Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
A/N: okay, so first thing's first, this is my first fanfiction/oneshot, so if you could all have a heart and read this or review or rate it or whatever, I would be pretty fucking happy. Second, the lyrics to the song Wrong can be found here: http://www.elyrics.net/read/g/get-scared-lyrics/wrong-lyrics.html. Thirdly, and lastly, I have no idea how that song even relates to this anymore. At first it was gonna be one of those fics where someone from MCR is picked on and they go somewhere to hide and think about all the shit that's happening to them and blah blah blah. Then I realized that was too overused, so I started to change it until I got this idea. Technically, it's still based off of Wrong, but it has nothing to do with the song. That being said, enjoy, despite the most likely many spelling and grammar errors, because I am on my phone.
**
It was obvious that no child had played in the playground in a long time. The playground was falling apart, to put it simply, and it was because of that fact that nobody ever went there anymore.
Naturally, it was my favorite place to hide.
Half of the time I wasn't sure why I hid amongst the collapsed slide and monkey bars, not only because I was at risk of getting stuck under the play structure the day it finally caves in, but because I had nothing to hide from. I had never been picked on at school, I had a decent amount of friends, and I got good grades. I had a loving family with enough money to get by and have something left over to buy random things that nobody needs, but I still hid there.
Nobody ever figured out that was where I went when I disappeared. My family thought I was at my friend's houses and my friends thought I was home or with my brother, or some other friend. Nobody suspected that I was hiding in the pile of rubble that once passed for a playground.
I know what they would say if they found out. They'd say that there was something wrong with me and that I needed help. That was the same thing my brother said when he had found me in the bathroom holding a razor in my hand, my wrists slashed up and bleeding. If they found out that I hid here from nothing every fucking day, they would take me to the same therapists office that I went to when my brother found me that night. There would be more pills that I would flush and more faked smiles and happiness. There would be more questions about how I was really feeling and there would be more fake answers to them. I didn't want that. Not again.
The logical solution to not get caught and have to go through that again would be to stop, but I never did, I never could. I would always go back to hiding in that tunnel that fell down so long ago, hiding from nothing.
Or maybe it wasn't nothing, but it was me.
**
It was obvious that no child had played in the playground in a long time. The playground was falling apart, to put it simply, and it was because of that fact that nobody ever went there anymore.
Naturally, it was my favorite place to hide.
Half of the time I wasn't sure why I hid amongst the collapsed slide and monkey bars, not only because I was at risk of getting stuck under the play structure the day it finally caves in, but because I had nothing to hide from. I had never been picked on at school, I had a decent amount of friends, and I got good grades. I had a loving family with enough money to get by and have something left over to buy random things that nobody needs, but I still hid there.
Nobody ever figured out that was where I went when I disappeared. My family thought I was at my friend's houses and my friends thought I was home or with my brother, or some other friend. Nobody suspected that I was hiding in the pile of rubble that once passed for a playground.
I know what they would say if they found out. They'd say that there was something wrong with me and that I needed help. That was the same thing my brother said when he had found me in the bathroom holding a razor in my hand, my wrists slashed up and bleeding. If they found out that I hid here from nothing every fucking day, they would take me to the same therapists office that I went to when my brother found me that night. There would be more pills that I would flush and more faked smiles and happiness. There would be more questions about how I was really feeling and there would be more fake answers to them. I didn't want that. Not again.
The logical solution to not get caught and have to go through that again would be to stop, but I never did, I never could. I would always go back to hiding in that tunnel that fell down so long ago, hiding from nothing.
Or maybe it wasn't nothing, but it was me.
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