Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Keep Running, Kiddo
1 reviewI wrote this real quick for Mikey’s birthday, it’s kind of cheesy but oh well. Enjoy.
1Insightful
2006
And then your mind just snaps.
That’s what they say: your mind snaps. Let it be the pressure, let it be the need to be perfect.
It splits in two and you’re nothing but broken pieces. Shards of glass. Listen, they creak and they break under other people’s footsteps.
He shuts his eyes, leans back his head. Numbness is all he needs. He shuts his eyes, leans back his head and wonders how it feels to die.
But maybe sleeping is a little like dying. Just for a moment. Just for a while.
Sleeping pills and alcohol and they fuck with your head, they mess it all up.
Mikey Way smiles, and leans back his head, and realizes he doesn’t care anymore.
He hears footsteps and somebody walking in. This somebody sits on a chair, and he knows he’s silently looking at him, waiting for him to move.
He opens his eyes and squints. The man he’s staring at is staring back: blond dyed hair, sweaped back, and a red jacket. Sunglasses.
Mikey Way blinks a few times. His saliva tastes bitter.
“Is this a dream?”
The other man smiles.
“Probably. Either that, or you’re dead. Which makes no sense.”
“And why not?”
“Long story.”
Mikey opens and shuts his mouth a few times, at loss.
The other man laughs.
“This is just a warning, I guess. Or a blessing. Just to let you know you’ll save people’s lives. Hell, you already have. Remember Three Cheers?”
“This…this is different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is. This has to be perfect.”
“It doesn’t have to be perfect just because you‘ve decided it to be so. The Black Parade? You’re gonna make motherfuckin’ miracles with that album. You’re going to shine. You’ll change the world.”
Mikey laughs, bitter.
“I certainly won’t. Let Gerard do it. Let Ray, or Frank, or Bob do it. They’re the geniuses. I’m just scum.”
“Hey, kiddo - he delicately pushes Mikey’s chin up with his hand - Trust me. You’re the heart and soul of this album.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
The stranger smiles once more.
“How do you know?”
“Know that you’ll make it through?”
Mikey nods.
“I just have a feeling you will. My time’s almost up, kiddo. One last thing - the stranger smiles, pulls his sunglasses up - Keep running.”
Mikey Way’s eyes meet his own. Or at least, that’s what he thinks. But it’s only a moment, because then the stranger snaps his fingers, and just like that, he’s gone.
Keep running, kiddo.
And then your mind just snaps.
That’s what they say: your mind snaps. Let it be the pressure, let it be the need to be perfect.
It splits in two and you’re nothing but broken pieces. Shards of glass. Listen, they creak and they break under other people’s footsteps.
He shuts his eyes, leans back his head. Numbness is all he needs. He shuts his eyes, leans back his head and wonders how it feels to die.
But maybe sleeping is a little like dying. Just for a moment. Just for a while.
Sleeping pills and alcohol and they fuck with your head, they mess it all up.
Mikey Way smiles, and leans back his head, and realizes he doesn’t care anymore.
He hears footsteps and somebody walking in. This somebody sits on a chair, and he knows he’s silently looking at him, waiting for him to move.
He opens his eyes and squints. The man he’s staring at is staring back: blond dyed hair, sweaped back, and a red jacket. Sunglasses.
Mikey Way blinks a few times. His saliva tastes bitter.
“Is this a dream?”
The other man smiles.
“Probably. Either that, or you’re dead. Which makes no sense.”
“And why not?”
“Long story.”
Mikey opens and shuts his mouth a few times, at loss.
The other man laughs.
“This is just a warning, I guess. Or a blessing. Just to let you know you’ll save people’s lives. Hell, you already have. Remember Three Cheers?”
“This…this is different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is. This has to be perfect.”
“It doesn’t have to be perfect just because you‘ve decided it to be so. The Black Parade? You’re gonna make motherfuckin’ miracles with that album. You’re going to shine. You’ll change the world.”
Mikey laughs, bitter.
“I certainly won’t. Let Gerard do it. Let Ray, or Frank, or Bob do it. They’re the geniuses. I’m just scum.”
“Hey, kiddo - he delicately pushes Mikey’s chin up with his hand - Trust me. You’re the heart and soul of this album.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
The stranger smiles once more.
“How do you know?”
“Know that you’ll make it through?”
Mikey nods.
“I just have a feeling you will. My time’s almost up, kiddo. One last thing - the stranger smiles, pulls his sunglasses up - Keep running.”
Mikey Way’s eyes meet his own. Or at least, that’s what he thinks. But it’s only a moment, because then the stranger snaps his fingers, and just like that, he’s gone.
Keep running, kiddo.
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