Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
Frank's POV.
Frank closed the door softly behind him so as not to wake Poppy. Frank wished he could say Poppy was his girlfriend- in actual fact, Poppy was his dog. He had always been sort of a loner- apart from his parents, and the two friends he had kept from high-school, Ray and Bob, Frank pretty much kept himself to himself. He preferred it that way.
Walking down the cold grey street, Frank blew hot air onto his pink-tinged fingers. It was freezing. Ducking into the alleyway on his left, Frank took a cigarette out of his pocket and fumbling with his lighter, sparked up. He breathed in slowly, feeling his lungs become full of smoke, and breathing it out just as slowly. His mum was probably right- these things would kill him.
He started slightly as he heard footsteps and whistling coming along the street adjacent to where he was standing. Instinctively, he crouched behind the bins in the dark corner of the alley, his heart beating erratically. He stubbed his cigarette out quickly on the damp ground and positioned himself between two bins, so as to see what was happening. When Frank assessed the situation, he supposed what he was doing must be pretty stupid. Here he was, at 20 years old, crouching behind grimy dustbins in a dank alley because he had a 'gut feeling'. But a gut feeling was what he had, and so he stayed hunched over in the darkness.
Frank had no watch on him so as to check the time, but it seemed to stretch by slowly. Whoever it was that had walked into the alley had either passed out the other side and was long gone- or were still in the alley, in the darkness, waiting. Either way, Frank did not think leaving was a good idea just yet- he had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was still out there, and having to explain to whoever they were that he was hiding out behind the bins because he felt like he should did not seem to him to be a good idea. And so he sat, as silent as the grave, hardly daring to breathe, until...
Footsteps. There were voices now, too, quiet and barely distinguishable. Through a gap in the bins, Frank could make out too figures in the dark, a man and a women. The girl was standing side on to Frank, her brown hair tumbling in curls down her slim back. Pretty. He couldn't see the man at all, save for a vague shadow in the dark. Suddenly, the man was pushing the girl up against the wall. He could practically feel the girls heartbeat as she wound her fingers into his hair, and kissed him passionately. Frank heard the man say something, but was too far away to hear exactly what; the girls body suddenly went rigid and a horrible noise ripped through the alley. The sound of something wet dripping on the ground; the girl was now resting on the pavement, in a sitting position, scarlet seeping across the front of her pale pink dress.
The man then turned for the first time to face where Frank was crouched, shaking, in the corner. Taking a cloth from his large leather jacket, he wife the sharp knife delicately, making sure it gleaned even in the dark light. To no-one in particular, the man simply said 'Being stood up really sucks, doesn't it?' He looked up and for the first time Frank could properly see his face. He was younger- younger than Frank had thought. Possibly only a few years older than him. His face was, surprisingly, pleasant. His lips curved in a slightly lopsided smile, his nose slightly tiptilted, his hair dark and soft looking. But the most striking feature of all were his eyes- large and hazel, with dark sweeping lashes and slight bags underneath. Despite the darkness, they seemed to shine with an unearthy light, flickering tones of honey and chocolate in the dimly lit alleyway.
As Frank heard the footsteps walking in the opposite direction, he let out the breath he had not realised he had been holding. Standing up gingerly, his legs strained and cramped, he crept out from behind the bins, staring in horrified fascination at the mangled body bleeding crimson onto the ground below her. In the low light it was hard to tell just how to deep the wound was- only that it had killed her. Dragging his eyes away from the corpse, Frank felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. Turning heel quickly, Frank exited the alley at a run, his chest burning and his eyes stinging as he raced against the cold. Once inside his flat, he bolted the door twice before heading straight to bed, tugging off his boots and jacket in a frenzy and jumping under the covers.
When Frank awoke at 3:00am, sweating from head to toe and shaking all over, the image of a pair of eyes were what had woken him. The eyes of a killer.
Frank closed the door softly behind him so as not to wake Poppy. Frank wished he could say Poppy was his girlfriend- in actual fact, Poppy was his dog. He had always been sort of a loner- apart from his parents, and the two friends he had kept from high-school, Ray and Bob, Frank pretty much kept himself to himself. He preferred it that way.
Walking down the cold grey street, Frank blew hot air onto his pink-tinged fingers. It was freezing. Ducking into the alleyway on his left, Frank took a cigarette out of his pocket and fumbling with his lighter, sparked up. He breathed in slowly, feeling his lungs become full of smoke, and breathing it out just as slowly. His mum was probably right- these things would kill him.
He started slightly as he heard footsteps and whistling coming along the street adjacent to where he was standing. Instinctively, he crouched behind the bins in the dark corner of the alley, his heart beating erratically. He stubbed his cigarette out quickly on the damp ground and positioned himself between two bins, so as to see what was happening. When Frank assessed the situation, he supposed what he was doing must be pretty stupid. Here he was, at 20 years old, crouching behind grimy dustbins in a dank alley because he had a 'gut feeling'. But a gut feeling was what he had, and so he stayed hunched over in the darkness.
Frank had no watch on him so as to check the time, but it seemed to stretch by slowly. Whoever it was that had walked into the alley had either passed out the other side and was long gone- or were still in the alley, in the darkness, waiting. Either way, Frank did not think leaving was a good idea just yet- he had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was still out there, and having to explain to whoever they were that he was hiding out behind the bins because he felt like he should did not seem to him to be a good idea. And so he sat, as silent as the grave, hardly daring to breathe, until...
Footsteps. There were voices now, too, quiet and barely distinguishable. Through a gap in the bins, Frank could make out too figures in the dark, a man and a women. The girl was standing side on to Frank, her brown hair tumbling in curls down her slim back. Pretty. He couldn't see the man at all, save for a vague shadow in the dark. Suddenly, the man was pushing the girl up against the wall. He could practically feel the girls heartbeat as she wound her fingers into his hair, and kissed him passionately. Frank heard the man say something, but was too far away to hear exactly what; the girls body suddenly went rigid and a horrible noise ripped through the alley. The sound of something wet dripping on the ground; the girl was now resting on the pavement, in a sitting position, scarlet seeping across the front of her pale pink dress.
The man then turned for the first time to face where Frank was crouched, shaking, in the corner. Taking a cloth from his large leather jacket, he wife the sharp knife delicately, making sure it gleaned even in the dark light. To no-one in particular, the man simply said 'Being stood up really sucks, doesn't it?' He looked up and for the first time Frank could properly see his face. He was younger- younger than Frank had thought. Possibly only a few years older than him. His face was, surprisingly, pleasant. His lips curved in a slightly lopsided smile, his nose slightly tiptilted, his hair dark and soft looking. But the most striking feature of all were his eyes- large and hazel, with dark sweeping lashes and slight bags underneath. Despite the darkness, they seemed to shine with an unearthy light, flickering tones of honey and chocolate in the dimly lit alleyway.
As Frank heard the footsteps walking in the opposite direction, he let out the breath he had not realised he had been holding. Standing up gingerly, his legs strained and cramped, he crept out from behind the bins, staring in horrified fascination at the mangled body bleeding crimson onto the ground below her. In the low light it was hard to tell just how to deep the wound was- only that it had killed her. Dragging his eyes away from the corpse, Frank felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. Turning heel quickly, Frank exited the alley at a run, his chest burning and his eyes stinging as he raced against the cold. Once inside his flat, he bolted the door twice before heading straight to bed, tugging off his boots and jacket in a frenzy and jumping under the covers.
When Frank awoke at 3:00am, sweating from head to toe and shaking all over, the image of a pair of eyes were what had woken him. The eyes of a killer.
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