was his sanctuary. The wind was full of flakes of ashes which whipped the dark haired man in the face. He squinted his eyes and pursed his lips together to avoid getting anything in his mouth or eyes.
He passed a big fire on his way back to the apartment. The fire was fully alive, its long arms licked the dark sky like greedy tongues. The heat coming from the fire was familiar and made Gerard relax and slow his pace down.
A couple of people sat in front of the fire.
Their dirty faces were turned to the red flames. One of them, a young female with long tangled hair, had her arms stretched out towards the fire which was quite understandable since it was a chilly day. Gerard didn't stop to look at the fire for more than a couple of minutes before he started walking again.
The food he carried felt like ticking bombs underneath his coat. Every time he walked past people on the street he started sweating and panicking, believing that they knew what he was hiding. In fact the most suspect thing was probably Gerard's bewildered and worried gaze.
When he finally reached the big building with his apartment on the second floor, he sighed with relief. He opened the front door with its joints singing on their last verse.
The sight meeting him made him freeze. On the floor right next to the stairs leading to Gerard's place a man laid curled up to the wall in a small puddle of his own blood.
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