Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > If it looks like I'm laughing, I'm really just asking to leave...
Frank Iero is nearly sixteen, and he pretends to be fine with the whispers and the stares, but they affect him more than he'd like to admit.
1Funny
" SHIT DUDE!" I scream in the very burly and sweaty face of the guy who's piercing my lip. I knew it was going to hurt, but not this much. " Calm down kid, you won't die. Suck it up." sweaty face grunts. I shut my eyes tightly as he dabs anti-septic on my lip and slaps me on the back. I'll have a huge bruise there tomorrow, I'm sure. " All done, that'll be fourty please." Jesus, what was this? A piercing shop for millionaires? I fish in my jeans pocket and hand over a wad of notes. He shoves them in his pocket and starts clearing up. " Thanks." I pull up my hood, yank open the glass door and walk out on to the scruffy street. The sky is going grey, huge dark clouds gathering above me. I check my watch, it's only three-thirty. Mum won't be back for another four hours. Not that she'd really be bothered if I come back late. She's learnt that I just go off and do my own thing at weekends. She doesn't like that fact, but she's just dealt with it.
A little girl takes one look at me and runs as fast as she possibly can back to her mum as I push open the bright yellow gate to the playground. Am I seriously that scary? Actually, ignore that question. I have red and black hair, heavy red eyeliner and the new addition of a ring through my lip. I guess that's adding to my fear factor...shut up Frank. Quit talking having conversations with your mental voices... I flop down heavily onto the rubber seat of the swing. My lip stings like hell, but it's worth it. It looks awesome. I pull out the can of diet coke I bought on my way here, out of my pocket. I pull back the metal ring and take a sip, the chilled liquid making me shiver. My eyes are killing me, I really shouldn't have stayed up all night trying to get that stupid assignment done. Who gives a flying shit about thermal decomposition of Limestone anyway? I rub my tired eyes and yawn. I seriously need to go to bed. Or just drink a shit load of coffe. I prefer the second option. I kick the stubbly grass with the toes of my black vans, then decide I can't be bothered to sit here much longer. I drain my can of coke and throw it in the dolphin shaped trash can. The little girl that had run away from me watches as I leave the park, her mum narrowing her eyes at me, as if my presence would corrupt her perfect child.
I close the front door on the downpour that had started about ten minutes ago. I peel off my soaked Black Flag hoodie and hang it on the radiator. I then shuffle into the empty kitchen and make myself a ridiculously big mug of coffee. I'm used to the house being empty on a Sunday, when mum goes out to visit her mum's sister, in an old folks home a few miles away. Gives me a few hours to myself, but sometimes I end up just thinking about stuff. Stuff I really don't want to think about. I don't bother with milk in my coffee, and take it upstairs to my room. I fling myself down on the messy un-made bed and turn on the PS2. Time for some good old zombie killing action before mum gets back.
A little girl takes one look at me and runs as fast as she possibly can back to her mum as I push open the bright yellow gate to the playground. Am I seriously that scary? Actually, ignore that question. I have red and black hair, heavy red eyeliner and the new addition of a ring through my lip. I guess that's adding to my fear factor...shut up Frank. Quit talking having conversations with your mental voices... I flop down heavily onto the rubber seat of the swing. My lip stings like hell, but it's worth it. It looks awesome. I pull out the can of diet coke I bought on my way here, out of my pocket. I pull back the metal ring and take a sip, the chilled liquid making me shiver. My eyes are killing me, I really shouldn't have stayed up all night trying to get that stupid assignment done. Who gives a flying shit about thermal decomposition of Limestone anyway? I rub my tired eyes and yawn. I seriously need to go to bed. Or just drink a shit load of coffe. I prefer the second option. I kick the stubbly grass with the toes of my black vans, then decide I can't be bothered to sit here much longer. I drain my can of coke and throw it in the dolphin shaped trash can. The little girl that had run away from me watches as I leave the park, her mum narrowing her eyes at me, as if my presence would corrupt her perfect child.
I close the front door on the downpour that had started about ten minutes ago. I peel off my soaked Black Flag hoodie and hang it on the radiator. I then shuffle into the empty kitchen and make myself a ridiculously big mug of coffee. I'm used to the house being empty on a Sunday, when mum goes out to visit her mum's sister, in an old folks home a few miles away. Gives me a few hours to myself, but sometimes I end up just thinking about stuff. Stuff I really don't want to think about. I don't bother with milk in my coffee, and take it upstairs to my room. I fling myself down on the messy un-made bed and turn on the PS2. Time for some good old zombie killing action before mum gets back.
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