Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Never Told You What I Do For A Living - Or After Living
This is a song-fic, hence the title. This is my first story. There are multiple character deaths and the ending is sad. Gerard is in major trouble. It's set post-Danger Days and it is implied that Frank and Gerard divorced their wives and their wives have custody. Frerard. Reviews are appreciated.
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I never saw it coming. The truck. I was just walking back from the coffee shop, across the street. Hell, the damn man on the sign was green! I should have had 30 seconds left! But that one man, he just had to run a stop light at that exact moment. I never had a chance. All I saw was the front of the truck. All I smelled was burning rubber. I heard the screeching of the tires, the screaming of bystanders, and lastly my own screaming. It was so loud and shrill it surprised me. Scared me. But that was the least of my worries at the time. I got body slammed by a motherfucking semi and you wanna know who lost? Me. Bloody fucking me! God, it hurt so much. The pain was excruciating. But only briefly. Then I was dead. Dead!
Stay out of the light
Or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone
Another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue
To hide my face
Stab. Stab. Stab. Punch. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? No. Dispose of the body.
I tossed the man’s body in the dumpster and walked away casually when in reality I was crying inside. Dying inside. Oh, no, scratch that. Technically I was already dead. It’s been 6 months since the accident. I got out after 1 month. 2 weeks later I was a killing machine. You see, the real Gerard would never do this. The real Gerard was a good loving person. With fire engine red hair and a beautiful boyfriend named Frank Iero. Ah, Frankie. Damn him. No, I love him. Damn my love for him. I can’t really go so far as to say this was all his fault. It’s mostly mine. But then again it wouldn’t even be my fault if it weren’t for that dumbass drunk driver. After I died, just my luck, I got picked up by the devil himself. Apparently I’ve been a terrible person and have to go to hell. But he slapped a deal on the table for me. Bring him 1,000 souls and I get to live again. Have my Frankie again. Feel his hands under my shirt again. Kiss his lips again.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Add soap. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? No. Clear evidence.
And now in just two weeks my body count has just hit 100. Sick isn’t it? But I’d do anything for Frankie. And god dammit I mean it! If I have to kill 1,000 people for him then so be it. 1,000 people have to die.
****
I never saw it coming. The truck. I was just walking back from the coffee shop, across the street. Hell, the damn man on the sign was green! I should have had 30 seconds left! But that one man, he just had to run a stop light at that exact moment. I never had a chance. All I saw was the front of the truck. All I smelled was burning rubber. I heard the screeching of the tires, the screaming of bystanders, and lastly my own screaming. It was so loud and shrill it surprised me. Scared me. But that was the least of my worries at the time. I got body slammed by a motherfucking semi and you wanna know who lost? Me. Bloody fucking me! God, it hurt so much. The pain was excruciating. But only briefly. Then I was dead. Dead!
Stay out of the light
Or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone
Another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue
To hide my face
Stab. Stab. Stab. Punch. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for pulse. Found one? No. Dispose of the body.
I tossed the man’s body in the dumpster and walked away casually when in reality I was crying inside. Dying inside. Oh, no, scratch that. Technically I was already dead. It’s been 6 months since the accident. I got out after 1 month. 2 weeks later I was a killing machine. You see, the real Gerard would never do this. The real Gerard was a good loving person. With fire engine red hair and a beautiful boyfriend named Frank Iero. Ah, Frankie. Damn him. No, I love him. Damn my love for him. I can’t really go so far as to say this was all his fault. It’s mostly mine. But then again it wouldn’t even be my fault if it weren’t for that dumbass drunk driver. After I died, just my luck, I got picked up by the devil himself. Apparently I’ve been a terrible person and have to go to hell. But he slapped a deal on the table for me. Bring him 1,000 souls and I get to live again. Have my Frankie again. Feel his hands under my shirt again. Kiss his lips again.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Add soap. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? Yes. Repeat. Repeat. Check for blood on my hands. Is there any? No. Clear evidence.
And now in just two weeks my body count has just hit 100. Sick isn’t it? But I’d do anything for Frankie. And god dammit I mean it! If I have to kill 1,000 people for him then so be it. 1,000 people have to die.
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