Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
I never told you what I do for a living.
0 reviewsTwo men with similar,equally terrifying pasts.One is running from his, trying to escape it. The other has become nothing other than a monster. But monsters can`t love,can they?
0Unrated
Hi, I`m so sorry it has been so long. I also have to apologise for the lack of updates, I`ve just gotten back last night from holiday with my dad and grandparents and to be honest with you I am not having a great time at the moment. I have no motivation to do anything, even write, despite the fact it is what you could call an escape for me. I will try to update my other stories, and I`m sorry for updating yet another new one. I hope you like it; please let me know if you do. Thank you all so much for reading/rating/reviewing ect, it means a lot.
Xoxodakota
It was late Friday evening in New Jersey. A small group of people, mainly men were gathered in a dark alleyway. The sky was dark, no light escaping from the stars and moon reached them in the secluded and to be honest quite creepy alleyway they were in. The handful of old fashioned street lamps had been destroyed long ago, so they gave off no light either. The small group of them were surrounded completely by darkness. Their hushed whispers and mutterings filled the misty, damp air, the scent of cheep alcohol and something far more sinister burned their nostrils, or at least it would have it they were not already so used to and dependent on it. Crumpled in on himself in a corner, crying silently, was a person, a young ebony haired child, with ghostly pale, chalky skin and hazel green, bloodshot, eyes, red and puffy from his crying. The others did not seem to be bothered by his evident suffering, nor did they acknowledge his presence in any way.
Each of the men and the lone female had similar features, the same sunken eyes, surrounded by dark circles and bags, the awful looking skin, lank, uncared for hair. One of them kept coughing violently every few minutes, erupting into an uncontrollable fit of loud, dry coughs that made it extremely difficult for him to breathe, the lit cigarette in his pale, thin skinned hand probably the cause. The small chid in the corner was still sobbing, too frightened to try and run, even if he tried he would fail, his right leg had been broken by one of the men when they had taken him.
“Well look what we got here then,” a man sneers, spitting on the floor next to the child as he walks over, a twisted grin on his face. The boy cowers, placing his shaking arms over his head, instinctively trying to protect himself. He knew there was no point though, he knew these kind of people, they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, and right now, they wanted revenge.
“You know why you’re here, brat?” A brown haired man grabs him by the throat and drags him into the centre of the alleyway where the others were waiting patiently.
“Y...yes, but I didn’t do anything…” he sobs, but none shows him pity.
“No, but your daddy did, he robbed us, he betrayed us, he killed one of us and now he has to pay the price.” Another man pulls a silver dagger from his pocket and holds it up above the child’s throat.
“please.” The child struggles against the man holding him, but can’t break free; his actions cause laughter amongst many of the people there.
“I didn’t do anything!” he screams, kicking with all his might, but getting nowhere.
“Your daddy isn’t here to pay, he is sleeping with the fishes as it were, he fucking topped himself he was so scared, but seeing as he isn’t around no more, you can pay for him.”
“Any last words?”
“D…don’t!” a meek, frightened voice rings out across the alley, belonging to a small brown haired child of about ten. The boy was dressed in little more than rags, his hair greasy and his scuffed trainers far too big for him and scattered with red stains that disgustingly resembled blood. Tears stained his face as well as the other child’s, fear clear in his chocolate eyes, as he bit down nervously on his bottom lip.
“what?” a harsh, cold voice shouts at the boy, who wraps his thin arms around his small, weak looking frame as though trying to defend himself from the cruel tone of the man’s voice.
“…who...you said…you promised-“
“And you fucking believed me?!”the young child winces at the man`s words. “Frank, this boy’s father betrayed us, he isn’t around to suffer for this, so it is only right that his family do.” the boy shakes his head, not believing what he was seeing.
“Why`d ya bring him anyways?” A balding, dirty blonde haired man, who seemed to be in his mid twenties asked the other, pointing lazily at Frank. He had grey, snake like eyes that looked right through you.
“He is old enough, he needs to man up and learn-“
“He is just a child.” The woman, a red head with emerald eyes speaks up, a huge grin spread across her wrinkled face, though she was only thirty, she certainly looked a lot older. “A tiny, helpless chid.” She sneers, moving towards the boy, her grin becoming more of a smirk. “So easily hurt, so innocent. So defenceless.” She grabs a small, yet sharp knife from her jacket pocket and flicks it across the child’s arm, leaving a long, but not very deep cut that dripped scarlet. “See what I mean?”
The boy`s eyes fill with hot, stinging tears, but he will not let them fall. Crying was a sign of weakness, that had been drilled into him by his father since he was born. And his father despised of all things weak; he had learned that the hard way, the painful way.
“D...dad…” the man narrows his eyes, hatred filing them as he looks at the child who was fighting back tears as he watched the blood begin to clot. Bending down and leaning over the child, his child, the man glares at him, and in a voice that showed no emotion other than pure hatred, he spat, “you make me sick, you are worthless, you will never be anything.”
The others all add in their thoughts, all equally as nasty. “
“Yeah, he’s pathetic, crying at a bit of blood.”
“What a fucking waste of space,”
“D…dad.” The boy looks up at the man he had hated for as one as he could remember, he knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet it was. Although only young, Frank Iero had seen things that would shock most adults. He had witnessed murder and drug abuse; there was a lot of that, along with drinking and fighting. Rape as well, he knew not what the name of the evil act was, being only ten, but he would never forget the look and screams of pain on the woman’s face as his father had done that to her. That woman had been his mother, until her life had brutally come to an end at the hands of her husband.
“You are nothing, just a waste of space, exactly like you slut of a mother.” The tears sip down his cheek, unable to hold them back any longer. “Who could ever love you?”
“Who could love you?!” the first child, the raven haired one screams, forgetting about the situation he was in, about the dagger held inches from his throat. He couldn’t stand the way the man was treating his son, it reminded him to much of his own father, plus, the child was even younger than he, it wasn’t right.
“Kill the kid.” Franks dad orders, and the man holding the dagger began to lower it.
Flash-forward to when they are about thirtyish
Gerard`s pov.
“Hey sweetie,” I blush slightly, despite the fact that I had been with Frank for a long time now, and was used to him calling me this, it still made me blush. Whenever I was around him I felt like a fucking lovesick teenager again, despite being among the best coppers in the fucking United States of America.
“How was work?” he asks in an offhand tone as I hang up my jacket and kick of my boots, mentally sighing as I took a sip of the coffee he handed me as I first entered the house.
“Fine, same shit, different day.” He nods sympathetically and takes a seat next to me.
“Any more news about that girl’s killer?” I shake my head and sigh. Last week a teen had been found dead, guts lying everywhere, completely unrecognisable as anything remotely human. It had been happening for months, teens had been vanishing and being found brutally murdered. It was all thought to be the grisly work of the most wanted criminal in the country, but murder wasn’t the only pastimes the sicko had. No, drugs trafficking, rape, robbery, amongst other nasty things were his hobbies too. We knew it was all done by the same person as he always would leave us a note behind, cut into the poor victim’s skin. The sicko had been around for years, he would vanish for some time, than reappear, but it was always him, always the same guy. And yet, we were no closer to finding out the identity of the criminal than we were four years ago, all we knew was that he and his gang of thugs were the best, or the worst however you wanted to put it, and that he was called, as the notes told us, “Fun Ghoul.”
so, how was it?
Xoxodakota
It was late Friday evening in New Jersey. A small group of people, mainly men were gathered in a dark alleyway. The sky was dark, no light escaping from the stars and moon reached them in the secluded and to be honest quite creepy alleyway they were in. The handful of old fashioned street lamps had been destroyed long ago, so they gave off no light either. The small group of them were surrounded completely by darkness. Their hushed whispers and mutterings filled the misty, damp air, the scent of cheep alcohol and something far more sinister burned their nostrils, or at least it would have it they were not already so used to and dependent on it. Crumpled in on himself in a corner, crying silently, was a person, a young ebony haired child, with ghostly pale, chalky skin and hazel green, bloodshot, eyes, red and puffy from his crying. The others did not seem to be bothered by his evident suffering, nor did they acknowledge his presence in any way.
Each of the men and the lone female had similar features, the same sunken eyes, surrounded by dark circles and bags, the awful looking skin, lank, uncared for hair. One of them kept coughing violently every few minutes, erupting into an uncontrollable fit of loud, dry coughs that made it extremely difficult for him to breathe, the lit cigarette in his pale, thin skinned hand probably the cause. The small chid in the corner was still sobbing, too frightened to try and run, even if he tried he would fail, his right leg had been broken by one of the men when they had taken him.
“Well look what we got here then,” a man sneers, spitting on the floor next to the child as he walks over, a twisted grin on his face. The boy cowers, placing his shaking arms over his head, instinctively trying to protect himself. He knew there was no point though, he knew these kind of people, they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, and right now, they wanted revenge.
“You know why you’re here, brat?” A brown haired man grabs him by the throat and drags him into the centre of the alleyway where the others were waiting patiently.
“Y...yes, but I didn’t do anything…” he sobs, but none shows him pity.
“No, but your daddy did, he robbed us, he betrayed us, he killed one of us and now he has to pay the price.” Another man pulls a silver dagger from his pocket and holds it up above the child’s throat.
“please.” The child struggles against the man holding him, but can’t break free; his actions cause laughter amongst many of the people there.
“I didn’t do anything!” he screams, kicking with all his might, but getting nowhere.
“Your daddy isn’t here to pay, he is sleeping with the fishes as it were, he fucking topped himself he was so scared, but seeing as he isn’t around no more, you can pay for him.”
“Any last words?”
“D…don’t!” a meek, frightened voice rings out across the alley, belonging to a small brown haired child of about ten. The boy was dressed in little more than rags, his hair greasy and his scuffed trainers far too big for him and scattered with red stains that disgustingly resembled blood. Tears stained his face as well as the other child’s, fear clear in his chocolate eyes, as he bit down nervously on his bottom lip.
“what?” a harsh, cold voice shouts at the boy, who wraps his thin arms around his small, weak looking frame as though trying to defend himself from the cruel tone of the man’s voice.
“…who...you said…you promised-“
“And you fucking believed me?!”the young child winces at the man`s words. “Frank, this boy’s father betrayed us, he isn’t around to suffer for this, so it is only right that his family do.” the boy shakes his head, not believing what he was seeing.
“Why`d ya bring him anyways?” A balding, dirty blonde haired man, who seemed to be in his mid twenties asked the other, pointing lazily at Frank. He had grey, snake like eyes that looked right through you.
“He is old enough, he needs to man up and learn-“
“He is just a child.” The woman, a red head with emerald eyes speaks up, a huge grin spread across her wrinkled face, though she was only thirty, she certainly looked a lot older. “A tiny, helpless chid.” She sneers, moving towards the boy, her grin becoming more of a smirk. “So easily hurt, so innocent. So defenceless.” She grabs a small, yet sharp knife from her jacket pocket and flicks it across the child’s arm, leaving a long, but not very deep cut that dripped scarlet. “See what I mean?”
The boy`s eyes fill with hot, stinging tears, but he will not let them fall. Crying was a sign of weakness, that had been drilled into him by his father since he was born. And his father despised of all things weak; he had learned that the hard way, the painful way.
“D...dad…” the man narrows his eyes, hatred filing them as he looks at the child who was fighting back tears as he watched the blood begin to clot. Bending down and leaning over the child, his child, the man glares at him, and in a voice that showed no emotion other than pure hatred, he spat, “you make me sick, you are worthless, you will never be anything.”
The others all add in their thoughts, all equally as nasty. “
“Yeah, he’s pathetic, crying at a bit of blood.”
“What a fucking waste of space,”
“D…dad.” The boy looks up at the man he had hated for as one as he could remember, he knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet it was. Although only young, Frank Iero had seen things that would shock most adults. He had witnessed murder and drug abuse; there was a lot of that, along with drinking and fighting. Rape as well, he knew not what the name of the evil act was, being only ten, but he would never forget the look and screams of pain on the woman’s face as his father had done that to her. That woman had been his mother, until her life had brutally come to an end at the hands of her husband.
“You are nothing, just a waste of space, exactly like you slut of a mother.” The tears sip down his cheek, unable to hold them back any longer. “Who could ever love you?”
“Who could love you?!” the first child, the raven haired one screams, forgetting about the situation he was in, about the dagger held inches from his throat. He couldn’t stand the way the man was treating his son, it reminded him to much of his own father, plus, the child was even younger than he, it wasn’t right.
“Kill the kid.” Franks dad orders, and the man holding the dagger began to lower it.
Flash-forward to when they are about thirtyish
Gerard`s pov.
“Hey sweetie,” I blush slightly, despite the fact that I had been with Frank for a long time now, and was used to him calling me this, it still made me blush. Whenever I was around him I felt like a fucking lovesick teenager again, despite being among the best coppers in the fucking United States of America.
“How was work?” he asks in an offhand tone as I hang up my jacket and kick of my boots, mentally sighing as I took a sip of the coffee he handed me as I first entered the house.
“Fine, same shit, different day.” He nods sympathetically and takes a seat next to me.
“Any more news about that girl’s killer?” I shake my head and sigh. Last week a teen had been found dead, guts lying everywhere, completely unrecognisable as anything remotely human. It had been happening for months, teens had been vanishing and being found brutally murdered. It was all thought to be the grisly work of the most wanted criminal in the country, but murder wasn’t the only pastimes the sicko had. No, drugs trafficking, rape, robbery, amongst other nasty things were his hobbies too. We knew it was all done by the same person as he always would leave us a note behind, cut into the poor victim’s skin. The sicko had been around for years, he would vanish for some time, than reappear, but it was always him, always the same guy. And yet, we were no closer to finding out the identity of the criminal than we were four years ago, all we knew was that he and his gang of thugs were the best, or the worst however you wanted to put it, and that he was called, as the notes told us, “Fun Ghoul.”
so, how was it?
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